"No!" said Patricia, again. But she was not really unwilling or afraid. She was happy and at ease and full of almost luxurious reassurance. And at the same time she was inexorable. When Harry would have kept her and again would have kissed her he was unable to do so. Her body seemed to be steel, her will greater than his impetuousness. In the struggle between domination and the instinct for liberty this new strength of Patricia's was in no way to be gainsaid. She continued, despite his effort, unquestionably to belong to herself. The impulse to submit was vanquished by something yet more insistent.
"Patricia!" commanded Harry. He was warm, was masterful. Such a tone had never hitherto failed him, and was now both ardent and sincere. Patricia was quite aware of the physical agitation which he thus expressed. He was bent upon victory, forcing the issue. And with each fleeting second his will strengthened her own. Harry was urgent. Patricia's nerve was steadied. He followed her, determined, very nearly irresistible.
"No. I'm not sure that I want you to." Her tone was cold and without feeling; but her eyes were shining and her heart was full.
"My dear, you can't...."
She held his hand, and pressed it, all the time evading his renewed embrace. The wind came sweeping along the street, and around them was blackness and silence. Moved and troubled, but as one in a dream, Patricia freed herself, made no answer to his entreaty, and left him listening to the sound of a closing door, and feeling the smart tingle of raindrops upon his face and the backs of his bare hands.
CHAPTER EIGHT: A DAY IN PATRICIA'S LIFE
i
Patricia undressed, still trembling, still with a set face and a false air of coolness. Only when she was in bed was she hysterically filled with anger for herself, and contempt, almost with self-horror. She could not comprehend herself or her own stupidity, so great was her longing for love and understanding.