I sat on the coping, looking into the room. Broad and lofty it was, its walls hung with a fair blue paper. A handsome tapestry, looped up a little on one side, masked the tall double doors, and in the far corner stood a great tiled stove for burning wood. From the ceiling was hanging a basin of alabaster--an electric fitting, really. The powerful light of its hidden lamps spread, softened, all about the chamber. The blue walls bore a few reproductions of famous pictures. Meisonnier seemed in high favour, while Sir Joshua's Nellie O'Brien surveyed the salon with her quiet, steady gaze. A great bowl of fresh flowers stood on the grand piano. The girl herself was sitting half on the edge of an old gate-table in the middle of the room. The toe of one rosy slipper touched the polished boards, and her other foot swung gently to and fro. One of her short sleeves she had pushed up to the shoulder and was looking critically at a scratch, which showed red, high up on her round, white arm. A simple evening frock of old-rose colour, dainty old gold slippers to keep her feet. Her skin was wonderfully white, her hair dark and brown. This was cut straight across her forehead in French fashion, and then brought down and away over the ears. Her face was towards me, as she examined her arm. I could see she was very pretty. "Don't you think you ought to apologize?" she said suddenly. Her words took me by surprise. For a moment I did not answer. "Eh?" she said, looking up. "Yes," I said, "I do. Fact is, I haven't any, and the gardens are all shut now." "Any what?" she said, letting the sleeve slip back into its place. "Garlands, Silvia." She smiled for an instant. Then: "How dare you come up like this?" "I wanted to see what Silvia was like." She stifled a little yawn. "You heard me say she was holy, fair and wise." "And excelling, I know. But the second verse asks, "Is she kind as she is fair?" "Well?" "I came up to see if she was." "And is she?" "I don't think she is quite." "Can you get down all right?" "In fact, I'm sure she isn't," I said. "But then--" "What?" "She'd have to be most awfully kind to be that, Silvia. Good-bye." "I say," said Silvia. "Yes? I said, with one leg over the balustrade. "As you're here, if you would like to come in and sit down for a little--I mean, I don't want to seem inhospitable." "I knew it," said I. "I knew she was, really." "Goodbye, Silvia. Thank you very, very much all the same. I've found out what I wanted to know." I slipped over the coping and set my foot in the thong. There was a rustle of silk and a quick step on the balcony. Then two soft hands took hold of my wrists. I looked up at the big eyes, the face white in the moonlight, the dark, straight-cut hair. "Wait!" she said. "Who are you and where do you come from?" "My name's Valentine," said I. "I am a gentleman of Verona."