"I mean I can't hold it any longer! I love you!—I love you to death!"
He took her in his arms suddenly, passionately, crushing her almost fiercely against his heart. He kissed her on the lips—once—twice—a dozen times in half a minute—feeling the warm, moist softness in the contact and holding her pliant figure yet more closely.
She, too, was mad with it all, for a second. Then she began to battle with his might.
"Van!—Mr. Van!" she said, pushing his face away with a hand he might have devoured. "Let me go! Let me go! How dare—— You shan't! You shan't! Let me go!"
Her nature, in revolt for a moment against her better judgment, refused to do the bidding of her muscles. Then she gathered strength out of the whirlwind itself and pushed him away like a tigress.
"You shan't!" she repeated. "You ought to be ashamed! How dare you treat me——"
He had turned abruptly, looking towards the door. Her utterance was halted by his movement of listening. She had barely time to take up her papers, and make an effort at regaining her composure. Bostwick was coming down the hall. He presently appeared at the door. For a moment there was silence.
Van was the first to speak.
"How are you, Searle?" he said cheerily. "Got over your grouch?"
Bostwick looked him over with ill-concealed loathing.