Yet late that night I heard the murmur of their voices and looked out
into the white night. They stood together by the sun-dial, and his arm
was about her, her head on his shoulder. And it was not the first time
that a pair of lovers had stood by that dial under the moon.

I went back to bed, but I could not sleep. I lighted my bedside lamp,
and read _Vanity Fair_. I find Thackeray an excellent corrective when I
am emotionally keyed up.

Nancy, too, was awake; I could see her light shining across the hall.
She came in, finally, and sat on the foot of my bed.

"Your viking was singing as we passed his boat--"

"Singing?"

"Yes, hymns, Elizabeth. The others laughed, Anthony and Mimi, but I
didn't laugh. His voice is--wonderful--"

She had on a white-crêpe _peignoir_, and there was no color in her
cheeks. Her skin had the soft whiteness of a rose petal. Her eyes were
like stars. As I lay there and looked at her I wondered if it was
Anthony's kisses or the memory of Olaf's singing which had made her eyes
shine like that.

I had heard him sing, and I said so, "in church."

Her arms clasped her knees. "Isn't it queer that he goes to church and
sings hymns?"