Pamela leaned back her head, pushing the heavy black hair from her forehead.
“Open the curtains, Colin,” she said. “Let’s have some air; I’m stifling.”
Was she going to faint, he thought, or adopt some mean feminine device of her weakness to escape from the situation that was closing round her, and which she had done her best to provoke? That would be tragic.... He pulled back the curtain with a rattle of rings, and the still tide of the night swept in.
“Ah, that’s delicious!” she said.
“Not faint?” he asked. “Not overtired?”
“Not a bit. It was just a breath of air I wanted: our lovely little tent was concentrated, overcharged....”
“Are you sure?” he said. “Hadn’t you better go quietly to bed? It would be wretched if in return for the help and strength you bring me—ah, such help, such strength....”
If all the kingdoms of the world had been his, he would have staked them against a penny-piece on her answer. It was her hour, she was winning, so she thought, all down the line. This was not the moment for the victor to ask for a truce.
She rose from her chair and stood by him. The flame burst out from her, enveloping her in fire.
“It’s all yours,” she whispered. “All ... all.”