"No," she said in a low, soft voice; "let's break the compact, just for once—just for once!" She was instinctively taking advantage of a kind of weakness he showed this morning for the first time—due to his nervous fatigue—the weariness of long self-repression.
"Certainly not!" he answered, with no conviction whatever. "Whose birthday is it? It isn't Christmas Day—it isn't Midsummer Day. No! I don't see any excuse for doing it."
"Yes, there's a reason! It will be Sexagesima Sunday next week!"
"So it will!"
"Ah, you admit that! Well, let's go and have lunch at Richmond—or somewhere like that!"
"My poor dear child, what's the matter! You're not sane.... Besides, it's impossible," said Woodville, hesitating, in a hopeful voice.
"It isn't impossible. Papa's gone out for the whole day. Leave it to me! I'll arrange it. If the worst came to the worst, I could tell papa that I longed for a little air and made you take me down to Richmond! Why! you know he wouldn't mind. He would see nothing in it. We'd be back before five."
Woodville looked tempted.
"Besides, there would be nothing in it," added Sylvia softly.
He took her hand. "Temptress!" he said. "Of course there wouldn't be any earthly harm in it," he said doubtfully.