She bent her head. "Yes—I understand."
He stood for a moment longer, then abruptly his hold tightened upon her. She lifted her face then sharply, resisting him almost instinctively, and in that instant his passion burst its bonds. He crushed her to him with sudden mastery, and, so compelling, he kissed her hotly, possessively, dominatingly, holding her lips with his own, till she strained against him no longer, but hung, burning and quivering, at his mercy.
Then at length very slowly he put her down into the chair from which she had risen at his entrance, and released her. She leaned upon the table, trembling, her hands covering her face. And he stood behind her, breathing heavily, saying no word.
So for a space they remained in darkness and silence, till the brisk opening of the kitchen-door brought them back to the small things of life.
Dick moved. "Go upstairs!" he said, under his breath.
She stirred and rose unsteadily. He put out a hand to help her. She did not take it, did not seem even to see it.
Gropingly, she turned to the door, went out slowly, still as if feeling her way, reached the narrow stairs and went up them, clutching at the rail.
He followed her to the foot and stood there watching her. As she reached the top he heard her sob.
An impulse caught him to follow her, to take her again—but how differently!—into his arms,—to soothe her, to comfort her, to win her back to him. But sternly he put it from him. She had got to learn her lesson, to realize her obligations,—she who talked so readily of leaving him! And for what?
A wave of hot blood rose to his forehead, and he clenched his hands. He went back into the room, knowing that he could not trust himself.