Then it seemed to him that she was simply trying to gain time, and to avoid what he had to say.
"Doris, I have come expressly to talk to you. Why I chose Florence matters but little; nothing matters between us except what I have to say."
"Oh, Earle," she cried, "I was so tired of Brackenside. I could not stay."
"Never mind Brackenside. We will not discuss it now. Will you sit down here, Doris, while I tell you my message?"
She seemed to have no thought of disobeying him. Silently enough she sat down, while he leaned against the tree. She was rather hurt to find that so much of her old influence over him seemed to be lost. She would have liked him to tremble and blush, yet he had not even sought to take her white hand in his own. He had not kissed her face, nor touched the long, golden hair that he had so warmly praised. He stood looking gravely at her; then he spoke.
"Doris," he said, "in the presence of Heaven you promised to be my wife. I do not absolve you from that promise, and until I do so, I claim you as my own."
A hot flush crimsoned his face, sudden passion gleamed in his eyes and quivered on his lips.
"I will never release you," he cried. "Death may take you from me; but of my own free will you shall never, so help me Heaven, be freed from your promise! You hear me?"
"Yes," she replied, in a low voice, "I hear."
"As the man you have promised to marry, as the man who alone on earth has the right to question you, tell me how you are living here now?"