He may be a shepherd in Arcadia for aught he knows, he may be the first youth kissing the first maiden, he may be Eros himself, sipping the lips of Psyche--it is all one.
There was no speaking for minutes after.

They walked along with beating hearts till they came within sight of the gate at the end of the wood.
Then they looked at each other, not quite as they had looked before, for in their eyes there was the memory of a kiss.
But already something bitter had begun to mingle itself with the fountain of sweets: already Arthur was uncomfortable.

He took his arm from Hetty's waist, and said, "Here we are, almost at the end of the Grove.

I wonder how late it is," he added, pulling out his watch.
"Twenty minutes past eight--but my watch is too fast.

However, I'd better not go any further now.