"What?" He was stooping over her; she felt his breath upon her neck. "Oh, Scott! Surely you're not afraid of Scott, are you? You needn't be. I've sent him off to write some letters. He'll be occupied for an hour at least. Come! Come! You promised. And we're wasting time."
There was a subtle caressing note in his voice. It thrilled her as she stood, and ever the soft music drifted on around them, pulsing with a sweetness almost too intense to be borne.
He held her with the hold of a conqueror. She was quivering from head to foot, but all desire to free herself was gone. Still she would not raise her face.
Panting, she spoke. "Yes, we—we are wasting time. Let us go!"
He laughed above her head—a low laugh of absolute assurance. "Are you too shy to look at me,—Daphne?"
She laughed also very tremulously. "I think I am—just at present. Let us dance first anyway! Must we go down to the salon? Couldn't we dance in the corridor?"
His arm was round her. He led her down the passage. "No, no! We will go down. And afterwards—"
"Afterwards," she broke in breathlessly, "we will just peep at the moonlight on the mountains, and then I must come back."
"I will show you something better than the moonlight on the mountains," said Sir Eustace.
She did not ask him what he meant, though her whole being was strung to a tense expectancy. He had brought her once more to the heights of Olympus, and each moment was full of a vivid life that had to be lived to the utmost. She lacked the strength to look forward; the present was too overwhelming. It was almost more than she could bear.