Sylvia finished her meditations, and lifted her eyes from the ground. She was clear as to what she would do—she would punish this man, as never in her life had she punished a man before. She would punish him, even though to do it she had to walk on the proprieties with the sharp heels of her white suede slippers.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, gently. “I hope I don’t presume——”
“What is it?” he asked, and she looked him over. He was a tall man, with a pale, lean face, prominent features, and a large mouth which drooped at the corners with heavy lines. He was evidently a serious person, mature looking for a student.
“Are you by any chance an instructor in the University?” she asked.
“But then—are you a public official of some sort?”
“No,” he said, still more surprised. “Why should you think that?”
“Well, my cousin seemed to know you, and yet not to know you. He seemed willing to leave me with you, so I thought you might be—possibly a city detective——”
She saw him wince, and she feigned quick embarrassment. “I hope you’ll excuse me!” she said. “You see, my position is difficult.” Then, with one of her shining smiles, “Or have I perchance met Sir Galahad—or some other comforter of distressed damsels—St. George, or Don Quixote?”
When an outrage is offered to you by one of the loveliest beings that you have ever beheld, with the face of a higher order of angels, and a look straight into your eyes, so eloquent of simplicity and trustfulness—what more can you do than to look uncomfortable?
And Sylvia, of course, did not help him. She just continued to gaze and smile. He got his breath and stammered, “Really—I think—if you will permit me——” He paused, and then drew himself up. “I think that I had best introduce myself.”
“I am willing to accept the rebuke,” said Sylvia, “without putting you to that trouble.”
She saw that he did not even understand. He went on—his manner that of a man laboring with a very serious purpose. “I really think that I should introduce myself.”
“Are we not having a pleasant time without it?” she countered.
This, of course, was a complete blockade. He stood at a loss; and meantime Sylvia waited, with every weapon ready and every sense alert. “I beg pardon,” he said, at last, “but may I ask you something? I’ve a feeling as if I had met you before.”