And still she stood there before him, saying nothing, leaning slightly towards him, her red lips half parted, her eyes fixed almost wistfully on his face.
“Go away!” he whispered hoarsely at last. The voice was not his own. “Go away! Go away!”
Suddenly she swayed to him.
“Oh, Harry, Harry,” she whispered, “must I TELL you? Don't you SEE?”
The flood broke through him. He seized her hungrily. He crushed her to him until she gasped; he pressed his lips against hers until she all but cried out with the pain of it, he ran his great brown hands blindly through her hair until it came down about them both in a cloud of spun light.
“Tell me!” he whispered. “Tell me!”
“Oh! Oh!” she cried. “Please! What is it?”
“I do not believe it,” he murmured savagely.
She drew herself from him with gentle dignity.
“I am not worthy to say it,” she said soberly, “but I love you with all my heart and soul!”