With the words still on his lips, he took her violently in his arms.
The touch of his hand against her body filled her with an enormous, sexless anger. Making an almost superhuman effort, she struck back his head and succeeded in wrenching herself from his grasp.
He stumbled, but instantly picked himself up. As he tried to back her away from the door, she again raised her hand.
"I can protect myself," she said, with a passionate repugnance that chilled him to the soul.
"Don't go like that," he cried, springing forward and clutching at her arm.
She dragged it away, rang for the maid, and rapidly turned the door knob.
"Berthe," she called down the hall, in clear ringing tones, "please open the storeroom. I want to get at my trunk."
Then she turned and looked at him, cold, distinguished, unapproachable.
- St. Hilaire plumped into the nearest seat.
"I meant no harm," he muttered, numb, and crestfallen as a dried pear.