"You've got a jolly fine piano, any way," said Jenny, sitting down to a Bechstein grand to pick out some of Miss Victoria Monk's songs with the right hand while she held a cigarette in the left. "Then I write a bit," said Maurice. "Criticisms, you know. I told you I wrote a notice of your ballet. I'm twenty-four and I shall come into a certain amount of money, and my people live in a large house in Surrey and oh, I--well--I'm a _dilettante_. Now you know my history." "Whatever on earth's a dilly--you do use the most unnatural words. I shall call you Dictionary Dick." "Look here, let's chuck explanations," said Maurice. "I simply must kiss you. Let's go and look out at the river." He pulled her towards the window and flung it wide open. Together they leaned out, smoking. The sparrows were silent now. They could hear the splash and gurgle of the water against the piers, and the wind shaking the plane tree bare along the embankment. They watched the lamp-lighter go past on his twinkling pilgrimage. They listened to the thunder of London streets a long way off. Their cigarettes were finished. Together they dropped to extinction in a shower of orange sparks below. Maurice drew Jenny back into the darkening room. "Look! The windows are like big sapphires," he said, and caught her to his arms. They stood enraptured in the dusk and shadows of the old house. Round them Attic shapes glimmered: the gods of Greece regarded them: Aphrodite laughed. "Don't all these statues frighten you?" said Jenny. "No, they're too beautiful." "Oh!" screamed Jenny. "Oh! She moved. She moved." "Don't be foolish, child. You're excited." "I must go to the theater. It's late. I do feel silly." "I'll drive you down." "But I'll come again," she said. "Only next time we'll light the gas when it gets dark. I hate these statues. They're like skelingtons." "I'm going to make a statue of you. May I? Dancing?" "If you like." "I adore you." "So do I you," said Jenny. "Not so much as I do." "Just as much, Mr. Knowall," she said, shaking her head. They kissed once more. "Jenny, Jenny!" It was almost a poignant cry. "Jenny, I wish this moment were a thousand years. But never mind, we shall always be lovers." "I hope we shall." "Why only hope? We shall. We must." "You never know," she whispered. "Men are funny; you never know." "Don't you trust me?" "I trust nobody. Yes, I do. I trust you." "My darling, darling!" Then downstairs they went, closer locked on every step, close together with hearts beating, the world before them, and the stars winking overhead. Chapter XVI: _Loves Halcyon_