So she told herself in the flash of a moment, while she waited for Noel's kiss to lift her once and for all into some far realm of romance where trivial details of manifestation should no longer obscure the true values of life.
Unconsciously, she had shut her eyes, but at an unaccountable pause in the proceedings, she opened them again.
Noel was carefully removing his pince-nez.
"I say," he stammered, "you're—you're sure you don't mind?"
If Alex had followed the impulse of her own feelings, she must have cried out at this juncture:
"Not if you're quick and get it over!"
But instead, she heard herself murmuring feebly:
"Oh, no, not at all."
She hastily raised her face, turning it sideways to Noel, and felt his lips gingerly touching the middle of her cheek. Then she opened her eyes again, and, scrupulously avoiding Noel's embarrassed gaze, saw him diligently polishing his pince-nez before replacing them.
It was the apotheosis of their anti-climax.