The Old Wives’ Tale (1908)
Arnold Bennett

    Her face, viewed so close that he could see the almost imperceptible down on those fruit-like cheeks, was astonishingly beautiful; the dark eyes were exquisitely misted; and he could feel the secret loyalty of her soul ascending to him.  She was very slightly taller than her lover; but somehow she hung from him, her body curved backwards, and her bosom pressed against his, so that instead of looking up at her gaze he looked down at it.  He preferred that; perfectly proportioned though he was, his stature was a delicate point with him. His spirits rose by the uplift of his senses.   His fears slipped away; he began to be very satisfied with himself.  He was the inheritor of twelve thousand pounds, and he had won this unique creature.  She was his capture; he held her close, permittedly scanning the minutiae of her skin permittedly crushing her flimsy silks.  Something in him had forced her to lay her modesty on the alter of his desire.  And the sun brightly shone.  So he kissed her yet more ardently, and with the slightest touch of a victor’s condescension; and her burning response more than restored the self-confidence which he had been losing.

     "I’ve got no one but you now," she muttered in a melting voice.

     She fancied in her ignorance that the expression of this sentiment would please him. She was not aware that a man is usually chilled by it, because it proves to him that the other is thinking about his responsibilities and not about his privileges. Certainly it calmed Gerald, though without imparting to him her sense of his responsibilities.  He smiled vaguely.   To Sophia his smile was a miracle continually renewed; it mingled dashing gaiety with a hint of wistful appeal in a manner that never failed to bewitch her.  A less innocent girl than Sophia might have divined from that adorable half-feminine smile that she could do anything with Gerald except rely on him.  But Sophia had to learn.

[Arnold Bennett, The Old Wives' Tale.  1908.]