She made a movement to get up, but the sofa was a very low one, and she rather ridiculously bumped down on it again; and before she could make another attempt he had flown across to help her. ‘No, no,’ said Catherine, whose indignation was greater than any she had felt in her life, pushing aside his outstretched hands. So then he lifted her up bodily, indifferent to everything else in the world; and having set her on her feet he held her like that, tightly in his arms, and didn’t care if he had to die for it. There was a moment’s complete silence. Catherine was so much amazed that for a moment she was quite still. Then she gave a gasp--muffled, because of his coat, against which her face was pressed. ‘<i>Oh</i>----’ she gasped, faint and muffled, trying to push him away. She might as well have tried to push a rock away. ‘<i>Oh</i>----’ she gasped again, as Christopher, still not caring if he had to die for it, began kissing her. He kissed what he could--her hair, the tip of one ear, and she, aghast, horrified, buried her face deeper and deeper into his coat in her efforts to protect it. Oh, the outrage--never in her life--how dared he, how dared he--just because she was alone, and had no one to defend her---- Not a word of this came out; it was entirely muffled in his coat. Aghast and horrified, Catherine continued to have the top of her head kissed, and her aghastness and horror became overwhelming when she realised that she--no, it wasn’t possible, it <i>couldn’t</i> be that she--that this--that she was somehow, besides being horrified, strangely shot through by a feeling that was not unpleasant? Impossible, impossible.... ‘Let me go,’ she gasped into his coat. ‘Let me <i>go</i>----’ For answer he took her head in his hands and held it back and kissed her really, right on her mouth, as no one in her life before had ever kissed her. Impossible, impossible.... She stood, her arms hanging by her side, her body quivering. She didn’t seem able to move. She seemed as if she were becoming every instant more drawn into this, more absorbed in what was happening--as profoundly absorbed as he was, as remote from realities. The room disappeared, the relics of George disappeared, the world disappeared, and all the reminders of the facts of her life. Youth had swept down out of the skies and caught her up in its arms into a strange, warm oblivion. He and she were not any longer Christopher and Catherine--Catherine tied up in a tangle of relationships, of obligations, of increasing memories, Christopher an impetuous young man who needed tremendously to be kept in his proper place: she was simply the Beloved, and he was Love. ‘I worship you,’ murmured Christopher. Through her dream she heard him murmuring, and it woke her up to consciousness. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was gazing down at her--beautiful, all light. She stared at him an instant, still held in his arms, collecting her thoughts.