With a touch of savagery his arms tightened round the girl. Even with her in his embrace he guessed that if she knew of the Sultan Casim Ammeh there would be no chance for him. His dark blood would be an efficient barrier; one she would never cross willingly.
"Say you will marry me next week, my little English flower," he said in a fierce, insistent tone.
"I couldn't dream of getting married for ages and ages."
He held her closer, kissing the vivid lips that refused him.
"Say next week, my darling," he whispered passionately. "I shall keep you here until you say next week."
Pansy looked at him with love and teasing in her eyes. "It's midnight now, or perhaps it's one, or even two in the morning. Time flies so when I'm with you. But at six o'clock the gardeners will be here with rakes and brooms, and they'll scratch and sweep us out of our corner. Six hours at most you can keep me, but the gardeners won't let you keep me longer than that. Good-night, Raoul, I'll go to sleep in the meantime."
In a pretence of slumber Pansy closed her eyes.
With a tender smile he watched the little face that looked so peacefully asleep on his shoulder.
"Wake up, my flower, and say things are to be as I wish," he said presently.
One eye opened and looked at him full of love and mischief.