A faint, wintry little smile curved her lips.
"I'm glad you didn't."
"Diana!" He sprang forward impetuously. "Do you mean that?"
She nodded slowly.
"Yes. Even if—if we can't ever marry, we've had . . . to-day."
A smouldering fire lit itself in the man's blue eyes. He had spoken but the bare truth when he had said that warmer blood ran in his veins than that of the cold northern peoples.
"Yes," he said, his voice tense. "We've had to-day."
Diana trembled a little. The memory of that fierce, wild love-making of his rushed over her once more, and the primitive woman in her longed to yield to its mastery. But the cooler characteristics of her nature bade her pause and weigh the full significance of marrying a man whose life was tinged with mystery, and who frankly acknowledged that he bore a secret which must remain hidden, even from his wife.
It would be taking a leap in the dark, and Diana shrank from it.
"I must have time to think," she repeated. "I can't decide to-day."