“Come, let us go,” said Dick painfully, conscious of her physical charm. “We must get away.”
“But you haven't helped me, Dick,” she cried, drawing nearer to him and laying her hand upon his arm.
The perfume of her hair smote upon his senses. The beauty of her face and form intoxicated him.
He knew he was losing control of himself.
“Come, Iola,” he said, “let us go.”
“Tell me what to say, Dick,” she replied, smiling into his face and leaning toward him.
“How can I tell you?” cried Dick desperately, springing up. “I only know you are beautiful, Iola, beautiful as an angel, as a devil! What has come over you, or is it me, that you should affect me so? Do you know,” he added roughly, lifting her to her feet, his breath coming hard and fast, “I can hardly keep my hands off you. We must go. I must go. Come!”
“Poor child,” mocked Iola, still smiling into his eyes, “is it afraid it will get hurt?”
“Stop it, Iola!” cried Dick. “Come on!”
“Come,” she mocked, still leaning toward him.