. I can't sleep if I take it.'

The couple walked up Regent Street, then along Piccadilly. Neville held
Victoria's arm. He had slipped his fingers under the long glove. She did
not withdraw her arm. His touch tickled her senses to quiescence if not
to satisfaction. They turned into the Park. Just behind the statue of
Achilles they stepped upon the grass and at once Neville threw his arm
round Victoria. It was a little chilly; mist was rising from the grass.
The trees stood blackly out of it, as if sawn off a few feet from the
ground. Neville stopped. A little smile was on his lips.

'Beauty boy,' said Victoria.

He drew her towards him and kissed her. He kissed her on the forehead,
then on the cheek, for he was a sybarite, in matters of love something
of an artist, just behind the ear, then passionately on the lips.
Victoria closed her eyes and threw one arm round his neck. She felt
exhilarated, as if gently warmed. They walked further westwards, and
with every step the fog thickened.

'Let's stop, Beauty,' said Victoria, after they had rather suddenly
walked up to a thicket. 'We'll get lost in the wilderness.'

'And wilderness were paradise enow,' murmured Neville in her ear.

Victoria did not know the hackneyed line. It sounded beautiful to her.
She laughed nervously and let Neville draw her down by his side on the
grass.

'Oh, let me go, Beauty,' she whispered. 'Suppose someone should come.'

Neville did not answer. He had clasped her to him. His lips were more
insistent on hers. She felt his hand on her breast.

'Oh, no, no, Beauty, don't, please don't,' she said weakly.

For some minutes she lay passive in his grasp. He had undone the back of
her blouse. His hand, cold and dry, had slipped along her shoulder,
seeking warmth.

Slowly his clasp grew harder; he used his weight. Victoria bent under
it. Something like faintness came over her.

'Victoria, Victoria, my darling.' The voice seemed far away. She was
giving way more and more. Not a blade of grass shuddered under its
shroud of mist. From the road came the roar of a motorbus, like a
muffled drum. Then she felt the damp of the grass on her back through
the opening of her blouse.

A second later she was sitting up. She had thrust Neville away with a
savage push under the chin. He seized her once more. She fought him,
seeing nothing to struggle with but a silent dark shadow.

'No, Beauty, no, you mustn't,' she panted.

They were standing then, bo