Her cry had given him gratification. But he knew he had been too sudden for her. He was now careful. For a while he merely sheltered her. Also there had broken a flaw into his perfect will. He wanted to persist, to begin again, to lead up to the point where he had let himself go on her, and then manage more carefully, successfully. So far she had won. And the battle was not over yet. But another voice woke in him and prompted him to let her go—let her go in contempt. He sheltered her, and soothed her, and caressed her, and kissed her, and again began to come nearer, nearer. He gathered himself together. Even if he did not take her, he would make her relax, he would fuse away her resistance. So softly, softly, with infinite caressiveness he kissed her, and the whole of his being seemed to fondle her. Till, at the verge, swooning at the breaking point, there came from her a beaten, inarticulate, moaning cry: “Don’t—oh, don’t!” His veins fused with extreme voluptuousness. For a moment he almost lost control of himself, and continued automatically. But there was a moment of inaction, of cold suspension. He was not going to take her. He drew her to him and soothed her, and caressed her. But the pure zest had gone. She struggled to herself and realized he was not going to take her. And then, at the very last moment, when his fondling had come near again, his hot living desire despising her, against his cold sensual desire, she broke violently away from him. “Don’t,” she cried, harsh now with hatred, and she flung her hand across and hit him violently. “Keep off of me.” His blood stood still for a moment. Then the smile came again within him, steady, cruel. “Why, what’s the matter?” he said, with suave irony. “Nobody’s going to hurt you.” “I know what _you_ want,” she said. “_I_ know what I want,” he said. “What’s the odds?” “Well, you’re not going to have it off _me._” “Aren’t I? Well, then I’m not. It’s no use crying about it, is it?” “No, it isn’t,” said the girl, rather disconcerted by his irony. “But there’s no need to have a row about it. We can kiss good night just the same, can’t we?” She was silent in the darkness. “Or do you want your hat and umbrella to go home this minute?” Still she was silent. He watched her dark figure as she stood there on the edge of the faint darkness, and he waited. “Come and say good night nicely, if we’re going to say it,” he said. Still she did not stir. He put his hand out and drew her into the darkness again. “It’s warmer in here,” he said; “a lot cosier.” His will had not yet relaxed from her. The moment of hatred exhilarated him. “I’m going now,” she muttered, as he closed his hand over her. “See how well you fit your place,” he said, as he drew her to her previous position, close upon him. “What do you want to leave it for?” And gradually the intoxication invaded him again, the zest came back. After all, why should he not take her? But she did not yield to him entirely.