"How can I?"
"So easily. Just go to her. She's your mother. She loves you, she understands you. But she may not understand--about me. She may think that I'm just--just a dissolute woman. That doesn't matter. Tell her that it doesn't matter. Tell her that I don't want to keep you from her; that until--until we're properly married, you'll be as free to go to her as if"--he could hardly hear the last words--"as if you'd taken any--any ordinary mistress."
"Don't, don't!" He strained her to him, fiercely protective. "You're not to speak of yourself like that."
"Why not?" She lifted a face brave despite her tears. "It's true. Don't let's funk things. From the day I come to you till the day Hector sets me free I shall be your mistress. You mustn't expect your mother or any one else to take a different view. But I'll be so happy, man; so much happier than I've ever been in my life before--if only you'll make it up with your mother. You will, won't you? Promise me."
"Tell me," he whispered, and his lips trembled, "is this thing so vital to your happiness?"
"Yes," she whispered back.
"Then--it shall be as you wish." His arms were still round her; and she felt herself weakening--weakening. She felt herself all exhausted--all a limpness in his arms.
"Sweetheart," his voice was hoarse in her ears, "don't go. I want you so much. Every day, every night without you is misery."
"Ronnie--Ronnie! Don't tempt me----"
Feverishly her ungloved hands fondled him; feverishly her arms looped his neck, drawing his face down to hers. She could see, under the gray-gold of his hair, the great vein throbbing on his forehead, the dart and pulse of passion in his eyes. His lips, trembling still, fastened on her mouth. The kiss was torment. Feverishly her mouth clung to his; feverishly, blent in ecstasy, fire feeding flame, they clung to one another--till, at last, half fainting, she tore herself away.