"Silvia," I said.
"Sir"
"I do not know what to say. Yet I want to say something. I think you are very gentle, Silvia. If I were old, I think the sight of you would make me feel young again, and if Shakespeare had known you, I think he would have written more sonnets and fewer plays."
Silvia spread out deprecating white arms and bowed low.
"I doubt it," she said. "But I know he would have given me a cigarette."
"I beg your pardon," said I, handing her the box.
When I had given her a light, she turned again to the coffee.
"It ought to be hot enough now, I think. D'you mind using my cup? I don't take sugar."
"It will be a privilege, Silvia."
"Milk?"