She quickened her pace, her head turned away from him, yet her expression was not exactly one of displeasure. But he could not see that.
“Ah, you don’t care, I suppose,” he went on, catching her hand again, “but you can’t stop me, Isoline. Do you hear that? I love you! I will love you, whatever you may say. What do I care for anything in this world but you? Here I’ve sat, night after night, crying out in my heart for you, and longing all the days you have been away for a sight of your face! Hate me if you like, I can’t stop loving you.”
“Let me alone, Mr. Kent,” faltered the girl, somewhat taken off her feet by his torrent of words. “Let me go, please; I cannot stay here if you go on in that way.”
“You shall hear me!” cried Walters, planting himself before her. “Why did you come here, making me forget everything, luck and trouble alike? Isoline! Isoline!”
She was getting alarmed by his violence, and would have turned and fled, but his arms were round her and he was covering her face, her lips, her cheek, her hair, with furious kisses. She struggled angrily for a moment, and finding resistance useless, dropped her head upon his shoulder and began to cry. Rhys held her closer.
“Don’t cry like that,” he said, almost in a whisper, frightened in his turn by the effect of his outburst.
“Let me go,” she repeated. “I want to go home.”
“Isoline, don’t say that—don’t go! Ah! how I love you! You must not go. Speak to me—tell me you like me a little, only to keep me from breaking my heart.”
“Let me go,” she repeated again.