"Didn't you? Then the men were more decent than I supposed.... Yes, I let John Lyndhurst kiss me once. And Francis Hargrave did it.... And Jim Allys tried to, against my wishes—but he never attempted it after that."
She had been looking down again at the crystal while speaking; her attitude was penitential, but the faint smile on her lips adorably mischievous. Presently she glanced up at him to see how he was taking it. He must have been taking it very badly, for:
"Clive!" she said, startled; "are you really annoyed with me?"
The gathering scowl faded and he forced a smile. Then the frown returned; he flung one arm around her supple waist and gathered both her hands into his, holding them closely imprisoned.
"You must love!" he said almost roughly.
"My dear! I've told you that I do love you."
"And I tell you you don't! Your calm and cheerful friendship for me isn't love!"
"Oh. What else is it, please?"
He kissed her on the mouth. She suffered his lips again without flinching, then drew back laughingly to avoid him.