She
simply stood, her round smooth body hard though corsetless.
He kissed her on the throat, kissed the lace over
her bosom, crying out inarticulately. In the frenzy of
his passion he did not for a while realize her lack of
response. As he felt it, his arms relaxed, dropped away
from her, fell at his side. He hung his head. He was
breathing so heavily that she glanced into the house
apprehensively, fearing someone else might hear.
``I beg pardon,'' he muttered. ``You were too much
for me this morning. It was your fault. You are
maddening!''
She moved on into the house.
``Wait a minute!'' he called after her.
She halted, hesitating.
``Come back,'' he said. ``I've got something to say
to you.''
She turned and went back to the veranda, he retreating
before her and his eyes sinking before the cold,
clear blue of hers.
``You're going up, not to come down again,'' he said.
``You think I've insulted you--think I've acted outrageously.''
How glad she was that he had so misread her thoughts
--had not discovered the fear, the weakness, the sudden
collapse of all her boasted confidence in her strength of
character.
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