"Harriet," he said quietly, then moved to touch her shoulder. Lover's words were all fine and good, but -- "Harriet, if you sleep that way much longer you'll give yourself a cramp."

"Romance is dead," she answered, sleepily.

"Would you rather I quoted poetry and left you to take a cramp?" he asked, with a smile.

"This is why I prefer writing. No one ever takes cramps in books," she replied, sitting up and running one hand through her thick hair. He sat back on his heels, waiting for her to wake fully. "Have I slept long?"

"A little over an hour, I think," he replied. "It's time for tea."

"Ah! Civilisation."