And Now Good-bye by James Hilton — Read

He lounged by the fire while she made coffee. A certain outward excitement died down in him, and he began to feel very cosy and tranquil and quietly talkative, so that when she brought the coffee and sat opposite him at the other side of the fire, they both plunged into chatter about the concert and music and other topics as casually as if the time and the place had been utterly normal. He felt, as he sat there, that he would like nothing better than for such a thing to happen after every long day of his life--to talk thus, and drink coffee, with her at the other side of a fire. It was something else in life that he had missed, and was now enjoying with all the more relish because till then he had never even guessed its existence--this pleasant comradely domesticity of two persons sitting up late to talk together after everyone else had gone to bed. A dreamy tenderness enveloped him as he gazed across at her; and gradually, in the midst of that tenderness, there grew in him the thought that she was beautiful. Like the lovely figurehead of a ship, he had imagined formerly, but now he imagined much more--she seemed to him rather like every beautiful thing there ever was or had been in the world--like Brahms, Raphael, William Blake.

They talked for over half an hour before he said he would have to go. "Really, I must--it's nearly half-past two, and I don't believe there's a night-porter at my hotel. I assure you I don't want to go a bit--I'm so comfortable here."