He kissed her mouth twice; drew her warm head to his breast; touched her face with his lips, very gently,—her clustered curls; and she looked back at him out of eyes in which light trembled.
If her soft, cool lips remained unresponsive, at least they did not avoid his, nor did her cool body drawn close, closely imprisoned.
After a long while, against him, he was aware of her heart, hurrying. In the first flash of boyish passion he crushed her in his arms and felt her breath and lips suddenly hot against his.
Then, in the instant, she had disengaged herself violently and had stepped clear of him, scarlet and silent. Nor spoke until he followed and she had avoided him again.
“Don’t—do that,” she said unsteadily.... “You—hurt me.”
“Eris! I love you——”
“Don’t say that.... I don’t like it.... I don’t like it,” she repeated breathlessly.
A silence—confusion of hurrying atoms of time—a faint flash from chaos.
“Can’t you care for me, Eris?” he whispered.
She turned on him, pale, controlled: “I don’t like what you did, I tell you!... And that’s that!”