“If you wish it, dear,” she said quietly.

He threw down his brushes and turned fully to her.  “Avery darling, I’m sorry I was bearish this afternoon.  You won’t punish me for it?”

“Punish you, my own Piers!” she said.

“Because I can’t stand it,” he said recklessly.  “There are certain forms of torture that drive a man crazy.  Bear with me—­all you can!”

His quick pleading touched her, went straight to her heart.  She put her hands on his shoulders, lifting her face for his kiss.  “It’s all right, dear,” she said.

“Is it?” he said.  “Is it?” He took her face between his hands, gazing down at her with eyes of passionate craving.  “Say you love me!” he urged her suddenly.  “Say it!”

Her heart sank within her.  She made a movement as if to withdraw herself; but he caught her fiercely to him, his hot lips sought and held her own.  She felt as if a flame encompassed her, scorching her, consuming her.

“Say you love me!” he whispered again between those fiery kisses.  “Avery, I must have your soul as well.  Do more than bear with me!  Want me—­want me!”

There was more than passion in the words.  They came to her like a cry of torment.  She braced herself to meet his need, realizing it to be greater than she knew.

“Piers!  Piers!” she said.  “I am altogether yours.  I love you.  Don’t you know it?”

He drew a deep, quivering breath.  “Yes—­yes, I do know it,” he said.  “But—­but—­Avery, I would go through hell for you.  You are my religion, my life, my all.  I am not that to you.  If—­if I were dragged down, you wouldn’t follow me in.”

His intensity shocked her, but she would not have him know it.  She sought to calm his agitation though she possessed no key thereto.  “My dear,” she said, “you are talking wildly.  You don’t know what you are to me, and I can’t even begin to tell you.  But surely—­by now—­you can take me on trust.”

He made a curious sound that was half-laugh, half-groan.  “You don’t know yourself, Avery,” he said.

“But you don’t doubt my love, Piers,” she protested very earnestly.  “You know that it would never fail you.”

“Your love is like the moonlight, Avery,” he answered.  “It is all whiteness and purity.  But mine—­mine is red like the fire that is under the earth.  And though sometimes it scorches you, it never quite reaches you.  You stoop to me, but you can’t lift me.  You are too far above.  And the moonlight doesn’t always reach to the prisoner in the dungeon either.”

“All the same dear, don’t be afraid that it will ever fail you!” she said.

He kissed her again, hotly, lingeringly, and let her go.  “Perhaps I shall remind you of that one day,” he said.

All through dinner his spirits were recklessly high.  He talked incessantly, playing the host with a brilliant ease that betrayed no sign of strain.  He did not seem to have a care in the world, and Avery marvelled at his versatility.