He saw her lips trembling. It made him quite breathless to see those full, rich lips trembling so near his.
"I don't mean to be horrid," he said constrainedly.
"But you are ... you are!..." she insisted. Her voice hummed with passion like a 'cello string. "You are!..." she repeated. "What have I done that you should order me not to touch you—as though my hand were poisonous?"
"I ... I'm nervous this evening...." he said lamely. He knew that he should have turned and gone forthwith into the drawing-room. He simply couldn't. The Purple Emperor aroma—the Belinda magic—held him thralled. Belinda wanted to fall forward on his breast and have her laugh out in the dark warmth of his embrace. But the time was not yet. Some day they would laugh together with love's wild, kiss-broken laughter over this comic interview. But not now.
"Are you sorry you were so horrid?" she murmured.
"Oh, yes ... naturally!..."
She had her velvety finger-tips against his mouth in a flash.
"Then kiss it ... beg its pardon!" she said.
Loring snatched down her hand and ground it between his.
"Linda! You little devil!... You little devil!..." he said.