Accordingly, with a celerity worthy of a great general, she changed, upon the instant, her whole plan of campaign, abandoned this frontal attack, and devised a more subtle method of overcoming such unexpected resistance.
She tried first the effect of silence; but experience had taught her that Robert was better skilled in the use of that weapon than she herself, and indeed it was a struggle to her to keep silence for five minutes at any time. She abandoned this course after a very short trial.
Then she sighed. Twice, thrice, with the suspicion of a sob in the last sigh, which she felt must sound infinitely pathetic. She looked eagerly for signs of relenting in that stubborn shoulder; Robert was resolute.
The affair was beginning to assume a most serious aspect. If it continued thus much longer, she would be forced to haul down her colours and abandon the siege entirely. And then what would become of her schemes?
No. She must bring all her forces to the attack, and—and—Robert could not see her where she sat.
She rose and stepped quietly into the deep glow of the moonlight, standing full before the gaze of her offended lover.
She stood first with her back towards him, plucking nervously at the petals of a withered rose. Robert looked at the trim, white figure outlined against the darker trees, at the soft curve of the averted cheek. He looked and wavered.
Suddenly she turned and faced him, standing before him in all the charm of her saucy beauty. She shook out her curls till the gold glistened in the moonlight, she turned her eyes full upon him, and she smiled, a smile full of mischievous invitation that lurked in her eyes and curved round her rosy dimpling lips.
It was enough. Robert stared at her for a moment in silence, then he sprang towards her and seized her in his arms.
"Ah, Prue, you witch! You witch!" he cried. "How could I resist thee? Say what you want, sweetheart. I will do it, aye, that I will."