Colina stared at him in haughty silence.

“I love you!” he whispered with odd abruptness.  “No woman need be insulted by hearing that.  You came upon me to-day like a bolt of lightning.  You have put your mark on me for life!  I will never be myself again.”

His voice changed; he faltered, and searched for words.  “I know I’m rough!  I know women like to be courted regularly.  It’s right, too!  But I have no time!  I may never see you alone again.  Your father will take care of that!  I must tell you while I can.  You can take your time to answer.”

Colina contrived to laugh.

The sound maddened him.  He took a step forward, and a vein in his forehead stood out.  She held her ground disdainfully.

“Don’t do that!” he whispered.  “It’s not fair!  I—­I can’t stand it!”

“Why must you tell me?” asked Colina.  “What do you expect?”

“You!” he whispered hoarsely.  “If God is good to me!  For life.”

“You are mad!” she murmured.

“Maybe,” he said, eying her with the resentment which is so closely akin to love; “but I think you understand my madness.  Talking gets us nowhere.  A dozen times to-day your eyes answered mine.  Either you feel it too or you are a coquette!”

This brought a genuine anger to Colina’s aid.  Her weakness fled.  “How dare you!” she cried with blazing eyes.

“Coquette!” he repeated doggedly.  “To dress yourself up like that to drive me mad!”

Colina forgot the social amenities.  “You fool!” she cried.  “This is my ordinary way of dressing at night!  It is not for you!”

“It was for me!” he said sullenly.  “You were happy when you saw its effect on me!  If it’s only a game I can’t play it with you.  It means too much to me!”

“Coquette!” still made a clangor in Colina’s brain that deafened her to everything else.  “You are a savage!” she cried.  “I’m sorry I asked you here.  You needn’t wait for my father to come back.  Go!”

“Not without a plain answer!” he said.

Colina tried to laugh; she was too angry.  “My answer is no!” she cried with outrageous scorn.  “Now go!”

He stood studying her from under lowering brows.  The sight of her like that—­head thrown back, eyes glittering, cheeks scarlet, and lips curled—­was like a lash upon his manhood.  The answer was plain enough, but an instinct from the great mother herself bade him disregard it.  Suddenly his eyes flamed up.

“You beauty!” he cried.

Before she could move he had seized her in her finery.  Colina was no weakling, but within those steely arms she was helpless.  She strained away her head.  He could only reach her neck, under the ear.  She yielded shudderingly.

“I hate you!  I hate you!” she murmured.

Their lips met.

Colina swayed ominously on his arm.  She sank down on the sofa, still straining away from him, but weakly.  Suddenly she burst into passionate weeping.