Then she went to her window, and looked out, first above and next below.
Above, the moon was hanging over the gardened hollow before the Museum
with the airy lightness of an American moon. Below was Burnamy behind the
tubbed evergreens, sitting tilted in his chair against the house wall,
with the spark of his cigar fainting and flashing like an American
firefly. Agatha went down to the door, after a little delay, and seemed
surprised to find him there; at least she said, "Oh!" in a tone of
surprise.
Burnamy stood up, and answered, "Nice night."
"Beautiful!" she breathed. "I didn't suppose the sky in Germany could
ever be so clear."
"It seems to be doing its best."
"The flowers over there look like ghosts in the light," she said
dreamily.
"They're not. Don't you want to get your hat and wrap, and go over and
expose the fraud?"
"Oh," she answered, as if it were merely a question of the hat and wrap,
"I have them."
They sauntered through the garden walks for a while, long enough to have
ascertained that there was not a veridical phantom among the flowers, if
they had been looking, and then when they came to their accustomed seat,
they sat down, and she said, "I don't know that I've seen the moon so
clear since we left Carlsbad.
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