ward me? I don't know, I don't know. Nick, love me!
She realized that she was trembling with tenseness; she had held her attitude of easy grace so long. It tired her to be with Nick, for she never ceased to be conscious of how she looked to him, so that often her hands, her shoulders, would ache from the graceful positions she kept them in. It tired her to be with him, it tortured her to be without him.
She rose, stretching white arms to the moon, and stepped into the garden. She could see what she hoped he was seeing—silver Christabel glimmering in the moonlight through the glimmer of white flowers, against the white plume of the fountain. Moon Maiden. She bent and kissed a clump of white phlox.
Nick joined her, and they strolled up and down together.
"So fresh, so fragrant! How it comforts me!"
"Do you need comfort, Christabel?"
She looked at him without speaking. The
