She did not cry out or attempt to resist him. She had known that her fate was sealed. Only, as his lips sought hers, she shrank away with every fibre of her being in sick revolt, and for the first time in her life she begged for mercy.
"Please—please—give me to-night!" she pleaded. "Only to-night! Yes, I will marry you. But don't—don't ask—any more of me—to-night!"
He paused, still holding her in his arms, feeling the wild beat of her heart against his own, softened in spite of himself by that quivering, agonized appeal.
"And if I let you go to-night, what will you give me to-morrow?" he said.
"I shall be—your fiancée—to-morrow," she whispered, gasping.
"And you will marry me—when?"
"You shall decide," she murmured faintly.
He laughed rather brutally. "A somewhat empty favour, my dear, since I should have decided in any case. But if you give me your promise to come to me like a sensible girl, without any more nonsense of any kind—"
"I will!" she said. "I will!"
"Then—" he released her with the words—"I give you your freedom—till to-morrow. Go—and make the most of it!"