Susan raised the unconscious head and held it to her bosom. Alone, with no eye looking, she pressed her lips on his forehead. Courant's callousness roused a fierce, perverse tenderness in her. He might sneer at David's lack of force, but she understood. She crooned over him, moved his hair back with caressing fingers, pressing him against herself as if the strength of her hold would assure her of the love she did not feel and wanted to believe in. Her arms were close round him, his head on her shoulder when Courant came back with a dipper of water.
"Get away," he said, standing over them. "I don't want to wet you."
But she curled round her lover, her body like a protecting shield between him and danger.
"Leave go of him," said Courant impatiently. "Do you think I'm going to hurt him with a cup full of water?"
"Let me alone," she answered sullenly. "He'll be all right in a minute."
"You can be any kind of a fool you like, but you can't make me one. Come, move." He set the dipper on the ground.
He leaned gently over her and grasped her wrists. The power of his grip amazed her; she was like a mouse in the paws of a lion. Her puny strength matched against his was conquered in a moment of futile resistance.
"Don't be a fool," he said softly in her ear. "Don't act like a silly baby," and the iron hands unclasped her arms and drew her back till David's head slid from her knees to the ground.
"There! We're all right now." He let her go, snatched up the dipper and sent a splash of water into David's face.
"Poor David," he said. "This'll spoil his good looks."