He had no difficulty in reading her thoughts. “I’m rich; you shall have all the pretty things your own prettiness deserves. I’ll hire an hôtel for you; as its mistress you will play the hostess to my friends; in France these arrangements are understood. I know of a dozen such establishments. Do you choose to come with me, or not?”
Her native hardheadedness made her play for time, but her imagination was already running riot. The picture he drew lured her; she thought recklessly that she cared very little for the marriage-tie if she could live in Paris, where such arrangements, Vidal said, were understood. “How can I answer you, my lord? You — I protest you take me by surprise. I must have time!”
“There is no time. If Quarles dies, it’s farewell to England for me. Give me your answer now, or kiss me and say goodbye.”
She had only one steadfast thought, and that was that she would not let him slip through her fingers. “No, no, you cannot be so cruel!” she said with a tiny sob.
He was quite unmoved, but his hot gaze seemed to devour her. “I must. Come! Are you afraid of me that you hesitate?”
She drew away from him, a hand at her breast. “Yes, I am afraid,” she said breathlessly. “You force me — you are cruel ...”
“You need not be afraid: I adore you. Will you come?”
“If — if I say no?”
“Then let us kiss and part,” he said.
“No, no, I cannot leave you like that! I — oh, if you say I must, I will come with you!”