than sympathy. He shut the door
quietly, whistled to show he was there, and walked slowly up and down
the room. Then he stood by the latticed window, looking out, and tried
to think of something to say. What comforted girls when they cried? The
inspiration "Tea" suggested itself, but that would mean the entrance of
outsiders. Presently he said shyly and sympathetically, "Shall I smoke,
Sylvia?"

She made a gesture signifying that nothing mattered now, and went on
crying.

"I say," said Savile, striking a match, "it can't be as bad as all
that."

He went up to the sofa and she held out her hand. Demonstrations of
sentiment made him acutely uncomfortable. He put the pretty hand back
carefully, and said in a level tone, "I tell you what I should do if I
were you. I should tell some one about it--Me, for instance. I've been
through a lot--more than any one knows." (Here he gave what he believed
to be a bitter smile.) "I might be some use; I'd do my best, anyway."

"Darling boy!"

"Oh, buck up, Sylvia! You're going to tell me every word about it, and
more, once you start! I'll help you to start." He waited a moment and
then said rather loudly and sternly, "What's wrong between you and
Woodville?"

Sylvia sat up, took her handkerchief from her eyes, and stared at him.

"What? Have you guessed?"

"Have I guessed! If I'm always as sharp as this I shall cut myself some
day," said the schoolboy ironically. "Why, what do you take me for? Do I
live here? Do I come down to breakfast? Aren't I and Woodville great
friends? Have I guessed?" He sighed in despair at her denseness.

"Dear boy, I'm sure I'd tell you anything. You're so wonderful and so
clever, but how could I know you'd be so sweet about it? Why papa said
even you wanted me to marry Mr. Ridokanaki. He quoted you."

"Well, why shouldn't he? I do wish it."

Sylvia's eyes blazed, and she tapped her foot on the carpet.

"Oh, do you? Very well, I'm sure I don't mind! You see it doesn't matter
in the very least what you think. After all you're only a little boy."

Savile smiled with genuine amusement, patted her golden hair paternally,
and said "Of course. But if I'd happened to suggest your going to the
registry office with Woodville this afternoon (I believe there's one
somewhere in Kensington, near the work-house), I suppose I'd have been
what you call a _dear_ little boy, and you'd have let me have some jam
for tea.... Poor girl! You must be bad." He laughed