They dined together. A gay and light-hearted pair of friends, so far as the world could see. Only they knew what secret currents were flashing and sparkling between them, fed by her alluring smiles and graces. After coffee, he suggested the garden. It was very lovely out there amid the trees and wet roses. Loree resisted a little, yet it seemed safe enough within sound, almost within sight of the verandah, where several people loitered, smoking and gossiping.
But she kept to the clear, open paths, and it seemed politic now to infuse into her manner a tinge of coldness. Instantly, that grim resolute expression passed over his face, but he said nothing, only bided his time, and when presently they came near a vine-laden pergola, he thrust an arm through hers and, with a suddenness that took her unawares, guided her into obscurity. Haughtily she disengaged herself, but, he remained facing her, standing between her and the hotel, and his words were arresting.
“You must stop fooling me, Loree. My love is too great to be blown hot upon one minute and cold the next.”
“I don’t think I understand—”
“Oh, beloved, you do! You know that I love you.” His voice was of a tenderness indescribable. It played across her taut nerves like the bow on a violin.
“You must—be mad!” she faltered.
He smiled.
“Yes; a divine madness. You are touched with it, too.”
“No! No!” she protested. He gave a short laugh and caught her in his arms, holding her close and kissing her rapidly and fiercely. She resisted, but he held her closer; she protested, but he drank the words off her lips. He swept her from her feet, holding her to his heart and taking his fill of her mouth, her eyes, her throat, her hair. It was as though a great wave of the sea had broken over her. She lost her voice, almost her senses, in the madness of the moment, but her heart knew fear and an agony of shame. At last he released her, and she leaned, like a flower broken in a storm, against the side of the pergola.
“How dare you! How dare you!” she breathed, white with anger.