The young man took her face between his hands, kissed it, and pouring out a glass of wine, held it to her lips.

She put it aside with her hand and glanced up towards the tall clock in the corner.

My eyes, following hers, saw that the hands pointed to a quarter to twelve.
The young Squire set down the glass hastily, stepped to the window and, drawing aside the blue curtain, gazed out upon the night.

Twice he looked back at Cicely, over his shoulder, and after a minute returned to the table.

He drained the glass which the girl had declined, poured out another, still keeping his eyes on her, and began to walk impatiently up and down the room.