Meadows had brought a shawl, and spread it on a rock, full under the moonlight.

There they sat, close together, feeling all the goodness and glory of the night, drinking in the scents of heather and fern, the sounds of plashing water and gently moving winds.

Above them, the vault of heaven and the friendly stars; below them, the great hollow of the valley, the scattered lights, the sounds of distant trains.
"She didn't kiss me when she said good-night!" said Doris suddenly.

"She wasn't the least sentimental--or ashamed--or grateful! Having said what was necessary, she let it alone.

She's a real lady--though rather a savage.