“But you would stay a month if I wanted you to!” said Julia, triumphantly.
“Six months, let everything go hang!” he said savagely. “You’ve got me, all right. But to waste my time—even for eight—nine days longer! That’s a horse of another color. Am I to see you every day or not?”
“Oh, yes! Yes!” murmured Julia. “I have given up the struggle. The way you got in—it was too funny! I saw at once that I might as well give up first as last. You will always have your way. Besides, I want to. I’ll meet you every day, three times a day. I couldn’t help myself if I would.”
“Thank heaven. And don’t try being too strong again. It’s not the strong women that men die for, Julia.”
He lifted his head with the uneasy sense of being watched. “Damn it!” he thought. “Is that old witch—” But he could see nothing.
“Julia,” he said, lowering his voice, “I shall not come to this house again. Meet me to-night—no, to-morrow morning—early—at nine o’clock—over in that jungle.”
“I will! I will! Only promise never to be angry with me again.”
“That will depend entirely upon yourself. If you go back on your word —”
“As if I would! We’ll have long wonderful days together— Oh, dear, they are coming.”
She broke away from him and smoothed her hair.