Upstairs, behind the shelter of the swaying
curtain, a shining figure drew back into the shadow. Smiling, and with
an agreeable sense of adventure, Isabel tiptoed down the back stairs,
and entered the garden, unheard, by a side door.
With assumed carelessness, yet furtively watching, she made the circuit
of the lily-pool, humming to herself. A quick leap and a light foot on
the grass startled her for an instant, then she laughed, for it was only
Mr. Boffin, playing with his own dancing shadow.
[Illustration: musical notation.]
The sound of the piano had become very faint, though the windows were
open and the wind was in the right direction. Isabel stopped at another
bush, picked a few full-blown white roses, and sat down on a garden
bench to remove the thorns.
"I wonder where he can be," she said to herself. "Surely he can't have
gone home again." She listened, but there was no sound save the distant
piano, and the abrupt, playful purr of Mr. Boffin, as he pounced upon a
fallen white rose.
Isabel put the flowers in her hair, consciously missing the mirror in
which she was wont to observe the effect.
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