Now, as she spoke, she saw that his eyes were grown suddenly big and fierce, and, in that moment, her hands were caught in his powerful clasp.
"Let me go!" she cried.
"No," said he, shaking his head, "not until you tell me if you—love me.
Speak, Anthea."
"Loose my hands!" She threw up her head proudly, and her eyes gleamed, and her cheeks flamed with sudden anger. "Loose me!" she repeated. But Bellew only shook his head, and his chin seemed rather more prominent than usual, as he answered:
"Tell me that you love me, or that you hate me—whichever it is, but, until you do—"
"You—hurt me!" said she, and then, as his fingers relaxed,—with a sudden passionate cry, she had broken free; but, even so, he had caught and swept her up in his arms, and held her close against his breast. And now, feeling the hopelessness of further struggle, she lay passive, while her eyes flamed up into his, and his eyes looked down into hers. Her long, thick hair had come loose, and now with a sudden, quick gesture, she drew it across her face, veiling it from him; wherefore, he stooped his head above those lustrous tresses.
"Anthea!" he murmured, and the masterful voice was strangely hesitating, and the masterful arms about her were wonderfully gentle, "Anthea—do you—love me?" Lower he bent, and lower, until his lips touched her hair, until beneath that fragrant veil, his mouth sought, and found, hers, and, in that breathless moment, he felt them quiver responsive to his caress. And then, he had set her down, she was free, and he was looking at her with a new-found radiance in his eyes.
"Anthea!" he said, wonderingly, "why then—you do—?" But, as he spoke, she hid her face in her hands.
"Anthea!" he repeated.
"Oh!" she whispered, "I—hate you!—despise you! Oh! you shall be paid back,—every penny,—every farthing, and—very soon! Next week—I marry Mr. Cassilis!"