She caught above it all, between the roofs, the
pale flat river of the evening sky and in this river stars like
golden buttons floated. The moon was there too, a round amber coin
with the laughing face stamped upon it.
"What time is it?" she asked Martin.
"Half-past five," he said. "How early the moon rises. It's only
climbing now. See the chimney's tossing it about."
"I must get home."
"No, no." He held her arm fiercely. "You must come to tea. That's
part of the programme. We have plenty of time before seven o'clock."
She knew that she ought to return. Something seemed to tell her, as
she stood there, that now was the moment to break this off. But when
his hand was on her arm, when he was so close to her, she could not
leave him. She would have one hour more . . . He took her across the
street, down into darkness, up into light. Then they went into a
shop, up some stairs, and were suddenly in a little room with a
table with a cloth, a window looking out into the lamp-lit square,
cherry-coloured curtains and gay hunting pictures on the walls.
Martin pushed a bell in the wall and a stout waiter, perspiring,
smiling, a napkin in his hand, came to the door.
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