"I want you so," she breathed, and leaned back, away from him, her eyes half veiled.
He had his arms about her body, held her close. The red lips curved in a riddle of a smile. He saw dark depths in the shadowed eyes.
"Malbrouck s'en va t'en guerre" she murmured.
Harry exclaimed something, felt her against him, was aware of all her form—and heard footsteps.
Alison was out of his grasp, her back to him, plucking a rose. "You will see me again—you shall see me again. I ride in the wood to-morrow morning," she muttered.
"You'll pay for it," Harry growled.
His father arrived, Mrs. Weston, a servant at their heels.
Alison came round with a swirl of skirts. "Dear sir, I doubt you have burnt up dinner by your long passages with my Weston. Come in, come in," and she led the way.
For once Colonel Boyce was without an answer. Harry, who was dreading witticisms, looked at him in surprise, and with more surprise saw that he looked angry. Mrs. Weston hurried on before them all. Her eyes were red.