could hear his breathing and feel his coat brushing her shoulder.

He seated himself, slowly, without a break in the silence of his
meditation.

She knew that something wonderful and beautiful was going to happen. It
had happened; it was happening now, growing more certain and more real
with every minute that she waited for John to say something. If nothing
changed, if this minute that she was living now prolonged itself, if it
went on for ever and ever, that would be happiness enough.

If she could keep still like this for ever--Any movement would be
dangerous. She was afraid almost to breathe.

Then she remembered. Of course, she would have to _tell_ him.

She could feel the jerk and throb in John's breathing, measuring off the
moments of his silence. Her thoughts came and went. "When he says he
cares for me I shall have to tell him"--"This is going on for ever. If he
cared for me he would have said it before now."--"It doesn't matter. He
can care or not as he likes. Nothing can stop my caring."

Then she was aware of her will, breaking through her peace, going out
towards him, fastening on his mind to make him care; to make him say he
cared, now, this minute. She was aware of her hands, clenched and
unclenched, pressing the sharp edge of the seat into their palms as she
dragged back her will.

She was quiet now.