"Yes."
"I saw you a while ago, when I was having my meal."
"Yes—I was watching you."
"I thought you were a boy."
"Yes. My father told me to keep away. I wanted to meet you, so I came to wake you up."
"He may be watching us now."
"No. He is sleeping. Listen—you can hear him snore."
I could, indeed. The silence of the garden was broken now by a distant, choking snore.
We both laughed. She sat on the little mossy seat in the pergola doorway And on the side away from the snore. (I had the wit to be sure of that.)
"I wanted to meet you," she repeated. "Was it too bold?"