She was beautifully dressed; he realised in a vague sort of way that she had never looked more desirable, and yet for the life of him he could not have told what she was wearing, except that there was a big bunch of lilies tucked into the bosom of her gown.
She held out her hands to him; she was smiling adorably.
"Jimmy," she said.
Jimmy's first wild instinct was to rush forward and take her in his arms; then he remembered. He backed away from her a step; he began to tremble.
"What—what have you come here for?" he stammered.
She laughed.
"Jimmy, how rude! You don't look a bit pleased to see me. You—oh,
Jimmy, I thought you'd be so happy—so delighted."
She came across to him now; she slipped a hand through his arm; she leaned her cheek against his coat-sleeve; the scent of the lilies she wore mounted intoxicatingly to his head.
He tried not to look at her—he tried to stiffen his arm beneath her cheek; but his heart was thumping—he felt as if he were choking.
There was a moment of silence, then she looked up at him with a little spark of wonderment in her eyes.