“Yes, yes. By Jove, what a time ago! And my father's going off to India. He never came back; killed in that first Afghan business. When I was fond, I WAS fond. But I didn't feel things like you—not half so sensitive. No; not a bit like you, Gyp.”
And watching her unconscious eyes following the movements of the waiters, never staring, but taking in all that was going on, he thought: 'Prettiest creature in the world!'
“Well,” he said: “What would you like to do now—drop into a theatre or music-hall, or what?”
Gyp shook her head. It was so hot. Could they just drive, and then perhaps sit in the park? That would be lovely. It had gone dark, and the air was not quite so exhausted—a little freshness of scent from the trees in the squares and parks mingled with the fumes of dung and petrol. Winton gave the same order he had given that long past evening: “Knightsbridge Gate.” It had been a hansom then, and the night air had blown in their faces, instead of as now in these infernal taxis, down the back of one's neck. They left the cab and crossed the Row; passed the end of the Long Water, up among the trees. There, on two chairs covered by Winton's coat, they sat side by side. No dew was falling yet; the heavy leaves hung unstirring; the air was warm, sweet-smelling. Blotted against trees or on the grass were other couples darker than the darkness, very silent. All was quiet save for the never-ceasing hum of traffic. From Winton's lips, the cigar smoke wreathed and curled. He was dreaming. The cigar between his teeth trembled; a long ash fell. Mechanically he raised his hand to brush it off—his right hand! A voice said softly in his ear:
“Isn't it delicious, and warm, and gloomy black?”
Winton shivered, as one shivers recalled from dreams; and, carefully brushing off the ash with his left hand, he answered:
“Yes; very jolly. My cigar's out, though, and I haven't a match.”
Gyp's hand slipped through his arm.
“All these people in love, and so dark and whispery—it makes a sort of strangeness in the air. Don't you feel it?”
Winton murmured: