Through the thin muslin of her bodice she could feel the pressure of its tender palms.
Majendie stood close to her and tried gently to detach and possess himself of the delicate clinging fingers.

But his eyes were upon Anne's eyes.

They drew her; she looked up, her eyes flashed to the meeting-point; his widened in one long penetrating gaze.
A sudden pricking pain went through her, there where the pink and flaxen thing lay sun-warm and life-warm to her breast.
At first she did not heed it.

She stood hushed, attentive to the prescience that woke in her; surrendered to the secret, with desire that veiled itself to meet its unveiled destiny.
Then the veil fell.
The eyes that looked at her grew tender, and before their tenderness the veil, the veil of her desire that had hidden him from her, fell.
Her face burned, and she hid it against the child's face as it burrowed into the softness of her breast.

When she would have parted the child from her, it clung.
She laughed.