"Oh! you never loved me," she stammered. "You couldn't speak coldly like this if you did."
He raised his eyes calmly, but made no reply.
"Love—judicial!" she went on scornfully. "What do you know of love? Love is a storm in the heart; a battle—a torrent—it has no mind for anything but itself. Love is ruthless—self-seeking——"
"You make it hard for me," he said with an effort at calmness.
"You know I—I need you—and yet you'd leave me at a word."
"I'm going—because it's best to go," he said hoarsely.
"You're going because you don't care what happens to me."
He flashed around, unable to endure more, and caught her in his arms. "Do I look like a man who doesn't care? Do I?" he whispered. "If you only hadn't said that—if you only hadn't said that——"
Now that she had won she was ready to end the battle, and drew timidly away. But with Cort the battle had just begun. And though she struggled to prevent it, he kissed her as he had never done before. Her resistance and the lips she denied him, the suppleness of her strong young body, the perfume of her hair brought back the spell of mid-summer madness which had first enchained him.
"You've got to listen to me now, Camilla. I don't care what happens to my promises—to you—or to any one else. I'm mad with love for you. I'll take the soul of you. It was mine by every right before it was his. I'll go away from here—but you'll go with me—somewhere, where we can start again——"