There was a damp sweetness to her mouth as he kissed it. She did not change colour,—there was no emotion. Smooth, cool, her face touched his—softly cool her relaxed hand that he took into his.
He looked into grey eyes that looked back. He kissed a fresh mouth that yielded like a flower but did not quiver.
Released, she stood apart, slender, still, not aloof, nor altered visibly by the moment’s intimacy.
The little clock struck the half hour.
He came to her, drew her head back against his face.
“You’ll have to go,” he said. “Will you let me drive you up to the studio? We’ll have time.”
She nodded; they went slowly to the door, down to the hot street in silence.
On Greenwich Avenue, near the new theatre, still in process of building, they found a taxi.
When they descended at the studio she was just on time.