“If you expected love, or sympathy even, from me, Mr. Moulton, you have taken the wrong way to obtain them. I am not one to be forced!”
“Forgive me, my beautiful one; but I could not help it, and on my knees I beg your pardon,” pleaded Ralph Moulton, with white face and imploring eyes upraised to hers.
“’Tis useless; I do not and cannot love you.”
He was on his feet again in an instant, while the hot, angry blood mounted to his brow.
“Is that answer final, Dora Dupont?” he asked between his set teeth.
“It is,” she returned, coldly. “And now allow me, if you please, to return to my guests.”
She began to wonder within herself how she had ever tolerated this man’s presence.
He placed himself directly in her way while he said:
“I warn you, Dora Dupont, to beware. I am not one to be trifled with. I give you one more opportunity to accept as true and pure a love as ever throbbed in the heart of man or woman. Will you accept it?”
“Never!”