ountry to
please my enemy?" said Sylvia.

"Will you tell me a really better plan by which we can marry in a year
on an assured income?" he asked patiently.

"Income! Haven't I when I marry----" But he looked too angry. She
changed the sentence and became imploring.

"Frank! If you love me _really_, you can't leave me. Think, every day,
every hour without you!"

"Very well! We'll tell your father to-night, and chance it. I won't
stand these subterfuges any more. After all, we have the right to do as
we like."

"No, Frank, you will _not_ tell him till I'm twenty-one. I haven't a
right before. You would only be called horrid things--have to go,
and--think how mean it is to poor Ridokanaki! Taking his kindness, only
to round on him next year! Have you no pride, Frank?"

"Sylvia, that's all very well. But he knows all that. It's his idea."

"Yes, it _would_ be! As if I didn't see through his mean, sly scheme.
Why, it's not kindness at all!" she exclaimed.

"Good God! Well, what is it? Does he think you'll forget me, do you
mean?" said Woodville.

"No, he doesn't. He _knows you'll_ forget _me_--in Athens. Oh, Frank,"
and she suddenly burst out crying, "there'll be Greeks there!"

At the sight of her tears Frank was deeply touched; but he smiled,
feeling more in the real world again--the world he knew.

"My dear girl, I don't pretend for one moment to deny that there will be
Greeks there. One can't expect the whole country to be expatriated
because I go to Athens to work in a bank. What do you want there?
Spaniards?"

"Oh! Vulgar taunts and jokes!" She dried her eyes proudly, and then
said--

"_Are you sure you'll be true to me?_"

Woodville met unflinchingly that terrible gaze of the inquisitional
innocent woman, before which men, guilty or guiltless equally, assume
the same self-conscious air of shame. His eyes fell. He had no idea why
he felt guilty. Certainly there had never been in his life anything to
which Sylvia need have taken exception. Then his spirit asserted itself
again.

"Oh, hang it all! I really can't stand this! All right, I won't go. Have
it your own way. Distrust me! I dare say you think I deserve it. Is it a
pleasure to leave you like this, surrounded by a lot of----Did any one
look at you as you came along in the cab?"

"_I_ don't know," she said.

He spoke tenderly, passionately now.

"I worship you, Sylvia. You've got that? You take it in?"

"Yes, dearest."

"Well, I'm yours.