Imogen stretches out her hand across the table and touches Adam’s.

Close up; Adam’s hand, a signet ring on the little finger and a smudge of paint on the inside of the thumb. Imogen’s hand—very white and manicured—moves across the screen and touches it.

Gladys gives a slight sob.

“YOU DON’T MIND TOO DREADFULLY—DO YOU, ADAM?”

Adam does mind—very much indeed. He has eaten enough to be thoroughly sentimental.

The Restaurant de la Tour de Force is nearly empty. The political barrister has gone his unregenerate way; the waiters stand about restlessly.

Imogen pays the bill and they rise to go.

“Adam, you must come to Euston and see me off. We can’t part just like this—for always, can we? Hodges is meeting me there with the luggage.”

They get into a taxi.

Imogen puts her hand in his and they sit like this for a few minutes without speaking.

Then Adam leans towards her and they kiss.

Close up: Adam and Imogen kissing. There is a tear (which finds a ready response in Ada and Gladys, who sob uncontrollably) in Adam’s eye; Imogen’s lips luxuriously disposed by the pressure.

“Like the Bronzino Venus.”

“IMOGEN, YOU NEVER REALLY CARED, DID YOU? IF YOU HAD YOU WOULDN’T GO AWAY LIKE THIS. IMOGEN, DID YOU EVER CARE—REALLY?”

“HAVEN’T I GIVEN PROOF THAT I DID. Adam dear, why will you always ask such tiresome questions. Don’t you see how impossible it all is? We’ve only about five minutes before we reach Euston.”

They kiss again.

Adam says, “Damn Lady R.”

They reach Euston.

Hodges is waiting for them. She has seen about the luggage; she has seen about tickets; she has even bought magazines; there is nothing to be done.

Adam stands beside Imogen waiting for the train to start; she looks at a weekly paper.