burst out, 'I'm so glad to have you know all about me at last! Isn't it good to be honest together for these last five minutes before I go away?' Her eyes were luminous. She was beautiful.
'Come out on the porch,' said Roger. 'The moonlight is lovely—not so lovely as on the little lake, but better than nothing. Won't you, please? For our last five minutes?'
The roof of the porch outside the library cast a black shadow in one corner, and thither Roger led the way. Not with malice aforethought. Simply as an artist seeking the best location from which to view a lovely picture. For it was like looking at a lighted scene upon the stage from the black auditorium of a theater, to gaze upon the illumined valley from the dark corner of the porch. The moon was full—a big, benignant Rubensesque figure, riding the sky with slow, lazy grace, shedding light like a ripened piece of fruit fragrance, or a heavy cloud mist. The valley was bathed with the sifted phosphorescence, falling silently upon the trees below, holding up their feathery branches to catch the heaven-sent spray.
Roger and Sheilah gazed silently upon the scene, Roger half-sitting on the piazza railing, leaning against a supporting pillar behind him; Sheilah
