The Stronger Influence by Ethel Mills

It seemed to Sinclair that all the conditions that night favoured his suit. It was a perfect evening, warm and still, with a brilliant moon in a cloudless sky lighting the world with a luminous whiteness in which everything was revealed scarcely less clearly than in the daylight. It was a night for lovers, for the open air and solitude; it was not a night for dancing. Sinclair, after the first dance, which he had with Esme, was content to remain on the outskirts of the crowd and look on at the rest. The floor was thronged with dancers. The lights, the music, the colour of the moving crowd, appealed pleasantly to the senses. He liked to watch; and every now and again he caught Esme's eye and won a smile from her which cheered him. She appeared more than usually sweet and kind that night, he thought.

The supper dance gave him the right to claim her again. In the interim he had done a lot of thinking. He had his phrases turned and clear in his mind. He knew very definitely what he wanted to say; he had rehearsed it in his thoughts endless times. And he knew the right atmosphere for the deliverance of those neatly turned sentences. He wasn't going to fling the thing at her in a crowded room with numberless people present. They would slip away together in the moonlight, and stroll along the sea wall, against which the tiny waves broke softly, running in and curling round the rocks, slapping musically against the stonework which checked their further advance. He could tell her to the accompaniment of the sea what he could not tell her in a hot and crowded place. He wanted her to himself, away from these others.