"
She was as scarlet as if he had put the thing most indelicately.
"No--more you have," she stammered.
"Then I ask you--may I now?"
"Of course, you may, Cecil. You might before. I can't run at you,
you know."
At that supreme moment he was conscious of nothing but
absurdities. Her reply was inadequate. She gave such a
business-like lift to her veil. As he approached her he found
time to wish that he could recoil. As he touched her, his gold
pince-nez became dislodged and was flattened between them.
Such was the embrace. He considered, with truth, that it had been
a failure. Passion should believe itself irresistible. It should
forget civility and consideration and all the other curses of a
refined nature. Above all, it should never ask for leave where
there is a right of way. Why could he not do as any labourer or
navvy--nay, as any young man behind the counter would have
done? He recast the scene. Lucy was standing flowerlike by the
water, he rushed up and took her in his arms; she rebuked him,
permitted him and revered him ever after for his manliness.
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