The creek tinkled over the pebbles at their feet, and a drowsy bird, half-wakened by the moon, crooned languorously in the sycamores.

The girl looked out at the flashing water through downcast lashes.

"Is it because it is so transient that beauty is pathetic ?" she said; "because we can never come back to it in quite the same way?
I am a sentimental girl.

If you are born so, it is never entirely teased out of you, is it?
Besides, to-night is all a dream.

It isn't real, you know.