“Protect love against itself?” Her incredulity silenced him. “If my heart is a rose that you wish to pluck, John, take it, crush it, sift its petals through your fingers. If it brings you a moment’s pleasure, it will not have been wasted.”
His hands recoiled from her face as if from a danger.
But Dolores lifted her arms and laid them around his neck. She felt no false shame before him. She knew now.
“Take me, John, and crush me. Waste me, since you call love a waste. I am satisfied to be the rose of your day—to give off my fragrance for you.”
He could not have shaken her off had he tried, so overwhelming was her wish to give him that for which he would not ask. He sat perfectly still, looking down into her eyes, listening to what she said. His breath came harder when she lifted to her knees on the hassock and leaned against him.
“Jack told you to see that I was happy. I cannot be so while you are unhappy, John. Think of me and take me in your arms. Let me feel that I belong to you—that at last I belong.”
“That first day I saw you, Dolores——” His white lips again moved in words. “Two visible creatures seemed to be born of our meeting. The best of me went out to you—my love. The best of you appealed to me—your innocence. Help me to see them plainly as on that day. Remind me of your inexperience. Don’t urge yourself upon me. For the sake of your innocence and my love, loose me and leave me.”
But confusing sensations dulled the girl to his prayer—sensations of vehement rebellion, of incompleteness within sweet proximity of all, of a vast sadness and vaster joy. She shook with the shudder that shook him. Her hands drew his head to a resting place where the robe had fallen from her breast. She felt him relax in her arms; realized that his lips had touched, then drawn away from hers, as if offended by the contact.
“God help me.... More than my honor.”
She scarcely heard his words, so low were they rasped. The next moment he spoke plainly, although in a hoarse, hurried voice.