Mrs. Levice was in bright spirits, and seemed striving to outdo the night
in brilliancy. For a while Kemp maintained a sort of Roland-for-an-Oliver
conversation with her; but with his eyes continually straying to the girl
before him, it became rather difficult. Some merry rowers down the river
were singing college songs harmoniously; and Mrs. Levice soon began to hum
with them, her voice gradually subsiding into a faint murmur. The balmy,
summer-freighted air made her feel drowsy. She listened absently to Ruth's
occasional warnings to Kemp, and to the swift dip of the oars.

"Now we have clear sailing for a stretch," said Ruth, as they came to a
broad curve. "Did you think you were going to be capsized when we shot
over that snag, Mamma?"

She leaned a little farther forward, looking past Kemp.

"Mamma!"

Then she straightened herself back in her seat. Kemp, noting the sudden
flush that had rushed to and from her cheek, turned halfway to look at Mrs.
Levice. Her head was leaning against the flag-staff; her eyes were closed,
in the manner of more wary chaperones, --Mrs. Levice slept.

Dr. Kemp moved quietly back to his former position.

Far across the river a woman's silvery voice was singing the sweet old
love-song, "Juanita;" overhead, the golden crescent moon hung low from the
floor of heaven pulsating with stars; it was a passionate, tender night,
and Ruth, with her face raised to the holy beauty, was a dreamy part of it.
Against the black lace about her head her face shone like a cameo, her eyes