“No,” said Kitty, “you do not love me.”
There was a lash to the words that cut him––a scorn half-spoken, half-expressed by the slant of her eye. As he hesitated he felt the hot blood burn at his brow.
“Rufus,” she cried, turning upon him quickly, “do 288 you love me? Then take me in your arms and kiss me!” She spoke the words fiercely, almost as a command, and Hardy started back as if he had been shot.
“Take me in your arms and kiss me!” she repeated evenly, a flash of scorn in her eyes. But the man who had said he loved her faltered and looked away.
“Kitty,” he said gently, “you know I love you. But––”
“But what?” she demanded sharply.
“I––I have never––”
“Well,” said Kitty briefly, “it’s all over––you don’t have to! I just wanted to show you––” She paused, and her lip curled as she gazed at him from a distance. “Look at my horse,” she exclaimed suddenly, pointing to where Pinto was pawing and jerking at his bridle rein. When Hardy leapt up to free his foot she frowned again, for that is not the way of lovers.
He came back slowly, leading the horse, his face very pale, his eyes set.
“You were right,” he said. “Shall we go?”