“Christine—won't you answer me?”
She raised her eyes; and for an infinitesimal fraction of a second they rested upon his. But then they hastened to seek refuge behind dropped lids, as if afraid of what they had seen and of what they had revealed. Again her cheeks blushed scarlet.
Elias started. Suddenly, he threw his arms around her, and drew her to him hard and close. Her face lay against his shoulder. There was no sound in the room, save the sound of their breathing. At last she broke away.
“Christine—do you think—perhaps—you do—care for me—a little?”
“I don't know,” in a timid whisper.
“Not—not the least bit in the world?”
“I d-don't know,” in a smaller and more timid whisper still. “I—I never thought of it till—till you spoke.”
“Oh, but now that I have spoken—now that you have thought of it—say—say that you don't hate me.”
“Oh, no; I don't hate you at all.”
He took her hand and kissed it. It was burning hot. She drew it gently away.