Ominous sounds arose from the parlour piano, where a gaunt maiden lady rested one spare hand among the keys while the other languidly pawed the music of the "Holy City." Somewhere in the house a baby was being spanked and sent to bed.

There came the clatter of dishes from the wrecks of the rite in the kitchen, accompanied by the warm perfume of dishwater.
But, little by little the high stars came out, and the gray veil fell gently over unloveliness and squalour; little by little the raucous voices were hushed; the scuffle and clatter and the stringy noise of the piano died away, till, distantly, the wind awoke in the woods, and very far away the rushing music of a little brook sweetened the silence.
Rita, who had been reading yesterday's paper by the lamplight which streamed over her shoulder from the open parlour-window, sighed, stifled a yawn, laid the paper aside, and drew her pretty wrap around her shoulders.
"It's absurd," she said, plaintively, "but in this place I become horribly sleepy by nine o'clock.

You won't mind if I go up, will you ?" "Not if you feel that way about it," he said, smiling.
"Oh, Rita!" said Valerie, reproachfully, "I thought we were going to row Louis about on the stump-pond!" "I am too sleepy; I'd merely fall overboard," said Rita, simply, gathering up her bonbons.

"Louis, you'll forgive me, won't you?
I don't understand why, but that child never sleeps." They rose to bid her good night.

Valerie's finger tips rested a moment on Neville's sleeve in a light gesture of excuse for leaving him and of promise to return.