midnight
The little lakes , the quiet streets , the court house square , his sister 's home , Frieda 's home , his own home , had been once more invested for him with the radiance of romance -- that intangible glory of feeling which can have no existence outside the illusion of love . Frieda 's face was everywhere in it , her form , the look of her eyes . He could see nothing there now save the glory of Frieda . It was as though the hard , weary face of a barren landscape were suddenly bathed in the soft effulgence of a midnight moon . As for Blackwood , it was as lovely as ever but he could not see it . The fact that his attitude had changed toward Angela for the time being made all the difference . He did not really hate her -- he told himself that .