caged animal.

"It is no use my coming to bed yet," she addressed her sister. "I could
not sleep. I should only kick about and disturb you. I'll sit down and
read a bit."

She found a novel and an easy-chair, and made deliberate efforts
to tranquillise herself. Soon Rose heard sighs and phews, and sudden
rustlings and slappings, and then the bang of a book upon the floor.

"I can't read! and the light brings the mosquitoes. It's too hot in
here. I'm going out to get cool, Rosie."

"A'right," mumbled drowsy Rose. And the light was extinguished, and the
blind of the French window rattled up.

Deb flung both leaves wide--like all the Redford doors, they were
never locked or barred--and drifting over the verandah, sat down on
the edge of it, with her feet on the gravel. She had tossed off her
pearl necklace and a breast-knot of wilted roses; otherwise, she sat in
full evening dress, and the night air bathed her bare neck and arms.
Also the mosquitoes found them--a delicious morsel!--so that she had
to turn her lacy skirt up over her head to be quite comfortable. From
under this hood the dark lamps of her eyes shone forth, gazing steadily
into the dim world--into the bit of future that she thought she saw
unveiled. The loom of the trees, the glimmer of flowering bushes, the
open spaces of lawn and pallid pathways, the translucent blue-green
sky, the rising moon--these things made the picture, but were to all
intents invisible to the inward sight. She really saw nothing, until
suddenly a pin-point spark appeared out of the shadows, moved along a