and Sandow's exercises.... I
was at Oxford with him, you know," Frank added explanatorily.

"I see, it's an old affection. Anybody else I'm not to speak to?"

"Nonsense, Sylvia; I want you to be charming to every one, of course. I
believe in that sort of thing. It's the right atmosphere for a party.
Don't think about _me_."

"How can I help it?"

Her grey eyes were reproachful.

Woodville looked into them, then abruptly looked away.

"What are you going to wear, Sylvia?"

"My white satin, I think. Do you like it? Or don't you?"

"No; it makes you look too much like a Gainsborough--or no, more like a
Sargent--which is worse. I mean worse for me, of course."

"Oh, dear! why am I always _like_ something? Well, what am I to wear,
Frank? I've just ordered a sort of fluffy grey chiffon--like a cloud."

"Wear that. You're always in the clouds, and I'm always looking up at
them.... I hope it has a silver lining?"

"Perhaps it has. I don't know yet, it hasn't come home. Felicity's going
to wear a sort of Watteau-ish dress, pink and white and blue, you know.
Of course, she won't wear any jewels--she never will. You see, Chetwode
has such a lot of old ones in his family. She says she's afraid, if she
did, the _Perfect Lady_ or _Home Chirps_ might say 'Lady Chetwode as
usual appeared in the "Chetwode emeralds"'--or something idiotic of that
sort."

"How like her! Then just wear your string of pearls."

"Mayn't I wear the little turquoise heart that you--didn't give me, the
one I bought in the Brompton Road and gave it to myself from you, so
that I could honestly say you hadn't?"

"Better not, Sylvia. It looks as if it came out of a cracker. And we
don't need any symbols and things, do we?"

"Very well.... I'm afraid, Frank ... I shall have to go now."

Woodville looked hurt.

"What? Already! Then why did you waste the precious minutes alone in
making epigrams about F. G. Rivers? He's such a good fellow too, I
always got on with him at Oxford."

"Did I make epigrams? How funny! I didn't know I could."

She came a little nearer. Woodville said in a low voice, rather
quickly--

"You looked really divine just now through the window, with the
hyacinths in your hands--like the goddess of something or other--spring,
I suppose.... When I look at you, I understand all the old poetry. _To
Amaryllis_ and Herrick--and--you know."

"Dear Frank!... Am I to find an address?"

"You can't, dearest. There is no address. B