He felt the blood rush to his forehead. "Are you asking me to stand on one side, and owning in the same breath that you love me best?" he said, through his teeth.
She held her breath. This was putting the thing plainly. Yet it was the truth. It made her angry to hear it. It goaded her on to fight yet.
"You only thought you loved me," she brought out, vehemently. "You had not seen me, you did not know me ... and there is a Russian girl—Nadia Stepanovna...."
He took her by the shoulders, gently, but with firmness, turning her round so as to face him; still she held her handkerchief to her eyes. "Rona, do you really believe that?"
She took away the handkerchief, and lifted her wet lashes; and she felt as though her soul were drowning in the mysterious compulsion of his look. For a space all strength left her. She was drained of power. This young man was her master; his claim could not be denied....
Still holding her with one hand, he slipped the other down inside his collar, and drew out a chain, with his half sixpence strung upon it. "Look here," he said. "Since I first saw you there has been no other thought in me."
"Oh!" the words seemed forced from her. "Oh, if I had been great enough to be loyal too!"
"No, no," he said, hastily, "that was my part. I to be loyal, the queen to reward or not, as she would. But if she will"—he held both her hands—"if she will, then nobody on earth—not Denzil, nor any other man..."
He was drawing her nearer, and how sweet, as well as how easy, to yield to that pressure, to feel the clasp of his arms about her, to rest in the knowledge that love had come to her indeed! But that must not be; and she collected all her strength to tell him so.
"David!" Somehow that name came to her lips when she would appeal to him. "Have pity, wait—Oh, I must say something to you...."