"Good Lord!"
"That's what I think, too; she's been dodging me for years." Carstairs was quite confident, his income for the year had totalled considerably nearer £4000, than the £400 stipulated by the autocratic old aristocrat.
He sent up his card and was admitted to her dressing-room. She was dressed in magnificent robes for the part she was taking; he looked at her for some moments, in silence, fascinated; she had attained the full perfection of her beauty, and it was exceeding rare; her eyes looked into his with a wondrous light. Still in silence he stepped up close and took her hand, then, much to his own astonishment, his great shoulders bent forward, and he kissed the back of her fingers; he had never imagined himself doing such a thing, it was quite spontaneous. He raised his head and looked into her eyes. "You are my queen," he said, with a smile, and then he took her in his arms and kissed her on the lips.
"So you've come," she said, "you've been a long time—I—I wanted to do something."
"Ye-es! That is the external—paradox, I imagine," he answered, gazing steadily into the depths of her eyes. They were silent for some minutes. The full tide of his deep, strong nature set to this beautiful woman; the splendid purpose of life tingled in his blood and shone out through his eyes as he gazed into hers. Only men like Carstairs feel such a tide. He felt that this was the summit of his life. "The world was made for you and me," he said.
"There's the call," she answered, suddenly releasing herself. "I must go."
He stepped to the door and stood with his back to it, the big bulk of him nearly filled it. "No! By Jove, you won't! Not this time."
"But I must," she said, "the manager will be frantic."
"Show me the manager, and I'll flatten him out."
"Please let me go."