Granville kept casting about for something to say which should ingratiate him with her.

He was resolved to say nothing of love to her.
"It is a beautiful night," he said.
"Yes, it is," agreed Ellen, and she looked at the moon.

She felt the boy's burning, timid, worshipful eyes on her face.

She trembled, and yet she was angry and annoyed.

She felt in an undefined fashion that she herself was the summer night and the flowers and the crescent moon, and all that was fair and beautiful in the whole world to this other soul, and shame seized her instead of pride.