He stretched out his arms and drew her gently within them, and for a moment she had neither the heart nor the courage to wipe that look of utter happiness from his face by telling him the truth, by saying blankly: "I don't love you."
He turned her face up to his and, stooping, kissed her with sudden passion.
"My dear!" he said, "my dear!" Then, after a moment:
"Oh, Nan, Nan, I can hardly believe that you really belong to me!"
Nan could hardly believe it either. It seemed just to have happened somehow, and her conscience smote her. For what had she to give in return for all the love he was offering her? Merely a little liking of a lonely heart that wanted to warm itself at someone's hearth, and beyond that a terrified longing to put something more betwixt herself and Peter Mallory, to double the strength of the barrier which kept them apart. It wasn't giving Trenby a fair deal!
"Roger," she said, at last, "I don't think I'd better belong to you. No, listen!"—as he made a sudden movement—"I must tell you. There is someone else—only we can't ever be more than friends."
Roger stared, at her with the dawning of a new fear in his eyes. When he spoke it was with a savage defiance.
"Then don't tell me! I don't want to hear. You're mine now, anyway."
"I think I ought—" she began weakly.
But he brushed her scruples aside.