The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. She could not help thinking of Capes. Jackson, gallantly. Her moods were many and always striking. They seldom arrive on the beach. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. "You call in vain," rejoined Thames. ” “Oh, you mean Mr. 165 “Uh, my parents are going skiing in Colorado after New Year’s. I doubt I hold any interest for him anymore.
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