She chose the first piece of music at hand—a waltz, a particularly romantic and melancholy refrain, that was soothing to the man in the chair. He sat with his head thrown back, blowing rings of smoke into the air and secretly congratulating himself upon his progress. In imagination, he experienced all the intoxication of the dance, and Dora in his arms, resting heavily upon him. In imagination, he was drawing her closer and closer, her eyes looking into his, and her breath upon his cheek.
He started up and faced her, watching the slender hands gliding over the keys, as if he could keep away no longer; then, he strolled over and stood behind her, ostensibly watching the music. She felt his presence oppressively. He bent lower, as if to scan the notes: yet, she knew that he could not read music. Her fingers faltered, and she looked over her shoulder nervously.
Her eyes met his, and the playing ceased. Those glittering orbs held her as if by a magic spell. She was rendered powerless when he put his arm about her, and touched her lips in a kiss.
Instantly, the spell was broken. She started up, and struck him in the face—even as Dick had done.
He only laughed—and apologized. The blow was a very slight one: and it gave him the opportunity of seizing her wrists, and holding her captive for 203 a few moments, until she confessed that she was sorry. Then she fled from the room.
“I’m getting on,” he murmured, as he dropped back into the armchair, and lighted another cigarette. “A little more boldness, a rigid determination, a constant repetition of my assurances that she cannot escape me, and she will surrender. They all do. It’s the law of nature. The man subdues the woman; and she surrenders at once when her strength is gone.”