She was sitting in the garden with her daughter on a night of moonlight; behind them rose the wall of mountains, silent and shadowed, in front were the lights of the little town, and the clatter of its crowded streets.

Between the town and the mountains, at the side of the hotel this garden lay, a garden of grass and trees, where the moonlight slept in white brilliant pools of light, or dripped between the leaves of the branches.

It partook alike of the silence of the hills and the noise of the town, for a murmur of voices was audible from this and that point, and under the shadows of the trees could be seen the glimmer of light-colored frocks and the glow of cigars waxing and waning.

A waiter came across the garden with some letters for Mrs.Thesiger.There were none for Sylvia and she was used to none, for she had no girl friends, and though at times men wrote her letters she did not answer them.
A lamp burned near at hand.

Mrs.Thesiger opened her letters and read them.