He was scarcely aware of the performance on the stage, so aware was he
of the nearness of Maggie. He heard applause, but he did not greatly
heed it. He was in love. He had never been in love before, and he had
always thought of it as something very different from this, something
cold and austere and aloof, and very dignified ... not at all like this
warm, intimate, careless thing. He slipped his hand from Maggie's and
slowly put his arm round her waist. She did not resist him, and when he
drew her more closely to him so that their heads were nearly touching,
she yielded to him without demur. He could feel her heart beating where
his hand pressed against her side, and he heard the slow rise and fall
of her breath as she inhaled and exhaled. He could not get near enough
to her. He wanted to draw her head down on to his shoulder, to put both
his arms about her, to feel again his lips on her lips....
He started suddenly. Someone was tapping him, on the shoulder. He
turned round to meet the gaze of an elderly, indignant woman who was
seated immediately behind him.
"Sit still," she said in a loud whisper. "I can't see the stage for you
two ducking your heads together!"