In the mystic spaces of the night the pines could be heard in their weird monotone, as they softly smote branch and branch, as if moving in some solemn and sorrowful dance.
"This has been quite the most delightful summer of my experience," said the painter.
"I have found it very pleasant," said the girl.
From time to time Hawker glanced furtively at Oglethorpe, Hollanden, and the Worcester girl.

This glance expressed no desire for their well-being.
"I shall miss you," he said to the girl again.

His manner was rather desperate.

She made no reply, and, after leaning toward her, he subsided with an air of defeat.
Eventually he remarked: "It will be very lonely here again.

I dare say I shall return to New York myself in a few weeks." "I hope you will call," she said.
"I shall be delighted," he answered stiffly, and with a dissatisfied look at her.
"Oh, Mr.Hawker," cried the younger Worcester girl, suddenly emerging from the cloud of argument which Hollanden and Oglethorpe kept in the air, "won't it be sad to lose Grace?
Indeed, I don't know what we shall do.