The thought had come over him suddenly to test her courage and coolness thus, and she did not disappoint him. For a moment he felt her heart fluttering like a wild bird against his; then she gave a little low laugh.
"Oh, Denis!" she whispered, against his lips. But when he let her go he saw that her face was white as milk.
"You were frightened, then?" he questioned.
"No, no; I knew at once it was you—by the scent of your dear coat." She stroked it with one hand, then made to move away, but he still held her. What had made her turn white, then, if she were not afraid?
"Let me go away and change my gown," she said, trying to edge away into the dark.
"But why? I love it. You are like a witch of the moon in it."
"No; it isn't a nice gown," she insisted childishly and still tried to escape, but he could be obstinate, too.
"I want you to keep it on—and, darling, darling, don't waste any of the moments we may be together! You told me yourself it could only be an hour."
She gave a deep sigh. It was true. Moments spent with him were too precious to waste. There might not be so many more. Still, she did not abandon her plan to get away from him to her room, if only for a minute. Gently she resisted his half-movement to lead her to a chair. He knew, by now, that she was holding something in her left hand which she did not wish him to see. They remained standing by the tree-fern, each will striving for supremacy. In the meantime, he went on speaking in his extraordinary charming voice that had power to make her heart ache with even the memory of its dear sound.
"Not that I can see why I should only have an hour."