love at the sight of him. She felt as though her body had become a burning torch inside the dark cupboard, that the blaze of her must shine through into the bar.
Albert absorbed his beer solemnly while he listened to something Steve was saying to Kirke and Lovering who were leaning against the counter together. May rivetted her eye on him and tried to force him to come towards her. But he did not move. Then right beside her window a man's voice called—"Masters"—and Albert came and stood almost against the glass. May's eye looked directly on to his ear. "Albert, oh, Albert," she moaned under her breath. "Oh, my dearie, look round at me. 'Ere I am."
Cautiously she tried the window to see if it would rise. She slid it up an inch. Her mouth to the crack, she sighed. She sighed again more loudly. She breathed his name. He put his hand behind his shoulder and twiddled his fingers. Oh, what devils men were! But perhaps he guessed it was she.
"Come 'ere," she said softly.
In a second he had left the window. A moment more and she heard his hand fumbling softly for the handle of the cupboard door. It closed behind him. She had him in her arms, clutched to her breast, kissing him violently, savagely, her own Albert. He struggled feebly, then succumbed.
"My word," he gasped, "you're a 'ot 'un."
"Oh, Albert, my 'usband," she said chokily, "my own dearie."
The words went through his body like an electric shock. He tore himself from her grasp. In the pallid light of the frosted window his face showed as a staring disk with distorted features. He looked like the man in the moon.
