He uttered a low laugh of mastery and gave his passion the rein, overwhelming her with those devouring kisses that from the very outset had always filled her with an indefinable sense of shame. She was quite powerless to frustrate him. The delicate barrier of her reserve was rudely torn away. The burning blush on face and neck served but to feed the flame. He kissed the panting throat as if he would draw the very life out of it. There was fierce possession in the holding of his arms. She thought she would never be free again.
The first fiery wave spent itself at last, but even then he did not let her go. He held her pressed to him, and she lay against his breast trembling but wholly passive, overcome by an inexplicable longing to hide, to hide.
After a few seconds he spoke to her, his voice oddly unsteady, very deep.
"You're driving me mad, Daphne. Do you know that?"
"I—I'm sorry," she faltered, trying to shelter her tingling face in his coat.
His arms were tense about her. "I want you more and more every day," he said. "I don't know how to wait for you. How long is it to our wedding?"
"Three weeks and four days," she told him faintly.
He gave his low, quivering laugh, "What! You are counting the days too!
Daphne! My Daphne! Need we wait—all that time?"
Dinah's thumping heart gave a great start and seemed to stop. "Oh yes," she gasped desperately. "Yes, I couldn't possibly—be ready sooner."
He put his face down to hers, as one who breathes the essence of a flower. "You are ready now," he said. "You will never be lovelier than you are to-night."
She tried to laugh, but his lips were too near. Her voice quavered piteously.