Fanny spoke slowly, still watching him: “You’re such a nice man, George, and yet such a boy.” “And you are divine and inexpressibly lovely and thrilling and adorable....” They kissed again, and stood there embraced until George felt dizzy with the blood beating in his brain. He pulled her gently towards the bed, and they lay down, clothed, in each other’s arms. George’s hand moved tenderly and delicately over her uncorseted girl body, so warm and firm and fragile under the thin cool silk dress. The incoherent words of lovers gave place to silence, and they lay trembling in each other’s arms, almost like frightened children comforting each other. Fanny sighed, and opened her eyes. “What time is it?” George fumbled for his watch. “Nearly half-past eight!” “Heavens! We shall be too late for dinner if we don’t hurry.” George went to get his coat, and returned to find Fanny unconcernedly drawing her silk stockings tight and trim. “Where can we go that’s near?” “There’s a new place just started in Frith Street—we can go there.” George watched her as she smoothed her mussed hair, and absorbedly fitted on the large hat before the mirror. He was still trembling a little, and noticed how steady her hands were. Only a few minutes before they had been so close, all the barriers down, each existence melted in the other. That had been perfect, complete happiness. “Had been.” Already the current of ordinary life was sweeping them apart again. Oh, not very far really, still within hailing distance. But very far, compared with that wonderful nearness. Such an ecstasy could not last. But why not? Perhaps one of the many bitter jests of the gods—to show us for an hour what happiness might be if we were gods. None can possess another, none can be possessed. Is it possible to give, is it possible to take? Does one existence really melt into another for a few minutes, or does it only seem to? What is she thinking now? Her mind is as remote from mine as if she had slipped into another dimension. Romantically we ask too much. It is much that she is lovely and finds me desirable. Let us not ask too much. Enjoyment is enough. Yet how fragile even that is! It is as if one tried to carry a small flickering light in a thin glass vessel through a tumultuous hostile crowd. How earnest is the world to suppress the delight of lovers! How bitterly wrong all that is! They went down into the warm, airless street, where the lamps were already lighted. Dirty children still played noisily and screamed on the side-walks. An Italian woman slip-slopped past them in felt slippers, carrying a jug of beer. Soho smelled frowzy and stale. Fanny noticed this. “Why do you and Elizabeth live in this horrid district? It must be awfully unhealthy, especially for Elizabeth.”