"You're not--I want you to meet him, Sophie."
"You want him every bit for yourself. Don't be a hypocrite, Diana."
Diana laid her hands on Sophie's shoulders and shook her a little, laughing.
"Sophie, do you ever feel so young that you are almost wild with it--as if there hadn't been any years since you wore pinafores and pigtails?"
"Don't shout it from the housetops. I'm a very few years behind. What a lot of wasted years, Sophie."
"And now you are longing for your prison----"
"You'd better go down and dress, dear. Put on that pale blue, with your pearls, Diana. It fits in with the moonlight."
Peter Pan was Diana's cat. He was as yellow as a harvest moon, he was fed on fish, and was of a prodigious fatness. During Diana's sojourn abroad he had been looked after by Delia Hobbs.
Delia was Diana's housekeeper. She had a lame hip and a lovely mind. She went up to Mrs. Martens' room after Diana had left to see if the little lady was comfortable for the night.
She eyed Peter Pan, who was in the middle of the big bed.
"Peter," she said, severely, "that's no place for you."
Peter rolled over, and clawed the lace spread luxuriously.
"Shall I take him off, ma'am?" Delia asked.
"It's nice to have him here," said Mrs. Martens, doubtfully, "but perhaps I ought not to let him stay. You know best, Delia."
Delia, a little flattered by such deference, hesitated. "I might bring his basket up here," she said; "he isn't a bit of trouble. He just goes to sleep and doesn't wake up until morning."
As Delia opened the door to go down, the rippling measures of "The Spring Song," played softly, came up to them. Sophie had a vision of Diana in her shimmering gown, waiting in the moonlight for Anthony.
Delia came back with the basket. It was of brown wicker with brown cushions. Peter, curled up in it, made a sunflower combination.
"You are sure you're all right, Miss Sophie?" Delia asked as she stood on the threshold. "If you don't want the electric light, there's a candle on your table, and if you like the air straight from the sea you can open the door on the porch. Miss Diana used to like to lie and look at the moonlight."
The whole world seemed obsessed by the moonlight. Its white radiance, when Mrs. Martens at last turned off the glaring bulbs, seemed to cast a spell over sea and land. She stepped out on the porch, and was awed by the beauty of the wide sweep of shining sky and sea. Then, far below on the hidden road, she heard the beat of a motor.