But he had held her by the hand and would not release her.
"I adore you—and you flout me—that is all that I know. Your indifference maddens me. Perhaps I am not as other men, and must not be judged by other standards than my own which are sufficient for myself as they should be sufficient for you. You know that I—I worship you—that by staying here I have forgotten my duty to my country at a time when I am most needed. Does that mean nothing to you? Can you be callous to a love like mine which lives only in your happiness and hangs upon your pleasure? I worship you, Marishka. Just one kiss, to tell me that you care for me a little. I will be content——"
She struggled in his grasp, her fear of him lending her more strength. Her lips—? Hugh's! Never—never—as God witnessed.
"One kiss, Marishka——"
She struggled free and struck him with her clenched fist furiously, full in the face, and then ran to the window, as he released her, breathing hard, trembling, but full of defiance. The suddenness of the affair and its culmination had driven them both dumb, Marishka with terror, Goritz with chagrin at his mistake and anger at her temerity. He touched his face with the fingers of one hand and stared at her with eyes that burned with black fire in the pallor of his face.
"You have struck me," he muttered. And then, with a shrug, "That was not a love tap, Countess Strahni."
She could not speak for very terror of the consequences of the encounter, but stood watching him narrowly, one hand upon the window-ledge beside her.
"Well," he asked presently, "are you dumb?"
"You—you insulted me," she gasped.
"Whatever I have done, you have repaid me," he muttered.