"No," she faltered, "I—I might have meant it then."
"Does your heart change with the passing breeze?"
She was feeling panicky. Her throat was dry and hot.
"I hope not," she said faintly.
"Bah! Does it?" he demanded.
"No," she said, even more faintly.
"Very well. You lay in my arms there and told me you would be my wife. Years ago, before you came into my life, another woman played with me. You shall not. I do not know what has happened to bring about the change in you. It cannot alter my will. You are mine by your own lips. It is best for us both that I hold you to your promise. When we go out of this place to a priest you shall become my wife. You dare not be untrue to yourself!"
She was afraid to answer him. His dark, threatening face told her that he was beyond reason, and she sank wearily back in her chair. In her heart she was determined never to be his, but her lips played her false. Despite her will they whispered submissively, "Very well, Philip. I understand."
He laughed aloud. "What in Heaven's name made you act like that, Claire?" he asked, once more kindly and agreeable.
"A woman's whim!" she said, and hated herself for saying it.