He watched her as she screwed up her eyes and those tantalising little lines appeared at the sides of her nose.
"I hear you did splendidly at Lord's this afternoon, Peter," she said. "There's a wonderful article about you in the Evening Post."
Then she held the glass out to be refilled. "Your turn next," she said.
"Won't you have some more?"
"Not just now, thank you."
He put the bottle down on the floor, then put out his hand to take the glass from her. As he did so his fingers closed over hers. She tried to withdraw her hand, and in the brief struggle the glass fell between them, and was smashed to smithereens.
"Our one and only glass," Rosemary exclaimed. "Please, Peter," she went on with a nervous little laugh, "will you release my hand?"
"No," he replied, and increased the pressure on her struggling fingers. "I have often been allowed to hold your hand before. Why not now?"
She shrugged her shoulders and ceased to struggle.
"Am I never to be allowed to hold your hand again?" he insisted.