"Well, shall we take a hint and move over to the settee?" Gillian Murray suggested.
Delman watched with admiration as she crossed the room, clean-limbed and graceful, her long red hair falling from the crown of her head in a soft cascade.
"Never be discourteous to the cook," he replied. "That was one of my earliest lessons. And, heaven knows, you're an unusually attractive cook. It gives one an appetite just to look at you." He got up to join her—a bearded giant, tall and deep-chested, like the heroes of the Viking sagas.
"What will you do when we get back?" she asked.
"Marry and get some job that won't take me away from you. Does that meet with your approval?"
"Yes," she said. "If that's a proposal, it will do nicely."
They kissed with all the intensity of young love, losing in their embrace the dread of time which swept them toward their childhood.
"Curtis," she said quietly, "have we any hope? Please be honest!"
His fingers brushed the back of her neck lightly, up and down, not altering their tender rhythm.