He broke into a low, exultant laugh.  She could feel the fierce beating of his heart, and her own died within her.  The blaze of his passion ringed her round like a forest fire in which all things perish.

But even then she knew that somewhere, somewhere, there was a way of escape, and with the instinct of the hunted creature she sought it.

“To-night,” she said, “I shall know whether you have ever really loved me.”

“What?” he said.  “You dare to question that now?  Do you want to put me to the proof then?  Shall I show you how much I love you?”

“No,” she said.  “Take your arms away!”

She did not expect his obedience, but on the instant he spread them wide and released her.

“And now?” he said.

She almost tottered, so amazing had been his compliance.  And then as swiftly—­came the knowledge that he had not really set her free.  It had pleased him to humour her, that was all.  He stood before her with all the arrogance of a conqueror.  And through the gathering darkness his eyes shone like the eyes of a tiger—­two flames piercing the gloom.

She mustered all her strength to face him, confronting him with that unconscious majesty that first had drawn him to her.

“And now,” she said, “let us once and for all understand one another.”

“What?” he said.  “Don’t you understand me yet?  Don’t you realise—­yet—­that when a man of my stamp wants a woman he—­takes her?”

Again there throbbed in his voice that deep note of savagery, such savagery as made her quail.  But it was no moment for shrinking.  She knew instinctively that at the first sign of weakness he would take her back into his arms.

She straightened herself therefore, summoning all her pride.  “Do you really think I am the sort of woman to be taken so?” she asked.  “Do you really think I am yours for the taking?  If so, then you have never known me.  Nor—­till this moment—­have I known you.”

He heard her without the faintest hint of astonishment or shame, standing before her with that careless animal grace of his that made him in some fashion superb.

“Yes,” he said, “I really do think you are mine for the taking this time, but you will admit I’ve been patient.  And I’ve taken the trouble to make things easy for you.  I’ve spirited you away without putting you through any ordeals of hesitation or suspense.  I’ve done it all quite unobtrusively.  To-morrow we go to London, after that to Paris, and after that—­whithersoever you will—­anywhere under the sun where we can be alone.  As to knowing each other”—­his voice changed subtly, became soft, with something of a purring quality—­“we have all our lives before us, and we shall be learning every day.”

His absolute assurance struck her dumb.  There was something implacable about it, something unassailable—­a stronghold which she felt powerless to attack.

“Doesn’t that programme attract you?” he said, drawing nearer to her.  “Can you suggest a better?  The whole world is before us.  Shall we go exploring, you and I, alone in the wilds, and find some Eden that no man has ever trodden before?  Shall we, Anne?  Shall we?  Right away from everywhere, somewhere in the sun, where I can teach you to be happy and you can teach me to be—­good.”