She turned swiftly and stared him in the face with a brilliant, oddly triumphant look.
"Sure?" she said.
His heart seemed to go black with doom. But he turned away his face from her glowing eyes, and put his arm round her waist, and drew her to him. His whole body was trembling like a taut string, and she could feel the painful plunging of his heart as he pressed her fast against him, pressed the breath out of her.
"Monica!" he murmured blindly, in pain, like a man who is in the dark.
"What?" she said softly.
He hid his face against her shoulder, in the shame and anguish of desire. He would have given anything, if this need never have come upon him. But the strange fine quivering of his body thrilled her. She put her cheek down caressingly against his hair. She could be very tender, very, very tender and caressing. And he grew quieter.
He looked up at the night again, hot with pain and doom and necessity. It had grown quite dark, the stars were out.
"I suppose we shall have to be married," he said in a dismal voice.
"Why?" she laughed. It seemed a very sudden and long stride to her. He had not even kissed her.
But he did not answer, did not even hear her question. She watched his fine young face in the dark, looking sullen and doomed at the stars.