Ruby knew how to love as she knew how to hate; a woman with hot blood in her veins, a woman with passion. Her lips gleamed moist and red in the dull light.
Suddenly he flung his arms around her and kissed her. She gave a little cry, struggled for a few moments, then lay quite still and limp.
Despard bent over her, feasting his eyes on her beauty. Again he pressed his lips to hers.
"I'm leaving London to-morrow for a holiday abroad. I'm going where there's sunshine, flowers, and music. You'll come with me, Ruby—far away from this dull, prosaic city. We'll go where there's life and colour and amusement. I'm rich now, there isn't a whim of yours I can't satisfy."
She started, stared, and wrenched herself free. She was still acting superbly. "No—you mustn't tempt me. I can't—not until Rupert's innocence is proved.... Duty must come before love—though I don't even know whether I do love you."
Despard advanced, but she retreated. "I'll make you love me," he whispered.
The clock struck. He glanced at it. Eleven! Marjorie would not come now. To-morrow she would probably show his letter to her lover or her father. They would realise quickly enough the threat it contained. The sooner he got away the better.
"I'll teach you to love me, Ruby. Come, let me kiss your lips again—they are sweeter than wine and more intoxicating."
She laughed hysterically. The spirit had gone to her head, but she fought to keep her brain clear.
"Prove your love!" she cried, stretching out her hands to keep him off. "Prove it!"