And suddenly, as she moved swiftly, hardly feeling the ground under
her feet, she began to cry, with emotion, with fear and joy. What was
going to happen to her? She loved him. She could still feel the
violence of his clasp, the roughness of his coat on her cheeks, the
iron of his hands, so distinctly that it seemed to have happened only
a moment ago, yet she was nearly home. She could see the lights of the
bridge as though swung on a cord across the gulf, and she dried her
eyes. She was exhausted and hungry and when she had passed over the
river she made her way to a shop where chocolates could be bought. She
knew their comforting and sustaining properties. It was unromantic,
but hunger asserts itself in spite of love.
It was getting late and the shop was empty but for one assistant and a
tall young man. This was Charles Batty, taking a great deal of trouble
over his purchase, for spread before him on the counter was an
assortment of large chocolate boxes adorned with bows of ribbon and
pictures of lovers leaning over stiles and red-lipped maidens
caressing dogs.
'I don't like these pictures,' Henrietta heard him mutter bashfully.
'Here's one with roses. Roses are always suitable.' 'No,' he said, 'I
want a big white box with crimson ribbon.' Henrietta stepped up to his
side. 'I'll help you choose,' she said.
He started, stared, forgot to take off his hat. He gazed at her with
the absorption of some connoisseur looking at the perfect thing he has
dreamed of: he looked without greed and with a sort of ecstasy which
left his face expressionless and embarrassed Henrietta in the presence
of the arch girl behind the counter.
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