Sylvia rose at once. She would like to linger on this dim piazza for hours, and to fancy that Dunham stayed too from choice and not from courtesy; but she well knew that the charm of the occasion would vanish with Edna, and even if it were not so, the Prince's companionship was not for her without the Princess.
Dunham turned to her. "It isn't sleepy time for you, too, is it?"
"Yes, I believe it is. I'm sorry to be so—so unsporty."
"It's all a bluff, too. Just as if we didn't know that as soon as the rest of us innocents are quiet and dreaming of blueberries, your window will fly open and off you'll go on a broomstick."
Sylvia smiled. "I don't believe any one of this party will dream as hard of blueberries as I shall," she declared.
"Come now, you know you're trading on a man's supposed superiority to curiosity,—only supposed, mind you."
"I never even supposed it," put in Sylvia with light scorn.
"Tell me what you were brewing on that stove to-night."
Edna's features were rigid in her impatience with John's pursuance of an uncomfortable subject. They were all in the living-room now, and she and Sylvia were standing with lighted candles in their hands.
Sylvia pursed her lips demurely. "I will—perhaps—if it works, Mr. Dunham."