"Yes,—that's just what it is," she answered.
"You're in love, then, Miss Sylvia?"
Sylvia nodded again.
"Yes,—I am. It wasn't at first sight either, Jenny. I don't know why I was so dull,—but it's apt to last the longer. Don't you think so?"
"I do that, Miss Sylvia," returned the girl emphatically; "and sure a beauty like yerself should get whatever ye want without more charms than yer own bright eyes."
Sylvia laughed and dropped a little curtsy toward the kind Irish face.
"No,—no, it will take this," she sighed; "but with this, how I shall try, how I shall try!" The fervent tone suddenly became prosaic. "Have you any clean empty bottles, Jenny?"
The listeners at the window were dumb. Edna's expression had changed from glee to bewilderment. John took her arm and drew her away quietly. Together they moved noiselessly across the grass, but by tacit agreement not back to the piazza. For a minute of silence they strayed down the wood road, beneath the moon.
Dunham was first to break the embarrassed silence. "By Jove, for a minute there I felt de trop. The fair Sylvia was having fun with the cook, wasn't she? I wonder what she's really up to?"
"We say all sorts of things to Jenny, you know," returned Edna. "She's the best soul that ever lived."