coffee-pots, standing on a tray on the gate-table. I watched her
in silence. When the lamps were burning, she turned and seated
herself on the table as I had seen her first. She regarded me
curiously, swinging that little right leg.

"I shouldn't have liked you to think me unkind," she said, with a
grave smile.

I rose to my feet.

"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