"Yes?" she said, rather absently.
He rushed on boyishly, desperately:
"I wish I were sure of how you will feel about me after the war is over. Miss Melnotte—Belinda——"
"Mr. Sanderson!" she exclaimed, drawing away from him. "Surely you are forgetting yourself."
"Oh, Belinda——"
"If you have no regard for yourself—for your duty as a man," the girl cried hoarsely, "show some compassion for me."
"But, Belinda, listen! I tell you——"
"You may tell me nothing! Nothing! You have no right to speak to me in this way."
"You—you forbid me?" he stammered, gazing at her with a hurt expression. Her eyes were aflame, her cheeks hot with anger. Yet she trembled through all her frame. "Do you mean this?" he went on slowly.
"Certainly I mean it," she declared fiercely. "Never speak in this vein again. If you do I must forget that we are even acquaintances, Mr. Sanderson."