“I understand, Opal!  See! the winds are boisterous and unruly enough.  You may be as rash and reckless as you will!”

Suddenly the wind blew her against his breast.  The perfume of her hair, and all the delicious nearness of her, intoxicated him.  He laughed a soft, caressing little lover-laugh, and raising her face to his, kissed her lips easily, naturally, as though he had the right.  She struggled, helplessly, as he held her closely to him, and would not let her go.

“You are a—­” She bit her lip, and choked back the offensive word.

“A—­what?  Say it, Opal!”

“A—­a—­brute!  There! let me go!”

But he only held her closer and laughed again softly, till she whispered, “I didn’t—­quite—­mean that, you know!”

“Of course you didn’t!”

She drew away from him and pointed her finger at him accusingly, her eyes full of reproof.

“But—­you said you wouldn’t!  You promised!”

“Wouldn’t what?”

“Wouldn’t do—­what you did—­again!”

“Did I?” insinuatingly.

“How dare you ask that?  You——­”

“‘Brute’ again?  Quite like old married folk!”

“Old married folk?  They never kiss!”

“Don’t they?”

“Not each other!... other people’s husbands or wives!”

“Is that it?”

“Surely——­

    ’Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch’s wife,
    He would have written sonnets all his life?’

O no! not he!”

“I’m learning many new things, Opal!  Let’s play we’re married, then—­to someone else!”

“But—­haven’t you any conscience at all?”

“Conscience?—­what a question!  Of course I have!”

“You certainly aren’t using it to-night!”

“I’m too busy!  Kiss me!”

“The very idea!”

“Please!”

“Certainly not!”

“Then let me kiss you!”

"No!!!"

“Why not?—­Don’t you like to be loved?”

And his arms closed around her, and his lips found hers again, and held them.

At last, “Silly Boy!”

“Why?”

“Oh! to make such a terrible fuss about something he doesn’t really want, and will be sorry he has after he gets it!”

And Paul asked her wickedly, what foolish boy she was talking about now? He knew what he really wanted—­always—­and was not sorry when he had it.  Not he!  He was sorry only for the good things he had let slip, never for those he had taken!

“But—­do let me go, Paul!  I don’t belong to you!”

“Yes you do—­for a little while!” He held her close.

Belong to him!  How she thrilled at the thought!  Was this what it meant to be—­loved?  And did she belong to him—­if only, as he said, for a little while?  She certainly didn’t belong to herself!  Whatever this madness that had suddenly taken possession of her, it was stronger than herself.  She couldn’t control it—­she didn’t even want to!  At all events, she was living to-night!  Her blood was rushing madly through her body.  She was deliciously, thoroughly alive!