"It was very sweet of you to come," she said in a lifeless voice.

"Without an invitation! You did not expect me to be quite so sweet as
that?"

Mrs. Thorne did not reply to this challenge. "You are not alone?" she asked
gently.

"I am alone, dear Mrs. Thorne. I am everything I ought not to be. But you
will not mind for an hour or two? It's a great deal to ask of you, this hot
night, I know."

"You must not think of going back to-night." Mrs. Thorne glanced at the
hired carriage from town. "Did you come on purpose, this dreadful weather,
my dear? I am very stupid, but I've only just come myself."

"Oh, you are angelic! I heard at Colfax, as we were coming up, that
you were at the mine. I came--by main strength. But I should have come
somehow. Have you people staying with you? You look so very gay with your
lights--you look like a whole community."

"We have no lights here, you see; we are anything but gay. We were talking
of you only just now," Mrs. Thorne added infelicitously.

The other did not seem to hear her. She let her eyes rove down the lengths
of empty piazza. The close-reefed awnings revealed the stars above the
trees, dark and breezeless on the lawn. The matted rose-vines clung to the
pillars motionless.