He loosed his arms and she pushed him away. “How can you be so rough and frighten me so?” she exclaimed, drying her eyes with her handkerchief. “I will never come back here—never—never!”
Rhys was half-mad with excitement and despair at her words. He turned away, striking his clenched hands together and walking to and fro like a creature in a cage. She watched him over her handkerchief; emotion was a thing new to her, and she did not like it.
“Do stop,” she said petulantly, putting it back in her pocket. He turned round and stood humbly before her.
“I have terrified you,” he said. “I am a brute beast, not fit to speak to you, not fit to love you.”
Almost for the first time in his life he thought more of another than of himself. She was silent, the resentment in her face giving way to curiosity.
“Why do you behave like that?” she asked at last.
“Oh, Isoline, I am sorry. Only stay with me a little longer. I swear to you that I will be quiet, and not frighten you any more. I couldn’t help it, dear; I love you so.”
“I think you have behaved very badly,” the girl said, pursing up her lips and quite self-possessed again. “It is impossible for me to stay. I am accustomed to gentlemen.”
Rhys groaned.