My senses
swam. Her face quivered glorious before me in a black world. Her lips
were parted. Careless of all the eyes in all the houses in the Avenue
Road, St. John's Wood, and in the head of a telegraph boy whom I only
noticed afterwards, I kissed her on the lips.
All the fulness and strength of life danced through my veins.
"I told you I was quite alive!" I said with idiotic exultation.
She closed her eyes and leaned back. "Why did you do that?" she
murmured.
"Because I love you," said I. "It has come at last."
Where we drove I have no recollection. Presumably an impression of green
rolling plain with soft uplands in the distance signified that we passed
along Hampstead Heath; the side thoroughfare with villa residences on
either side may have been Kilburn High Road; the flourishing, busy,
noisy suburb may have been Kilburn: the street leading thence to
the Marble Arch may have been Maida Vale. To me they were paths in
Dreamland. We spoke but little and what we did say was in the simple,
commonplace language which all men use in the big crises of life.
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