“I have not yet found any woman to sufficiently care for me,” he answered at last, in a quiet impressive tone.
“You will surely have no difficulty,” she said with a strange ring in her voice. She had not suspected that he possessed a grain of sentiment, for long ago she had noticed that he was entirely unimpressionable where the charms of women were concerned.
His manner suddenly changed. He sank into the seat beside her, saying,—
“There is something, Liane, I want to say to you I’ve said it so often to myself that I feel as if you must know it.” She sat quite still. He had grasped her small hand in his, and she let him keep it, questioning his face with a bewildered gaze. “You must know—you must have guessed—”
She turned pale, but outwardly quelled the panic that sent the blood to her heart. “I must tell you the truth now—I love you.”
With a sudden movement she freed her hand and drew away from him.
“Me!” she gasped. Whatever potential complicity had lurked in her heart, his words brought her only immeasurable dismay.
He bent towards her again. “Yes, you!”
She felt his hot breath upon her cheek, and put up her hand with imploring gesture. He looked at her with almost frenzied admiration, as if it were only with fierce resolve that he restrained himself from seizing her in his arms and closing her mouth with burning kisses. His whole frame quivered in the fury of repressed excitement, insomuch that she shrank from him with involuntary terror.
“Can’t you tell me what it is that makes me repugnant to you?” he asked quickly.