Just for an instant the arrogance went out of his voice, and it sank to pleading.  But Avery stood mute before him, very pale, desperately calm.  She made not the faintest attempt to free herself, but her hands were hard clenched.  There was nothing passive in her attitude.

He was aware of strong resistance, but it only goaded him to further effort.  He lifted the clenched hands and held them tight against his heart.

“You needn’t try to cast me off,” he said, “for I simply won’t go.  I know you care.  You wouldn’t have taken the trouble to write that letter if you didn’t.  And so listen!  I’ve come now to marry you.  We can go up to town to-day,—­Jeanie too, if you like.  And to-morrow—­to-morrow we will be married by special licence.  I’ve thought it all out.  You can’t refuse.  I have money of my own—­plenty of money.  And you belong to me already.  It’s no good trying to deny it any more.  You are my mate—­my mate; and I won’t try to live without you any longer!”

Wildly the words rushed out, spending themselves as it were upon utter silence.  Avery’s hands were no longer clenched.  They lay open against his breast, and the mad beating of his heart thrilled through and through her as she stood.

He bent towards her eagerly, passionately.  His hands reached out to clasp her; yet he paused.  “Avery!  Avery!” he whispered very urgently.

Her eyes were raised to his, grey and steady and fearless.  Not by the smallest gesture did she seek to escape him.  She suffered the hands upon her shoulders.  She suffered the fiery passion of his gaze.

Only at last very clearly, very resolutely, she spoke.  “Piers—­no!”

His face was close to hers, glowing and vital and tensely determined.  “I say ‘Yes,’” he said, with brief decision.

Avery was silent.  His hands were drawing her, and still she did not resist; but in those moments of silent inactivity she was stronger than he.  Her personality was at grips with his, and if she gained no ground at least she held her own.

“Avery!” he said suddenly and sharply.  “What’s the matter with you?  Why don’t you speak?”

“I am waiting,” she said.

“Waiting!” he echoed.  “Waiting for what?”

“Waiting for you to come to yourself, Piers,” she made steadfast answer.

He laughed at that, a quick, insolent laugh.  “Do you think I don’t know what I’m doing, then?”

“I am quite sure,” she answered, “that when you know, you will be more ashamed than any honourable man should ever have reason to be.”

He winced at the words.  She saw the hot blood surge in a great wave to his forehead, and she quailed inwardly though outwardly she made no sign.  His grip was growing every instant more compelling.  She knew that he was bracing himself for one great effort that should batter down the strength that withstood him.  His lips were so close to hers that she could feel his breath, quick and hot, upon her face.  And still she made no struggle for freedom, knowing instinctively that the instant her self-control yielded, the battle was lost.