"Doubt of the reality of your—well—"
"Love," said Gwynne, grimly.
But Isabel could not bring herself to utter the word. "One way or the other, it does not alter my determination not to marry."
"Let that rest for a while. What I want to know is, could you—do you love me?"
"Oh, I don't know! I only know I don't want to. You have a tremendous influence—you have made every one else seem commonplace and uninteresting—I have resented very much your neglect this last month. I am willing to tell you all this—also, that I have dreamed, imagined myself in love with you. But I am convinced that if you let me alone I shall get over it."
"I have no intention of letting you alone."
She moved backward suddenly, and he laughed. "I wouldn't touch you with a forty-foot pole," he said, roughly, "unless you wanted me. That, perhaps, shows how far gone I am. But precious little you know about men. Or yourself. If I kissed you this minute you would succumb—"
He turned suddenly and was down the hall and had slammed the kitchen door behind him before she realized that she was actually alone, that he meant to leave the house. For a moment she clutched the edge of the mantel-piece in a passion of relief and regret. Then her femininity was swept aside by her hospitable instinct and vehement fear. She ran down the hall and into the kitchen. But even his rain garments and boots were gone. She opened the back door and peered out into the inky darkness. A light was moving in the stable. The rain was falling in a flood and the wind almost drove her backward. But she gathered up her gown and ran as fast as she could make headway to the stable. He was alone, and tightening his horse's saddle-girths by the light of a dark lantern. He gave her a bare glance and went on with his work.
"You must not go!" She was forced to scream. "You shall not. Why, you are mad. The marsh—such conventionality is ridiculous. I refuse to recognize it."
He rose to his feet and led his horse outside. But before he could vault to the saddle she caught his arm and dragged him backward. "You shall not go! You shall not!" She could hardly hear the sound of her voice. But she heard his, and there was nothing in either storm or darkness to blunt the sense of touch. For a moment she felt as if the whole had never been halved, as if they two were youth incarnate; and his arm was like vibrating iron along her back. She thought he was going to kiss her and dazedly moved her head towards him. But he cried into her ear instead: