He thrust her into the room as he spoke, grasping her arm just above the elbow, and kicked the door to behind him. She let him kiss her again, but when he pulled her down beside him on the old horsehair sofa, she set her hands against his chest, and held him a little away from her. She was still smiling, and there was a kind of sleepy desire in her eyes, but she slightly shook her head. “Now, Bart! Now, Bart!”
“You little devil, I don’t believe you love me at all!” he said, half-laughing, half-hurt.
She leaned swiftly forward to plant a quick, firm kiss upon his mouth. “Yes, then, I do, my dear, but you’re a bad one for a poor girl to trust in. A clean-off rascal you are, love, aren’t you now?”
He dragged her across his knees, so that her dark head lay on his arms. “I swear I’ll marry you, Loveday!”
She made no attempt to free herself from the rough grip upon her, but said softly: “No.”
His hand, which had been stroking one of her thighs through the thin stuff of her dress, tightened on her firm flesh. “You’re driving me mad! I’m not going on like this!”
“We must be patient,” she said. “Give over, Bart-love! you’ll have me bruised black and blue. Let me sit up like a decent woman, now do!”
He released her, and she began to straighten her dress, and her dishevelled hair. “You’ll get me turned off without a character, my dear, that’s what you’ll do. We’ve got to be careful.”
“To hell with that! I’m my own master, and I’ll do as I choose. If the Guv’nor won’t give me Trellick Farm, I’ll cut loose and make a living on my own! I could do it.”
“No, but you shan’t then,” she said, taking one of his hands between hers and fondling it. “There’s never one as would employ you, love. You with your wildness, and your high-up airs, and the crazy notions you do be taking into your head! The poorhouse is where we’d end, and you promising to set me up in style at Trellick!”