Diana felt the tears very near her eyes and her lip quivered..  This man had the power of hurting her—­wounding her to the quick—­with his bitter raillery.

When she spoke again her voice shook a little.

“You are wrong,” she said, “quite wrong.  I should pick up the flower and”—­steadily—­“I should keep it, because it was thrown to me by a man who had twice done me the greatest service in his power.”

Once again he checked, as if by sheer force of will, a sudden eager movement towards her.

“Would you?” he said quickly.  “Would you do that?  But you would be mistaken; I should be gaining your kindness under false pretences.  The greatest service in my power would be for me to go away and never see you again. . . .  And, I can’t do that—­now,” he added, his voice vibrating oddly.

His eyes held her, and at the sound of that sudden note of passion in his tone she felt some new, indefinable emotion stir within her that was half pain, half pleasure.  Her eyelids closed, and she stretched out her hands a little gropingly, almost as if she were trying to ward away something that threatened her.

There was appeal in the gesture—­a pathetic, half-childish appeal, as though the shy, virginal youth of her sensed the distant tumult of awakening passion and would fain delay its coming.

She was just a frank, whole-hearted girl, knowing nothing of love and its strange, inevitable claim, but deep within her spoke that instinct, premonition—­call it what you will—­which seems in some mysterious way to warn every woman when the great miracle of love is drawing near.  It is as though Love’s shadow fell across her heart and she were afraid to turn and face him—­shrinking with the terror of a trapped wild thing from meeting his imperious demand.

Errington, watching her, saw the childish gesture, the quiver of her mouth, the soft fall of the shadowed lids, and with a swift, impetuous movement he leaned forward and caught her by the arms, pulling her towards him.  Instinctively she resisted, struggling in his grip, her eyes, wide and startled, gazing into his.

“Diana!”

The word seemed wrung from him, and as though something within her answered to its note of urgency, she suddenly yielded, stumbling forward on to her knees.  His arms closed round her, holding her as in a vice, and she lay there, helpless in his grasp, her head thrown back a little, her young, slight breast fluttering beneath the thin silk of her blouse.

For a moment he held her so, staring down, at her, his breath hard-drawn between his teeth; then swiftly, with a stifled exclamation he stooped his head, kissing her savagely, bruising, crushing her lips beneath his own.

She felt her strength going from her—­it seemed as though he were drawing her soul out from her body—­and then, just as sheer consciousness itself was wavering, he took his mouth from hers, and she could see his face, white and strained, bent above her.