“Darling! Don’t make so much of so very little!” he whispered, close to her ear. “I tell you I love you, sweet—you must believe me—you shall believe me! I’ll kiss you till you do.”
“No!” she exclaimed, almost fiercely. “You shan’t kiss me!”
And she rose with a spring, and left him kneeling beside the empty chair. He struggled to his feet, cut by the ridicule of his own attitude. But he could not move easily and swiftly as she could, being badly made. She stood back, looking at him over the chair, and her eyes flashed angrily. He moved towards her, but she drew further back.
“Don’t come near me!” she cried. “I won’t let you touch me!”
“Hester!” His voice trembled as he uttered her name.
“No—I know what you can do with your voice! I don’t believe you any longer—you’ve spoken to her just like that—you’ve called her Katharine, just as you call me Hester! Oh no, no! It’s all false—it doesn’t ring true any more. Go—I don’t want to see you—I don’t want to know you’re here—”
But still he tried to get nearer to her with pleading eyes that were beginning to light up as he moved, making his feet slide upon the carpet, rather than walking.
“Don’t!” she cried. “Don’t come near me! If you touch me—I’ll kill you!”
Her hands went out to resist him, and her low, passionate cry of warning vibrated in the little room. Crowdie was startled, even then, and he paused, checked as though cold water had been thrown in his face. Then, very much discomfited, he turned and, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jacket, began to walk up and down, passing and repassing her as she stood back against the fireplace. Her eyes followed him fiercely, and she breathed audibly with a quick, sob-like breath, with parted lips, between her teeth.
“I don’t know what to say to you,” he said, in a tone of a man who is at his wit’s end and is debating with himself.