She shook her head lightly.
“Impossible, Davilof.”
“It’s not impossible. There’s very little difference between love and hate—sometimes. And I want all or nothing.”
“I’m afraid it must be nothing, then.”
“We shall see. But if I can’t have you, I swear no other man shall!”
She glanced up at him, lifting her brows a little.
“Aren’t you going too far, Antoine? You can hate me, if you like, or love me—it’s a matter of indifference to me which you do. But I don’t propose to allow you to arrange my life for me. And in any case”—after a moment—“I’m not likely to fall in love—with you or anyone else.”
“You think not?” He stood looking down at her sombrely. “You’ll fall in love right enough some day. And when you do it will be all or nothing with you, too. You’re that kind. Love will take you—and break you, Magda.”
He spoke slowly, with an odd kind of tensity. To Magda it seemed almost as if his quiet speech held the gravity of prophecy, and she shivered a little.
“And when that time comes, then you’ll come back to me,” he added.