"No—no," she breathed, dodged past him, hurried over the snow.
He was by her side, keeping pace easily with her.
"You can't escape me like that," he said. There was obvious brute masculinity in his tone. Though she tried to resent it, it did not displease her, and she was angry with herself that it did not. "Listen. I am a plain man. There is no fancy romance about me. I don't want illusions. But I love you." He stated the fact with absolute decision. "I can offer you a good position and all that, but I know that does not affect the matter. The vital thing is that from the moment we set eyes on each other something happened——" for the first time he faltered in his tone. "We both knew it. There it is. I hate being sentimental. But I want you—and I know that you want me."
"No—no!" she said again, almost running. A blind desire to escape, from herself as much as from him, dominated her. "I—I can't."
"Can't? Why not? You are free. I know you were engaged. But he is—gone. We live in a world of flesh and blood. You can't exist on a memory. Besides," the words came like a slave-driver's whip—she almost obeyed it—"you never loved him as you love me!"
She revolted, stung to burning resentment against herself equally as against this masterful, crude male. She stopped and faced him.
"Captain Lavering, you talk like a sick man." She triumphed in the steadiness of her words. "You have insulted me in the most uncalled-for manner. Let that be enough."
His eyes looked into hers, challenged her sincerity, were assured of it. He went red, looked awkward.
"Forgive me," he mumbled.
She went on without a word, ignored the fact that he accompanied her. They breasted an upward smooth slope of snow that stretched up to a crisp, clear outline against the blue sky. He ventured a sidelong glance at her, a little light of primitive cunning in his eyes.