That, and music--the two most beautiful things which had entered into her life.
.

.

.

A bank of cloud, slowly spreading upward from the horizon, suddenly clothed the moon in darkness, wiping out the whole landscape.
Only the ominous boom of the waves and the roar of the struggling beach still beat against Nan's ears.
The vision had fled, and the grim realities of life closed round her once again.
Late that evening she slipped into a loose wrapper--a very characteristic little garment of lace and ribbons and clinging silk--and marched down the corridor to Penelope's room.

The latter was diligently brushing her hair, but at Nan's abrupt entrance she laid down the brush resignedly.