“Stalling——?” Gabrielle faltered.
“Bluffing—kidding—you know what I mean!” the man elucidated, shortly. “I’m getting kind of tired of it,” he added, warming, “I’m getting damned tired of it! You know what I think about you, and you ought to know that I’m not the kind of man that lets anybody else walk off with my property. You’re mine, ain’t you—you’re mine? Tell me that.”
His manner had grown so alarming, so actually threatening, that Gabrielle drew back a little in her chair, and her great eyes were dilated with a sort of terror as she answered, placatingly:
“You—you know I like you, Tom!”
“Yes, and I’ve had about enough of that sort of thing!” Tom answered, harshly. “I’ve had enough of that kind of ‘of course I like you—let me think about it!’ You can make up your mind now. You’re going to marry me, and soon, too. I’m going to tell them all to-morrow morning, and you and I’ll go into Boston some day next week and get married. And then when you want to go off with some other man for the whole afternoon, and come back laughing and whispering, you can ask me about it first!”
“Why, Tom,” Gabrielle said, with a frightened smile, “you’re not jealous?”
“Yes, I am, I’m damn jealous!” he answered, roughly catching her wrist and drawing her to him without leaving his seat. “I want you. You’ve as good as said you’d marry me a hundred times! I’ve got money enough to give you everything in God’s world you want. You can’t go back now on all you said—you can’t keep on bluffing and putting me off like a kid!”
“Tom, please——!” the girl stammered, on her feet and trying to free her hand. “You never did this before!”
He stood up, still holding tight to her wrist, and caught her in the grip of an iron arm.
“No,” he said, in a low voice, “I never did this before! But there’s no reason I shouldn’t kiss my girl. What are you afraid of?”