“I am very sorry to hear it,” I said, gently. “I don’t want you to—oh! please don’t!” as he took my hand. “I—I—if you only knew how I hate being touched!”
He leant back, and looked at me. There is something which goes to the head a little about being in a brougham with nice fur rugs, alone with some one at night. The lights flashing in at the windows, and that faint scent of a very good cigar. I felt fearfully excited. If it had been Lord Robert, I believe—well——
He leant over very close to me. It seemed in another moment he would kiss me—and what could I do then—I couldn’t scream, or jump out in Leicester Square, could I?
“Why do you call me Evangeline?” I said, by way of putting him off. “I never said you might.”
“Foolish child—I shall call you what I please. You drive me mad—I don’t know what you were born for. Do you always have this effect on people?”
“What effect?” I said, to gain time; we had got nearly into Long Acre.
“An effect that causes one to lose all discretion. I feel I would give my soul to hold you in my arms.”
I told him I did not think it was at all nice or respectful of him to talk so. That I found such love revolting.
“You tell me in your sane moments I am most unsuitable to you—you try to keep away from me, and then, when you get close, you begin to talk this stuff! I think it is an insult!” I said, angry and disdainful. “When I arouse devotion and tenderness in some one, then I shall listen, but to you and to this—never!”
“Go on!” he said. “Even in the dim light you look beautiful when cross.”