"Eight o'clock!" said Strephon to Phyllis, and kissed her.
The silence brooded again.
Bim fled in dismay to the next seat, where another love-bitten couple happened to be sprawling. He witnessed a similar feast of brazen bathos.
Stupid silence still gloomed over the rapture. He waited.
The great clock chimed again.
"Quarter-past," said she, and a kiss flew skywards.
From seat to seat Bim went; every move was marked by the chimes of the Parliamentary clock. "Half-past." "Quarter-to." "Nine."
Such was love's dialogue. O time! O manners! Where are our raptures, our sonnets and rhapsodies?
Bim became furious. He ran at full speed along the Embankment, viciously poking with his wand every love-lorn pair: and on, through Story's Gate into St. James's Park. As he went he passed scores of strolling lovers. He put his spell on every pair of them.
Through the Green Park he hurried, and across Piccadilly into Hyde Park. Wherever he went he carried magic, and produced its consequences. Love's multitudinous tongues were no longer tied. Thoughts hitherto dumb found glowing speech.