She turned quietly and looked at him.
"I have every proof of it! In London you refused to stay with me; it is the same here. Your words say one thing—your actions another!"
"You will be able to make some excuse to your father for not occupying the same room with me——"
In that moment, with her face pale, her head erect, a strange light in her eyes, she was more than ever beautiful. In John's eyes she was the fairest and finest-looking woman that ever breathed. Something made him put out his hand and grip her fingers.
"Elaine!"
She strove with surprising strength to release herself.
"No, Bernard, don't!"
Then John's elaborate and well-sustained defences fell. He forgot everything in a sudden wild rush of passion.
"I don't love you, Elaine?" he cried.
"You never loved me——" she began. And in that moment John's arms swept about her. He forgot everything—the world faded. He and the fairest of women—the woman of his love—were together, and he was kissing her as he had never kissed any woman.... Elaine's weak protests faded; astonishment swept over her, and gave place to a wonderful and radiant happiness.