“Maud’s a nice girl, and very popular. I wonder why she doesn’t marry.”
He answered roughly.
“I’m not going to marry her; drop that idea, will you.”
He came close to her, leaning against the side-board.
“You’re disappointed?”
“I? Oh, no.”
“Confess.” He put his hand under her chin, and forced her to look at him. “You want to get rid of me?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Why? Tell me!”
In the half light, her face was like ivory. Her eyes shone back into his. He started, and put his hand on her shoulder; what was it he saw there? She came closer to him, closer; he dared not move. She kissed him again, again, murmuring soft love words. Then he broke out, held her as if he would never let her go, calling her his beautiful Queen, his Oriental Pearl, his Song of Songs. She clung to him, her body responding to his; how long?—a moment, which goes back centuries, a century which is only a moment. He felt her tears on his face, as she caressed and kissed him; every drop of blood in him answered.