“I would, if nobody were looking.”
“Desperately?
“How do I know? Besides, it couldn't last long,” she said, thinking of his slimly powerful build as she had noticed it in his swimming costume. Smiling, amused, she wondered how long she could resist him with her own wholesome supple activity strengthened to the perfection of health in saddle and afoot.
“I should advise you to chloroform me,” she said defiantly. “You don't realise my accomplishments with the punching-bag.”
“So you mean to resist?”
“Yes, I do. If I were going to surrender at once, I might as well go off to church with you now.”
“Wenniston church!” he said promptly. “I'll order the Mercedes.”
She laughed, lazily settling herself more snugly by the fire. “Suppose it were our fire?” she smiled. “There would be a dog lying across that rug, and a comfortable Angora tabby dozing by the fender, and—you, cross-legged, at my feet, with that fascinating head of yours tipped back against my knees.”
The laughter in her voice died out, and he had risen, saying unsteadily: “Don't! I—I can't stand that sort of thing, you know.”
She had made a mistake, too; she also had suddenly become aware of her own limits in the same direction.