. .
Darling . . . Darling." She felt now so terribly part of him that
she seemed to have lost all her own identity. His hands, softly,
tenderly passed up and down her body, stroking her hair, her cheeks,
her arms. Her mouth was against his cheek and she was utterly
motionless, shivering a little sometimes and once her hand moved up
and caught his and then moved away again. At last, as it seemed from
an infinite distance, his voice came to her, speaking to her.
"Maggie, darling," he said, "don't go back till late to-night. You
can say that those people asked you to stay to dinner. Your aunts
can't do anything. Nothing can happen. Stay with me here and then
later we'll go and have dinner at a little place I know . . . and
then come back here . . . come back here . . . like this. Maggie,
darling, say you will. You must. We mayn't have another chance for
so long. You're coming to me afterwards. What does it matter, a
week or two earlier? What does it matter, Maggie? Stay here. Let
us love one another and have something to think about . . . to
remember . . . to remember . . . to remember . . ." His voice seemed
to slip away into infinity as voices in a dream do.
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