He couldn't speak. He stared at her, lips compressed; temples pounding.
She seemed to be smiling faintly.
'We—we might say good-night now.'
He heard her say that.
She thought he shivered. Then he said huskily:—
'I—I've wanted to call you—to call you—'
'Yes?'
'—Cicely.'.
There was a silence. She whispered, 'I think I've wanted you to.'
He had rested a hand on the plum upholstery beside her. In some way it touched hers; clasped it; gripped it feverishly.