Jack took no part in the animated discussion that followed.
"Don’t look bored, Jack," said Mildred at last. "Ask Mr. Eames questions, as I do."
"There isn’t any need. You have covered the ground. You are mistaken about my being bored. This is my expression when I am absorbing stimulating information."
"Then he should abstain from stimulants. Don’t you think so, Mr. Eames?"
They arose from the table, and going out into the arc-lighted street, walked slowly west.
When they reached Brazil, Mildred declared her desire to go into the building.
"I suppose I ought to leave you," said Eames reluctantly, "but perhaps if you remain in the grounds I may meet you again."
"Several things. A procession of illuminated boats in honor of the cadets, a concert by the West Point band outside the Michigan house, illumination of all the State buildings and dancing in many of them, but notably New York, all for the cadets. You will be likely to hear enough of those young men and see enough of them if you remain, Van Tassel."
"Oh, we can’t," smiled Mildred demurely, as she gave her hand to the lieutenant. "We have important letters to write."
The "we," even in jest, was music to Jack. He turned to her as they ascended Brazil’s steps. "Well, are you ready to come back to civil life?"
"Haven’t I been civil all the time? And you," reproachfully, "were going to leave me."
"I think you might have more regard for me than for him."
Mildred did not answer. They had reached the large salon which was the second floor of Brazil’s home, and from thence ascended the spiral iron staircase leading to the roof. Mounting another short flight of steps, they entered one of the four towers, and standing between its white pillars looked down on the enchanting vision of early evening in the White City,—the sum of imaginable loveliness.
The imposing façades of its palaces were now pure but not dazzling; the green trees and flowering shrubs of Wooded Island were hung with thousands of fairy lights; the long, bridge-spanned canals wound away into distant mysterious vistas, where tower on tower still rose far as the eye could discern; and, queen above all, stood the flamy curves of the coronet of Administration.
The columns of the Art Palace were mirrored in the lagoon, and near and far upon the water’s breast lay little boats, gay with lights, in readiness for the procession soon to take place; their chains of colored globes faithfully reflected in the depths below.