And he hadn’t even kissed her! That was his first thought. He ground his heel in the gravel.
And he had hurt her wrists! This was Zuleika’s first thought, as she came into her bedroom. Yes, there were two red marks where he had held her. No man had ever dared to lay hands on her. With a sense of contamination, she proceeded to wash her hands thoroughly with soap and water. From time to time such words as “cad” and “beast” came through her teeth.
She dried her hands and flung herself into a chair, arose and went pacing the room. So this was the end of her great night! What had she done to deserve it? How had he dared?
There was a sound as of rain against the window. She was glad. The night needed cleansing.
He had told her she was afraid of life. Life!—to have herself caressed by HIM; humbly to devote herself to being humbly doted on; to be the slave of a slave; to swim in a private pond of treacle—ugh! If the thought weren’t so cloying and degrading, it would be laughable.
For a moment her hands hovered over those two golden and gemmed volumes encasing Bradshaw and the A.B.C. Guide. To leave Oxford by an early train, leave him to drown unthanked, unlooked at... But this could not be done without slighting all those hundreds of other men ... And besides...
Again that sound on the window-pane. This time it startled her. There seemed to be no rain. Could it have been—little bits of gravel? She darted noiselessly to the window, pushed it open, and looked down. She saw the upturned face of the Duke. She stepped back, trembling with fury, staring around her. Inspiration came.
She thrust her head out again. “Are you there?” she whispered.
“Yes, yes. I knew you would come.”
“Wait a moment, wait!”