Romance

It was not sensible, he knew, to feel this good, but he couldn't help it. Just to be on his way, to put his everyday world behind him and to be in her presence, sent a thrilling rush through him. Could he keep his rapture in check? he wondered. He didn't want to ripple the aura by seeming too eager, but even less did he want to appear disinterested. A dilemma.

He liked to think of the double image that he saw there once, standing in front of the mirror. The real image, lovely as it was, not self-absorbed with the mirror image, as some others are.

No, there was hardly a conscious thought visible on her pretty face as she combed her hair and applied her makeup. Nor was she business-like, either, but comfortable-- hands deftly defining her natural beauty so as to please. It was, he understood, a silent compliment to him, that so careful a preparation took place for their very first date.

It had been his good fortune to see her form as he sat on the sofa, just the right angle from the foyer mirror. The memory was so dear to him because it set apart that desirable creation from the others that he knew, willowy and curved, framed in the mirror and, in the light, fresh-looking, sweet, and cheerful.

He could not be in her presence enough these days, and such company made him feel like a special man, the attraction was that strong. And the odd thing was, he was conscious of that rounded shape and the lingering scent of her chestnut hair, without wanting to ravish her. It wasn't as if there were no sexual desire--for there certainly was--but not as he had known it before.

No, he had mastered this desire that he might present it to her as a gift at the best moment, not wolfishly without thought or affection. And he knew somehow, he knew that they would find their way together.

He thought of such things, rather such thoughts took hold of him, when they sat down together and, silently under the table, he gently enclosed her delicate hand in his.