Paul paused and looked at her passionately.
"Why are you so alluring to-night, Opal?"
Her whole body quivered, caught fire from the flame in his eyes. What was there about this man that made her always so conscious she was a woman? Why could she never be calm in his presence, but was always so fated to feel, feel, feel!
Her voice trembled as she looked up at him and answered, "Am I wicked, Paul? I wanted to be happy to-night—just for to-night! I wanted to forget the fate that was staring me so relentlessly in the face. But—I couldn't, Paul!"
Then she glanced through the curtains into the ballroom and shuddered.
"The Count is looking for me," she said. The Boy winced, and she went on rapidly, excitedly. "We must part. As well now as any time, I suppose, since it has to be. But first, Paul, let me say it once—just once—I love you!"
He snatched her to him—God! that any one else should ever have the right!
"And I—worship you, Opal! Even that seems a weak word, to-night. But—you understand, don't you? I didn't know at sea whether it was love or what it was that had seized me as nothing ever had before. But I know now! And listen, Opal—this isn't a vow, nor anything of that kind—but I feel that I want to say it. I shall always love you just this way—always—I feel it, I know it!—as long as I live! Will you remember, darling?—remember—everything?"
"Yes—yes! And you, Paul?"
"Till death!" And his lips held hers, regardless of ten thousand Counts and their claims upon her caresses.