Holding her so, in spite of her quick effort for freedom, he looked deeply into her eyes. “Tell me why you went!” he said. She hesitated, trying to avert her face. “No, that won’t help you,” he said, frustrating her. “Tell me!” Unwillingly she answered him. “I had a bad night, and I decided—in the morning—that—I had better look for work.” “Why did you decide that?” he said. She made a more determined stand against him. “I can’t tell you. It’s natural, isn’t it? I have always been independent.” “Till you met me,” he said. She summoned her courage and faced him though she knew that she was crimson and quivering. “I shall go on being independent,” she said, “until we are married.” She expected some subtle change of countenance, possibly some sign of discomfiture, as thus boldly she took her stand. But at once he defeated her expectations. He met her announcement with complete composure. He even smiled, drawing her closer. “Oh, I think not,” he said. “After what happened yesterday we won’t talk nonsense of that kind to-day. What is the matter, sweetheart? Has someone been troubling you?” She relaxed somewhat. It was impossible not to respond to the tenderness of his voice and touch. But he had not satisfied her; the misgiving remained. “Only my own mind—my own reason,” she confessed, still painfully seeking to avoid his look. “After—yesterday!” he said. The reproach of his tone pierced her. She hid her face against his breast. “I couldn’t help it. You must make allowances. There has been no time for—love-making—in my life.” “There’s time now,” he said, and again she heard in his voice the note of triumph that had so deeply disquieted her. “It’s not a bit of good trying to run away at this stage. You’re caught before you start.” “Ah!” she said. He held her fast. “Do you realize that?” She was silent. He held her faster still. “Frances! Put your arms round my neck and tell me—tell me you are mine!” She shrank, hiding her face more deeply. He had lulled her distrust, but he had not gained her confidence. “You won’t?” he said. “I can’t,” she whispered back. He felt for her face and turned it upwards. “You will presently,” he said, and bending, kissed her, holding her lips with his till she broke free with a mingled sense of shame and self-reproach. “What is it?” he said, watching her, and she thought his face hardened. “You have changed since yesterday. Why?” She laid a pleading hand upon his arm. Yes, she had changed; she could not deny it. But she could not tell him why. “I think we have been—rather headlong,” was all she found to say. And at that he laughed, easily, cajoling her. “Well, we’ve gone too far to pull up now. Perhaps it will be a lesson to you next time, what? But no more of your will-o’-the-wisp performances on this occasion, O lady mine! We’ll play the game, and as we have begun, so we will go on.” He kissed her again, and his kiss was almost a challenge.