Gault was not ill-pleased by her refusal. It seemed to testify to his power. “There is another side to my nature,” he went on, “which I have never revealed to a living soul. All the softer feelings which other men scatter in a hundred directions I have saved up for one!”
Mercy! ejaculated Loseis to herself.
“But it is not to be given lightly,” said Gault. “I am a proud, jealous, and violent man. I may be led by one whom I trust, but never driven. I shall never let down my guard until I am assured that the one I have chosen is worthy . . .”
This sort of talk put Loseis on pins and needles—she could not have told why. Her body twitched, and her face was all drawn up in a knot of comical distaste. She kept her head averted from Gault. Oh, if he would only stop! she was saying to herself.
“. . . of my confidence,” he went on; “such is my character. I am not trying to excuse it. I have long been indifferent to both praise and blame. The woman who places her hand in mine must . . .”
Loseis could stand no more. Springing to her feet, she ran back towards the place where the horses were grazing.
“Excuse me a moment,” she called over her shoulder. “I must water my horse.”
Gault with a black face had sprung up to follow her. But he checked himself. That would be too ludicrous for one of his years and dignity. Besides, she could probably run faster than he. He ground his teeth with rage. “A coquette!” he muttered. “By God! I’ll tame her!”
All the way home he glowered at her back, but Loseis could not see that.
After supper she went across to hear the radio concert in some trepidation; but Gault received her with his usual smooth and well-controlled face; and she felt relieved. He treated her with the most exquisite courtesy. This high manner may have concealed terrible fires within; but Loseis was not worrying about that. She gave herself up to the music.