She turned away her head, but he buried his face in her neck, kissing the soft flesh again and again.
"Such a slip of a girl!" Paul murmured in her ear, when he again found his voice. "Such a tiny, little girl! I am almost afraid you will vanish if I don't hold you tight!"
Opal was thoroughly aroused now—no longer merely passive—quite satisfactorily responsive.
"I won't, Paul! I won't! But hold me closer, closer! Crush this terrible ache out of my heart if you can, Paul!"
There were tears in her voice. He clasped her to him and felt her heart throbbing out its pain against its own, as he whispered, "Opal, am I a brute?"
"N-o-o-o-o!" A pause. At last, "Let me go now, Paul! This is sheer insanity!"
But he made no move to release her until she looked up into his eyes in an agony of appeal, and pleaded, "Please, Paul!"
"Are you sure you want to go?"
"No, I'm not sure of that, but I'm quite sure that I ought to go! I must! I must!"
And Paul released her. Where was this madness carrying them? Was he acting the part of the man he meant to be, or of a cad—an unprincipled bounder? He did not know. He only knew he wanted to kiss her—kiss her....