"With pleasure," said Sylvia. She took his arm.
"It is very kind of you, Miss Crofton. What a very interesting face that young man has!"
"Which young man?" Sylvia asked innocently.
"The young man who was in the garden. I am sure he is clever. Your father's—er—secretary, I think? What did you say his name was, again?"
"His name is Mr. Woodville. Yes, I think he is clever. Quite an old friend, you know," Sylvia added rather lamely.
One could see no difference in the Greek, since he talked on in his usual urbane way, and made no allusion of any sort the whole evening, either to the floral tribute he had sent, to his letter to Sir James, or to the little scene he had interrupted.
In the supper-room all was gaiety and laughter.
"How hollow all this sort of thing is, isn't it?" said De Valdez, presenting Felicity with a plover's egg, as he passed carrying a plate laden with them to some one else.
"They do seem rather hungry, don't they? But why aren't you eating any supper, Mr. Wilton?"