"Good God! Well, what is it? Does he think you'll forget me, do you mean?" said Woodville.
"No, he doesn't. He knows you'll forget me—in Athens. Oh, Frank," and she suddenly burst out crying, "there'll be Greeks there!"
At the sight of her tears Frank was deeply touched; but he smiled, feeling more in the real world again—the world he knew.
"My dear girl, I don't pretend for one moment to deny that there will be Greeks there. One can't expect the whole country to be expatriated because I go to Athens to work in a bank. What do you want there? Spaniards?"
"Oh! Vulgar taunts and jokes!" She dried her eyes proudly, and then said—
"Are you sure you'll be true to me?"
Woodville met unflinchingly that terrible gaze of the inquisitional innocent woman, before which men, guilty or guiltless equally, assume the same self-conscious air of shame. His eyes fell. He had no idea why he felt guilty. Certainly there had never been in his life anything to which Sylvia need have taken exception. Then his spirit asserted itself again.
"Oh, hang it all! I really can't stand this! All right, I won't go. Have it your own way. Distrust me! I dare say you think I deserve it. Is it a pleasure to leave you like this, surrounded by a lot of——Did any one look at you as you came along in the cab?"
"I don't know," she said.
He spoke tenderly, passionately now.