silver lights. The tree had vanished and now there were
policemen and ladies in hats and strange mysterious houses. 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. "Tea," said Martin, and he vanished. "It's all right," he
said, drawing her to a creaking wicker armchair near the empty
fireplace. "No one will interrupt us. They know me here. I ordered the
room yesterday." Tea came, but she could not eat anything. In some
strange way that moment in the theatre when he had pressed her hand had
altered everything. She recognised in herself a new Maggie; she was
excited with a thick burning excitement, she was almost sleepy with the
strain of it and her cheeks were hot, but her throat icy cold. When she
told him that she wasn't hungry, he said, "I'm not either." Then he
added, not looking at her, "That fellow won't be back for an hour." He
came and stood by her looking down on her. He bent forward over the
chair and put his hands under her chin and pressed her face up towards
his. But he did not kiss her. Then he took her hands and pulled her
gently out of the chair, sat down on it himself, then, still very
tenderly, put his arms round her and drew her down to him. She lay back
against him, her cheek against his, his arms tight around her. He
whispered to her again and again, "Darling ... Darling ... Darling."
She f