Dinah uttered a gasp.  She had not expected this.  For the first time she met his look fully, met the blue, dominant eyes, the faint, supercilious smile.  And dismay struck through and through her as she realized that he had made her captive again with scarcely a struggle.

“Oh, but you can’t—­you can’t!” she said.

He raised his brows.  “We shall see,” he said.  “Mean-time—­” He paused, looking at her, and suddenly the old hot glitter flashed forth, dazzling her, hypnotizing her; he uttered a low laugh and took her in his arms.  “Daphne, you will-o’-the-wisp, you witch, how dare you?”

She made no outcry or resistance, realizing in a single stunning second the mastery that would not be denied; only ere his lips reached her, she sank down in his hold, hiding her face and praying him brokenly, imploringly, to let her go.

“Oh, please—­oh, please—­if you love me—­do be kind—­do be generous!  I can’t go on—­indeed—­indeed!  Oh, Eustace,—­Eustace—­do forgive me—­and let me go!”

“I will not!” he said.  “I will not!”

She heard the rising passion in his voice, and her heart died within her; she sank lower, till but for his upholding arms she would have been kneeling at his feet.  And then quite suddenly her strength went from her; she hung powerless, almost fainting in his grasp.

She scarcely knew what happened next, save that the fierceness went out of his hold like the passing of an evil dream.  He lifted and held her while the darkness surged around....  And then presently she heard his voice, very low, amazingly tender, speaking into her ear.  “Dinah!  Dinah!  What has come to you?  Don’t you know that I love you?  Didn’t I tell you so only last night?”

She leaned against him palpitating, unstrung, piteously distressed.  “That’s what makes it—­so dreadful,” she whispered.  “I wish I were dead!  Oh, I do wish I were dead!”

“Nonsense!” he said.  “Nonsense!” He put his hand upon her head, pressing it against his breast.  “Little sweetheart, what has happened to you?  Tell me what is the matter!”

That was the hardest to face of all, that he should subdue himself, restrain his passion to pour out to her that which was infinitely greater than passion; she made a little sound that seemed to come straight from her heart.

“Oh, I can’t tell you!” she sobbed into his shoulder.  “I can’t think how I ever made such a terrible mistake.  But if only—­oh, if only—­you could marry Rose instead!  It would be so very much better for everybody.”

“Marry Rose!” he said.  “What on earth made you think of that at this stage?”

“I always thought you would—­in Switzerland,” she explained rather incoherently.  “I—­never really thought—­I could cut her out.”

“Is that what you did it for?” An odd note sounded in Sir Eustace’s voice, as though some irony of circumstance had forced his sense of humour.

“Just at first,” whispered Dinah.  “Oh, don’t be angry!  Please don’t be angry!  You—­you weren’t in earnest either just at first.”