They had chosen the center of the grassy platform for their banquet; thus, from where they sat only the tops of trees and the sky were to be seen.

And after they had finished she leaned on her elbow and listened while he, smoking his cigarette, told her of his life as a newspaper man in Cincinnati.

The twilight faded into dusk, the dusk into a scarlet darkness.
"When the moon comes up we'll start," said he.

"You can ride behind me on the horse part of the way, anyhow." The shadow of the parting, the ending of this happiness, fell upon her.

How lonely it would be when he was gone! "I haven't told you my name," she said.
"I've told you mine Roderick Spenser--with an _s_, not a _c_." "I remember," said she.