“You madman! Unfasten the door.”
“Not I.”
“I tell you that you are mad,” she cried, trying to free herself. “Gerard, dear Gerard, be reasonable.”
She writhed herself free and ran and turned the bolt back. He followed to refasten it, but she held him.
“Think of the consequences of our being found locked in here.”
“Bah! no one will come now till after eleven, and if they did I don’t care. Look here,” he cried, clasping her to his breast again, “suppose this Arabian Night sort of fortune were found, do you think I am blind? You would marry this Capel.”
“Well?”
“I won’t have it,” he cried.
“Why not?” she whispered, and her creamy arms clasped about his neck. “We are so poor, Gerard, and we must have money to live.”
“Yes, but at that cost,” he cried, passionately.