"Very well. Till Thursday then." He let her go; and then, as if repenting, caught her suddenly back to him, savagely, passionately. "I'll have that kiss anyway," he said, "whether you take me or not. It's the price of my good behaviour till Thursday. Come, a kiss never hurt anyone, so it isn't likely to kill you."
She did not resist him. She even gave him her lips; but she was shaking as one in an ague, and her whole weight was upon him as he crushed her in his arms. So deathly was her face that after a moment even he was slightly alarmed.
He put her down again in the chair with a laugh that was not wholly self-complacent. "That's all right, then. I'll leave you to get used to the idea. You will give me my answer on Thursday, then, and we will decide on the next step. I don't mean to be kept waiting, you know. I've had enough of that."
She did not answer him or move. She was staring straight before her, with hands fast gripped together in her lap.
He bent a little. "What's the matter? I haven't hurt you. Aren't you well?"
"Quite," she said, without stirring.
He laughed again—the soft laugh she so abhorred. "Jove! What a dance you've led me!" he said. "You'll have a good deal to make up for when the time comes. I shan't let you off that."
"Will you—please—go?" said Olga, in that still voice of hers, not looking at him yet, nor moving.
He laughed again caressingly. "Yes, I'll go. You want to have a good quiet think, I suppose. But there's only one way out, you know. You'll have to give in now. And the sooner the better."
"I shall see you on Thursday," she said.