"You should want me to make love to you, but not to break my word!"
"But you say you love me," she complained.
"Love you!"
It flamed in his eyes and his hand reached for hers; but he checked himself abruptly. She extended her hand, but he edged away from her. She drew nearer to him. He retreated to the very edge of the seat. She was pursuing now. He bit his lip and frowned.
She no longer thought of other things. She knew he could not retreat any farther. She covered his hand with hers. He suddenly clutched it so tightly that he hurt her, and that gave her the fierce joy of success in love as she understood it. She felt like shouting: "Hurt me! Hurt me! I've got you!" But what she did was to murmur:
"Hendrik!"
"What?" he said, hoarsely, resolutely keeping his eyes from looking into hers.
"Hendrik, do you really love me?"
"My promise!" he whispered, tensely, and looked at her pleadingly. "Don't, dear!"
She understood him perfectly; so she smiled. It was her iron will against his. He must do what he did not wish to do, and do it because she wished it! She did not wish to kiss him; but she wished, hypnotist-like, to compel him to kiss her. With her eyes she beckoned him to come closer.