She fluttered out with him through the French window of the little conversation room to a part of the garden that had been boarded and enclosed, forming with its striped awning and Japanese lanterns a kind of verandah. No one was in sight.
"This is the first second to-night I haven't been utterly wretched," said Woodville firmly.
"Oh, Frank! How kind of you to talk like that!"
"How beautiful of you to look like that!—And this is the sort of thing I have to stand—utterly ignored—I suppose you know I worship you? Do you really belong to me, Sylvia?"
"Oh, Frank! Why, I love you!"
"Do you really?"
"Of course. Look here, don't tell any one—not even yourself—but I'm wearing the little locket after all."
The kiss was short but disturbing. As they came down to earth with a shock, they saw, looking at them steadily through the half-open window, Mr. Ridokanaki. He seemed interested.
At a look from Sylvia Mr. Woodville faded away, feeling as if he were sneaking off. Sylvia went indoors.
"Good evening, Miss Crofton," said the harsh yet sympathetic pleasant voice; "I have been seeking you since this half-hour.... I was coming to ask if I might have the great honour of taking you to supper. Of course, it is an immense privilege—far more than I might expect. Still, may I venture to hope?"