"I worship you, Sylvia. You've got that? You take it in?"
"Yes, dearest."
"Well, I'm yours. You can do what you like. I give in. I dare say your woman's instinct is right. And, besides, I can't leave you. And now, my darling, lovely, exquisite angel you will go—AT ONCE!"
"Oh, Frank, forgive me."
A violently loud knock startled them from each other's arms. There was another cab at the door.
"Keep still. Keep over here, Sylvia," commanded Woodville.
From the window he saw, standing on the steps, Savile, in his Eton suit. He smiled and waved his hand to the boy.
"It's Savile. I'll open the door. It'll be all right. I expect he followed you."
In two seconds Sylvia was composed and calm, looking round at the pictures in her chinchilla cloak.
Savile followed his host up, laughing vaguely, and said when he saw Sylvia, in a rather marked way—