“Well, to tell the truth,” he answered, at last, in a kind, darling way, “I wanted to make sure all was well with my favorite pupil before I left the country.  I couldn’t quite go without it.”

“Mr. Dane,” I said, “you don’t mean me?”

“Yes,” he answered, “I mean you.”

I could have danced and sung with happiness.  “Oh,” said I, “then I must have been a better scholar than I thought.  I feel as if I could teach psychology—­this minute.”

“You could,” said he, “this minute.”  And we both laughed and didn’t know, after all, what we were laughing at—­at least I didn’t.  But suddenly I was cold with fear.

“Why,” I said, “if you’ve only really decided to go to-night, how do you know you can get a passage on our ship?”

“Because, sweet Lady Reason,” said he, “I used Charlie Ned’s telephone and found out.” (That was a pretty name—­sweet Lady Reason.)

We didn’t talk any more then for a long time, because suddenly the moon seemed so bright and the garden so sweet.  But all at once I heard a step on the gravel walk, and I knew who it was.  “That’s Charles Edward,” I said.  “He’s been home with Aunt Elizabeth.  We must go in.”

“No!” said he.  “No, Peggy.  There won’t be such another night.”  Then he laughed quickly and got up.  “Yes,” he said, “there will be such nights—­over and over again.  Come, Peggy, little psychologist, we’ll go in.”

We found Lorraine and Charles Edward standing in the middle of the room, holding hands and looking at each other.  “You’re a hero,” Lorraine was saying, “and a gentleman and a scholar and my own particular Peter.”

“Don’t admire me,” said Charles Edward, “or you’ll get me so bellicose I shall have to challenge Lyman Wilde.  Poor old chap!  I believe to my soul he’s had the spirit to make off.”

“Speak gently of Lyman Wilde,” said Lorraine.  “I never forget what we owe him.  Sometimes I burn a candle to his photograph.  I’ve even dropped a tear before it.  Well, children?” She turned her bright eyes on us as if she liked us very much, and we two stood facing them two, and it all seemed quite solemn.  Suddenly Charles Edward put out his hand and shook Mr. Dane’s, and they both looked very much moved, as grandmother would say.  I hadn’t known they liked each other so well.

“Do you know what time it is?” said Lorraine.  “Half-past eleven by Shrewsbury clock.  I’ll bake the cakes and draw the ale.”

“Gee whiz!” said Mr. Dane.  I’d never heard things like that.  It sounded like Billy, and I liked it.  “I’ve got to catch that midnight train.”

For a minute it seemed as if we all stood shouting at one another, Lorraine asking him to stay all night, Charles Edward giving him a cigar to smoke on the way, I explaining to Lorraine that I’d sleep on the parlor sofa and leave the guest-room free, and Mr. Dane declaring he’d got a million things to do before sailing.  Then he and Charles Edward dashed out into the night, as Alice would say, and I should have thought it was a dream that he’d been there at all except that I felt his touch on my hand.  And Lorraine put her arms round me and kissed me and said, “Now, you sweet child, run up-stairs and look at the moonlight and dream—­and dream—­and dream.”