Rackham did not fall back. He laughed indulgently. Was she troubled because of the world's opinion?
"Dear, silly child," he said. "Don't be frightened. I'll make them treat you properly. I'll make them swallow their amazement; and they shall be kind to you."
Yes, this man loved her. That was why she was afraid of him. She was not used to being loved like that. She had never learned to see in it help, instead of danger....
"I can't marry you," she repeated, but her breath came fast.
"Oh, but you must!" he said. "Fate is on my side. What kind of a struggle can you make against me all by yourself? I've found you, Susan, and I'll never let you go.... There's nothing too outrageous for me to undertake, and nothing on earth to stop me.—Your hands are trembling."
He bent to seize them in his, brushing aside her mute defiance with his violent tenderness, as determined as Fate itself. Just for a minute she felt very tired in spirit, very weak to resist him. It was so strange, although it was terrible, to be loved. Why should any man care so deeply as to stand between her and the emptiness of the world? Might she not, if she submitted, find the strange worship sweet?
She did not know she was wavering until she understood his smile, and with that her heart was smitten by a fugitive likeness, a trick of manner, reminding her of another man. Uselessly, poignantly, memory stabbed her. She flung out these trembling hands.
"No!" she panted. The thought of it was unbearable. "I can't—I can't!"
He was taken aback by the vehemence of her cry. For a moment he did not speak, looking at her queerly. His laugh was angry.
"I've a great mind to bundle you into a cab and carry you off," he said. "Oh, they'd let me!—I've only to tell these people that you are my wife and a little mad. My tale would sound more probable than yours."