It was all strangely intimate. As he stood beside her, lines he had heard years before flashed into his mind.
“Two men looked out through prison bars;
One saw mud; the other, stars.”
Hitherto he had seen mud—always mud. In her presence he realised the possibility of seeing stars—undreamed of stars.
And his prison bars themselves seemed vanishing.
Something captive in him broke its chains and leapt out into liberty.
And still she spoke no word; but her eyes dwelt on him with that all-enveloping, comprehending look of tenderness.
An unspoken sentence seemed to hang suspended. The silence was tense with it, as when a great orchestra, ready to sound the opening strain of a mighty symphony, waits, with eye, hand, and ear alert, for the first beat of the lifted baton.
But, on the instant, came an anti-climax.
“Dinner is served, my lady,” announced a deferential voice.