"No! . . . No!" She shrank from him, her hands stretched out as though to ward him off.
"You've said 'no' to me for the last six months," he said grimly.
"But—that's ended now."
Her eyes searched his face wildly, reading only a set determination in it. Slowly, desperately, she backed away from him; then, suddenly, she made a little rush, and, reaching the door, pulled at the handle. But it remained fast shut.
"It's locked!" she cried, frantically tugging at it. She flashed round upon him. "The key! Where's the key?"
The words came sobbingly.
He put his fingers in his pocket.
"Here," he answered coolly.
Despairingly she retreated from the door. There was an expression in his eyes that terrified her—a furnace heat of passion barely held in check. The Englishman within him was in abeyance; the hot, foreign blood was leaping in his veins.
"Max!" she faltered appealingly.
He crossed swiftly to her side, gripping her soft, bare arms in a hold so fierce that his fingers scored them with red weals.