Wildly the words rushed out, spending themselves as it were upon utter silence. Avery's hands were no longer clenched. They lay open against his breast, and the mad beating of his heart thrilled through and through her as she stood.
He bent towards her eagerly, passionately. His hands reached out to clasp her; yet he paused. "Avery! Avery!" he whispered very urgently.
Her eyes were raised to his, grey and steady and fearless. Not by the smallest gesture did she seek to escape him. She suffered the hands upon her shoulders. She suffered the fiery passion of his gaze.
Only at last very clearly, very resolutely, she spoke. "Piers—no!"
His face was close to hers, glowing and vital and tensely determined. "I say 'Yes,'" he said, with brief decision.
Avery was silent. His hands were drawing her, and still she did not resist; but in those moments of silent inactivity she was stronger than he. Her personality was at grips with his, and if she gained no ground at least she held her own.
"Avery!" he said suddenly and sharply. "What's the matter with you? Why don't you speak?"
"I am waiting," she said.
"Waiting!" he echoed. "Waiting for what?"
"Waiting for you to come to yourself, Piers," she made steadfast answer.