“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes held by his penetrating gaze.
Merrington smiled.
“And yet,” he said, so low that the words seemed to her almost as breathing in her ears, “I would give every drop of blood, every fiber in my body, to make you happy, for I love you with every drop of my blood.”
“Mr. Merrington——” she began, but he cut her short.
“Listen to me,” he said, guiding her into the little balcony that projected from the walk just where they were, and overhung the beach. “No man, since man and woman were made for each other, has wanted a woman more than I want you. Every bit of myself, body and soul, soul and body, I offer you, Jacqueline, in return for your love.”
“I have no love for you,” she breathed, slowly.
“You must have. Such love as I have for you compels love in return.”
She looked away, struggling with herself. At last her words came, strained and muffled.
“I have always disliked you. You know it.”
“I would rather have your love at once, of course,” he said, with a patience that sat well upon his power, “but I am not afraid of your dislike.” He held out his hands impulsively. “Jacqueline, you must be my wife. You are going to be my wife.”