She hid her face against his shoulder. She was almost in tears. "You—you hurt me! You frighten me!" she whispered.
"Do I?" he said, and still in his voice she heard that deep note that made her whole being quiver. "It's your own fault, my Daphne. You shouldn't run away."
"I—I can't help it," she said tremulously. "I sometimes think—I'm not big enough for you."
"You'll grow," he said.
"I don't know," she answered in distress. "I may not. And if I do, I feel—I feel as if I shan't be myself any longer, but just—but just—a bit of you!"
He laughed. "Daphne,—you oddity! Don't you want to be a bit of me?"
"I'd rather be myself," she murmured shyly.
His hold was not so close, and she longed, but did not dare, to get off his knee and breathe. But in that moment there came the sound of a halting step in the drawing-room beyond, and swiftly she raised her head.
"Oh, Eustace, let me go! Here is Scott!"
He did not release her instantly. Scott was already in the doorway before, like a frightened fawn, she leapt from his grasp. She heard Eustace laugh again, and somehow his laugh had a note of insolence.