“It was true,” she said, faintly.
“Do you love me now?”
She tried to take away her hand, but he held it fiercely, bent fiercely toward her. “I don’t love you,” he said, breathlessly. “It’s something more than that.... I can’t tell you what it is, how it feels.... I’ve got to have you. I don’t care what has happened. I don’t care about anything.... You must marry me. Nothing matters but that.”
She was white, felt as if she were stifling. “Let go,” she said, piteously.
“Do you love me?” he demanded.
“I— No!... No!... Stop the car and let me out! Oh, leave me alone! You’re torturing me!”
He was flaming. His restraint was gone and he was but the starving lover fighting a battle to the death for his love.
“Nothing matters,” he repeated. “I don’t care.... Do you love me?”
He drew her closer, careless what eyes might peer through the windows of the limousine. His arm was about her shoulders, her lithe body was strained against his body, and his face was close to hers. She closed her eyes. She did not feel faint, but deliciously helpless. She did not care.... This was the thing she had been waiting for, crying for ... this thing that was forbidden to her. She did not struggle. He kissed her lips again and again, muttering incoherently. She returned his kisses....
Presently she tried to release herself. “We’re in the—street,” she panted. “People can see.”