Yes, he would indeed take her high—­very high.  Now that what she wanted, what she must have, was offering, how could she refuse?  They were crossing another square of green.  He drew—­almost dragged—­her into one of the by-paths, seized her in his arms, kissed her passionately.  “I can’t resist you—­I can’t!” he cried.

“Don’t—­don’t!” she murmured, violently agitated.  “Some one might see!”

“Some one is seeing, no doubt,” he said, his breath coming quickly, a look that was primeval, ferocious almost, in his eyes as they devoured her.  And, despite her protests and struggles, she was again in those savage arms of his, was again shrinking and burning and trembling under his caresses.  She flung herself away, sank upon a bench, burst out crying.

“What is it, Margaret?” he begged, alarmed, yet still looking as if he would seize her again.

“I don’t know—­I don’t know,” she replied.

Once more she tried to tell him that she did not love him, but the words would not come.  She felt that he would not believe her; indeed, she was not sure of her own heart, of the meaning of those unprecedented emotions that had risen under his caresses, and that stirred at the memory of them.  “Perhaps I am trying to love him,” she said to herself.  “Anyhow, I must marry him.  I can trifle with my future no longer.  I must be free of this slavery to grandmother.  I must be free.  He can free me, and I can manage him, for he is afraid of me.”

“Did I hurt you?” Craig was asking.

She nodded.

“I am so sorry,” he exclaimed.  “But when I touched you I forgot—­ everything!”

She smiled gently at him.  “I didn’t dream you cared for me,” she said.

He laughed with a boisterousness that irritated her.  “I’d never have dared tell you,” replied he, “if I hadn’t seen that you cared for me.”

Her nerves winced, but she contrived to make her tone passable as she inquired:  “Why do you say that?”

“Oh—­the day in the garden—­the day I came pleading for Grant.  I saw it in your eyes—­You remember.”

Margaret could not imagine what he had misinterpreted so flatteringly to himself.  But what did it matter?  How like ironic fate, to pierce him with a chance shaft when all the shafts she had aimed had gone astray!

She was startled by his seizing her again.  At his touch she flamed.  “Don’t!” she cried imperiously.  “I don’t like it!”

He laughed, held her the more tightly, kissed her half a dozen times squarely upon the lips.  “Not that tone to me,” said he.  “I shall kiss you when I please.”

She was furiously angry; but again her nerves were trembling, were responding to those caresses, and even as she hated him for violating her lips, she longed for him to continue to violate them.  She started up.  “Let us go,” she cried.

He glanced at his watch.  “I’ll have to put you in a car,” said he.  “I forgot all about my appointment.”  And he fumed with impatience while she was adjusting her hat and veil pushed awry by his boisterous love-making.  “It’s the same old story,” he went on.  “Woman weakens man.  You are a weakness with me—­one that will cost me dear.”