Doomsday by Warwick Deeping

The garden was full of moths, and the uses of moths are various. They provide men with nice similes; they lay eggs in his clothes, and breed caterpillars for his fruit trees, and they flutter at night in at his windows, or dance in the glare of his headlights.

Mrs. Fream had ordained a moth-party. It happened on a warm night in September. Electricians had run wires about the Hill House garden, and little lights glowed among the bushes and the trees, and outlined the paths, so that the lawns were dark spaces where the human moths fluttered up and down. The dancing faun had a silver star on his forehead. The fountain playing above the lily pool had lights ingeniously arranged about it, so that it threw drops of liquid silver and gold. Between the dances people wandered out, the men strangely dim and part of the darkness, the women like ghosts, moths, or moving flowers, just as it pleased your fancy.