"Well, a kiss won't cost you nothin'. It's your turn now."
"But, Ben—but, Ben—"
"Oh, well, if that's the way you feel about it—"
He made as if to relinquish her hand. But to be thought lacking in generosity had stung her beyond endurance. Without stopping to think—blindly and quickly, so that she might not think—she gave herself to his arms.
"Well," she breathed in a soft voice, "just one...."
"Just one, eh?" He pressed his lips to hers. "Oh, I don't know about that!"
He tightened his embrace. Her heart was hammering madly. His mouth hurt her lips, his beard rasped her tender skin. She wanted frantically to get away, to regain possession of herself; and wanted it the more because, dimly through the tumult of thought and emotion, she was conscious of the fact that she rather liked it.
"Joan...." Austin murmured in a tone that, soft with the note of wooing, was yet vibrant with the elation of the conqueror, "Joan...."
One arm shifted up from her waist and his big hand rested heavily over her heart.
For a breath she seemed numb and helpless, suffocating with the tempest of her senses. Then like lightning there pierced her confusion the memory of the knee that had driven her from the car, only that afternoon: symbolic of the bedrock beastliness of man. With a quick twist and wrench she freed herself and reeled a pace or two away.