She sat listlessly watching the dusk-moths hovering among the pinks.

Far away in the darkness rockets were rising, spraying the sky with fire; faint strains of music came from the forest.
"Their Fete Galante has begun," she said.

"Am I detaining you too long, Duane ?" "No." She smiled: "It is rather amusing," she observed, "my coming to you for my morals--to you, Duane, who were once supposed to possess so few." "Never mind what I possess," he said, irritated.

"What sort of advice do you expect ?" "Why, moral advice, of course." "Oh! Are you on the verge of demoralisation ?" "I don't know.

Am I ?...