They were upon Chelsea Embankment in the late dusk of a Saturday evening in May. A warm and gentle wind stirred the budding trees to magic utterances¹. The long, straight line of serried² lamps stretched away to an enchanted³ bridge which with twinkling lights hung poised⁴ over the misty⁵ river. The plash of an oar⁶ came languorously⁷ up from the water, and the voices of boys calling. At intervals⁸, couples like themselves passed by, either silent or conversing⁹ in low tones that seemed to carry inner, inarticulate meanings. As for them, they were silent; he had not her arm, but they walked close together. He was deeply and indescribably moved; his heart beat heavily, and when he looked at her face in the gloom and saw that her eyes were liquid, it beat yet more heavily; then lay still.  
"Let us sit down—shall we?" he said at length, and they turned to an empty bench under a tree. "What is she thinking?" he wondered, and then the dominant¹⁰ feeling of the moment possessed¹¹ him wholly. His ambitions floated out of sight and were forgotten. He remembered nothing except the girl by his side, whose maddening bosom¹² rose and fell under his very gaze. At that moment she belonged to no ............