“Why?” His blue eyes lifted imperiously. “Miss Delia—do you dislike me?”
“I do not know you,” she faltered.
His face darkened.
“Ah, yes, you know me as much in these moments as you ever will—I know you—to the bottom of your white heart.”
“Know me?” she winced and blushed.
“I know you do not dislike me,” he said, studying her curiously. “Though your lips may say so.”
She answered bravely.
“Sir—I have not taught them to lie.”
He came a little nearer to her and again she was aware of the strong perfume he carried, overcoming, stupefying her.
“So,” he said, “you cannot lie, and if I said—ah—if I said—” He broke off with a little reckless laugh; his shadow was upon her; his presence seemed to fill the world; she could no more escape it than she could the air about her; she could only shrink away, trembling against the wall.