She came swiftly across the room, and sat down beside him.
“Listen, René. I will not marry you, for many reasons. Two months ago I was prepared never to see you again. But things have altered. I haven’t told you yet, but all my circumstances have changed. I’m a rich woman now, and my life is my own, to do what I like with it. And because I love you, I propose to give it to you, for a little while at least. As long as you want me. Until——”
Her voice, quite calm and quiet at first, broke at the last words, and she paused abruptly.
René sprang to his feet, and drew her quickly up from the sofa into his arms.
“Anne!” he cried. “Sweet Anne Page!” the words came brokenly between tremulous laughter. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You will marry me, of course, because we love each other, because——”
She put one hand on his shoulder, and so kept him at arm’s length.
“I will never marry you,” she repeated. “If you won’t consent to let me stay as I suggest, I shall say good-bye to you now, and I will not see you again.”
“Remember René, you’re not talking to a girl. You’re dealing with a woman who knows her own mind, and will have this or nothing. If I stay we both have perfect freedom. I am old enough to do what I please with my life. And I please to do this. René,” for the first time the colour came to her cheeks, and her eyes wavered, “you’ll make me shy if I have to ask you so many times to let me stay.”
She looked suddenly so like a child as she spoke, that in spite of his perplexed amazement, Dampierre smiled.
He kissed her soft hair, and then her lips. “You’re adorable,” he murmured. “But you amazing woman, you’re an enfant terrible! What am I to do with you?”