He caught hold of my wrist, but I snatched my hand away.
"Margharita, listen! I love you. Why should you be angry? I want you to be my wife."
I believe he thought that I was won. I had sunk down upon the music stool and covered my face with my hands. My bosom was heaving with sobs. With all my strength I was battling with a strange bewildering succession of feelings. In reality I was more exquisitely and perfectly happy than I had ever dreamed of.
I felt his strong hands close over my fingers and remove them one by one. His head was quite close to mine, and suddenly I felt his mustache brush my cheek.
I sprang to my feet, wildly, fiercely angry. My eyes were flashing, and I had drawn myself up until I seemed almost as tall as he was. If he had dared to kiss me. Oh! if he had dared!
"Let me pass!" I cried passionately. "Let me pass at once, I say."
He fell back immediately. He was half frightened, half puzzled.
"Lord Lumley, I never wish you to speak to me again," I cried, trembling all over with passionate indignation, and dashing the tears from my eyes. "I hate you. Do you hear! I hate you!"
He ought to have been abashed, but he was not.
"You have no cause to hate me!" he said proudly. "Surely a man does not insult a woman by offering her his love, as I have offered you mine. I scarcely see at least how I have deserved your anger."