“Really!” she replied, witheringly. “Do you?”
“No,” he went on, “I don’t understand you at all. But I simply will find out!”
He strode towards her. She shrank into the seat, but he caught her hands. For a moment she resisted; but he held fast, and from his hands she felt a current as of fire, flowing through all her veins.
Slowly he drew her to her feet. “Sylvia!” he whispered. “Sylvia! Look at me!”
She obeyed him instinctively, and their eyes met. “You love me!” he exclaimed. She could hear his quick breathing. She felt herself sinking towards him. She felt his arms about her, his breath upon her cheek.
“I love you!” he murmured. And she closed her eyes, and he kissed her again and again. In his kisses it seemed to her that she would melt away.
She was exultant and happy. The testimony of his love was rapture to her. But then suddenly came a fear which they had inculcated in her. All the women who had ever talked to her on the problem of the male-creature—all agreed that nothing was so fatal as to allow the taking of “liberties.” Also there came sudden shame. She began to struggle. “You must not kiss me! It is not right!”
“But, Sylvia!” he protested. “I love you!”
“Oh, stop!” she pleaded. “Stop!”
“You love me!” he whispered.