For a moment she had seemed to speak with passion, but, before he could notice the transition, he found her only trying on passion's garments.
"No, I don't," she answered slowly. "I couldn't bear it. You know I'm not free! But do you want to give me up? You've had a good deal of me since August and now you've had three days without me. D'you want to marry me?"
Eric felt indistinctly that he was no longer the man who had come reluctantly to the house to do her a favour; yet he had always been able to bring her to her knees by refusing to meet or write to her; if he put her need of him to the test, with separation as an alternative, she must surrender.
"Yes, I do," he answered.
Her hand went up and covered her eyes again. While he waited for her to speak, his memory flung up, one after another, the moods of loss and loneliness that he had undergone since the telephone grew silent and no letter came from her. A warm wave of tenderness swept over him, as he imagined the glory of having her youth and wit and beauty entrusted to him.
"For God's sake, don't ask me that, Eric!" she whispered.
He looked at her in astonishment, wondering dully what she aimed to achieve. If he insisted on asking her, she would certainly consent; but he could not ask her against her will. Suddenly he realized that he knew nothing of women; some, he had been told, liked to be bullied and compelled, others were only to be won by yielding and deference.
"You don't want me to ask you that?"
"No! For God's sake, no! If anything happens, Eric—you know what I mean—if I can, then ask me, please ask me! But not now! I should be miserable and I should make you miserable! Eric, be generous!"
Her fingers were pressed deep into her cheeks, and he could see her bosom rising and falling.