She spoke at last, forcing her trembling lips to utterance; after repeated effort.  “Go—­please!” she said.

“Go?” said Hunt-Goring.

“Yes! go!” She raised her eyes for an instant, piteously entreating, to his.  “I—­can’t talk to you now,—­can’t—­think even.  I—­will see you again—­later.”

“When?” he said.

Her breast was rising and falling.  She could not for several seconds answer him.  Then:  “At the ball—­on Thursday,” she whispered.

“You will give me my answer then?” he said.

“Yes.”

He smiled—­a cruel smile.  “After due consultation with Nick, I suppose?  No, my dear.  I think not.  We’ll keep this thing a secret for the present—­and I’ll have my answer now.”

“I can’t answer you now!” She flung the words wildly, and rose up between his hands with desperate strength.  “I can’t—­I can’t!” she cried.  “You must give me—­a little time.  I shan’t consult—­Nick or anyone.  I only want—­to think—­by myself.”

“Really?” said Hunt-Goring.

“Yes, really.”  She set her hands against his breast, holding him from her, yet beseeching him.  “Oh, you can’t refuse me this!” she urged.  “It’s—­too small a thing.  I’ve got to find out if—­if—­if I can possibly do it.”

“You won’t run away?” he said.

“No—­no!  I’ve nowhere to go.”

“And you mention the matter to no one—­on your oath—­till we meet again?” His eyes were cruel still, but they were not cold.  They shone upon her with a fierce heat.

She could not avoid them, though they seemed to burn her through and through.  “I promise,” she said through white lips.

“Very well.  Till Thursday then.”  He let her go; and then, as if repenting, caught her suddenly back to him, savagely, passionately.  “I’ll have that kiss anyway,” he said, “whether you take me or not.  It’s the price of my good behaviour till Thursday.  Come, a kiss never hurt anyone, so it isn’t likely to kill you.”

She did not resist him.  She even gave him her lips; but she was shaking as one in an ague, and her whole weight was upon him as he crushed her in his arms.  So deathly was her face that after a moment even he was slightly alarmed.

He put her down again in the chair with a laugh that was not wholly self-complacent.  “That’s all right, then.  I’ll leave you to get used to the idea.  You will give me my answer on Thursday, then, and we will decide on the next step.  I don’t mean to be kept waiting, you know.  I’ve had enough of that.”

She did not answer him or move.  She was staring straight before her, with hands fast gripped together in her lap.

He bent a little.  “What’s the matter?  I haven’t hurt you.  Aren’t you well?”

“Quite,” she said, without stirring.

He laughed again—­the soft laugh she so abhorred.  “Jove!  What a dance you’ve led me!” he said.  “You’ll have a good deal to make up for when the time comes.  I shan’t let you off that.”