p, clasping her hands behind her head.

"You're very hospit--"

"It isn't a question of hospitality or anything else," she said slowly.
"I just tell you that you may come in if you want to."

I gazed at the slim, straight figure, the bare bent arms, the soft
white throat. Then I drew myself up and bestrode the coping.

"Of course," I said, "this is a dream. In reality I am fast asleep in
the car. Possibly I have met with an accident and am still
unconscious. Yet your hands felt warm..."

"And your wrists very cold, sir. Come along in and sit down. Even if
you are dreaming I suppose you'll be able to drink some coffee if I
give it you."

"If you give it me."

I drew up the thong and followed her into the room. She motioned me to
sit in a deep chair and put cigarettes by my side. Then she lighted
the lamps that were set beneath two little silver 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 cup? I
don't take sugar."

"It will be a privilege, Silvia."

"Milk?"

"Please."

The hot cafe-au-lait was very grateful. Despite the season, my long
drive through the mountain air had left me a little cold. I took my
seat on an arm of the deep chair. Outside, somewhere close at hand, a
clock struck twelve.

"The witching hour," said I. "How is it you're not in bed and asleep,
Silvia?"

"Sleep! What with the noise of passing cars?"

"I forgot," said I. "The continuous roar of the traffic here must be
very trying. The congestion between here and Villach is a disgrace. I
met three carts in the last forty odd miles