you!"

She thrust him from her. "You're hurting me," she said, and she panted
as she spoke.

"I want to hurt you," he answered.

"But you mustn't...."

He did not let her finish her sentence. He pressed his lips hard on hers
until his strength seemed to pass away from him. He felt in some strange
way that her eyes were closed and that she was moaning....

He put his arms about her again, and drew her head gently on to his
breast. "My dear," he said softly, bending over her and kissing her
hair.

She lay very still in his arms, so still that he thought she had fallen
asleep. Her long lashes trembled a little, and then she opened her eyes,
sighing contentedly as she did so. He smiled down at her, and she smiled
in response. Then she put her hand up and stroked his cheek and ruffled
his hair.

"Funny Irish boy!" she said again.

4

He climbed on to a 'bus which bore him eastwards. It was impossible, in
his state of exaltation, to go home and eat in the company of the
others. Ninian would probably be back from Southampton, unbalanced with
admiration for Tom Arthurs and the _Gigantic_, and then Gilbert would
tell him how Sir Geoffrey Mundane had behaved during the rehearsal and
how exasperating Mrs. Michael Gordon, the leading lady, had been. "She's
brilliant, of course," he had said about her once, "but if I were her
husband I'd beat her!" He could not endure the thought of spending the
evening in the customary company of his friends. They would want to
talk, they would draw him into the conversation, and he neither wished
to talk nor to listen. His desire was only to remember, to go over again
in his mind that long, passionate afternoon with Cecily.... So he had
telephoned to Mrs. Clutters telling her that he would not be in to
dinner, and then, climbing on to a 'bus, had allowed himself to be
carried eastwards, not knowing or caring whither he was being carried.

He paid no heed to the other passengers on the 'bus, nor did he interest
himself in the traffic of the streets. When the conductor came,
demanding fares, he asked for a ticket to the terminus, but did not
bother to ask where the terminus was. His mind was full of golden hair
and warm, moist lips and soft, disturbing perfume and the touch of a
shapely hand. Cecily had insisted on calling him "Paddy" because he was
Irish and because so many Englishmen are called "Henry," and when he had
left her, she had offered her lips to him and, when he had kiss