Again his arm was about her. She turned to meet his eyes, deep-set—intense—burning.
“Kurt—I—”
A little wave of doubt, of contrition, stole over her.
“I don’t love you,” she said uncomfortably.
“Don’t you want to love me, Pen?”
“No!”
She rose impulsively, and there were tears in her eyes, though there was a half wistful smile on her lips, as she passed him swiftly and fled toward the stairway.
He followed.
“You mustn’t leave me, this way. Pen—”
For a shining second she leaned against him.