Strangely enough, his egotism did not offend her. An expression of power, it bade fair to convince her. Warning herself that she must not be convinced, she tried to get from his grasp. But he held her. “I’d love to love you, sweet Grief,” he murmured close to her lips. “Ask me to kiss you, Dolores, as once you asked a man of Earth. Beg me to take you, you devil’s desire. Let our moment of forever start _now_.” His reminder helped her to tear her will from his and throw it, like a tangible thing, to the thought of John. Pushing him away, she found voice to defy him. “I’ll never ask you. That moment never can start.” “Fair fiend, don’t try me too far. I want to want you. I desire desire.” As his fingers closed around Dolores’ throat, she was weakened by the thought of strangling. She could not speak, either to deny or implore. “And you,” he rasped, “shall want me to want you until you’ll pray that your mind may burn to ash from its own ardor. Or will you teach me willingly--inspire me as you best know how? I prefer to be your lover--to miss not a nibble of that smooth cheek, my luscious nectarine. But I am also your legal lord. And I have tutored too many legal lords of Earth in their brutalities to miss my divine right now. I am your master. Ask me to kiss you, slave.” Dolores strove for the sort of courage that had enabled her before to repel him. Just one strong, good thought might release her. From the least likely source--his clutch of her--it came. Baby fingers had clung tight about her throat a few hours since. She was a mother, and a mother was enslaved only by her motherhood. She freed herself of his grip; struggled to her feet; started across the room. “My wager did not include wants of my own,” she defied him. “You ask more than I can pay.” “More? I haven’t begun to ask!” From the closeness of his voice she realized without glancing back that he was following. The strength of her good thought was scattered by panic. All she could do was to flee. She hurried to the windows, but found them shuttered against the storm. Behind object after object of the room she took a stand, only to desert it on his near approach. He, like a fate evil, leisurely, sure to overtake, pursued. He laughed from excess of exhilaration when the inevitable occurred. Her long tulle-like veil caught about the winged foot of an illusion of Mercury. As though by jealousy of the speed god she was tripped; was about to fall. He caught her. “Why did you have to stop? This has been _wonderful_--never could be so wonderful again! Whatever inspired you with the knowledge that the way to ask is to deny?” Freeing the veil, he wrapped it around and around her, binding her hands to her sides. “Your intuition is keener than all my keenness,” he panted. “Of course the fleeing woman is the woman one must overtake. To ask me you have aroused me to ask you. Your lips, Dolores--I ask your lips.”