Page:The Black Moth.pdf/310

 His eyes glinted.

“You think so? I shall show you that you are wrong, my dear. You may loathe me, you may love me, but I think you will lose something of that icy indifference. Allow me to point out to you that there is a couch behind you.”

“I perceive it, sir.”

“Then be seated.”

“It is not worth the while, sir. I am not staying.”

He advanced one step towards her with that in his face that made her sink hurriedly on to the couch.

He nodded smiling.

“You are wise, Diana.”

“Why so free with my name, sir?” This with icy sweetness.

Tracy flung himself down beside her, his arm over the back of the settee and the fingers of his drooping hand just touching her shoulder. It was all the girl could do to keep from screaming. She felt trapped and helpless, and her nerve was in pieces.

“Nay, sweet! An end to this quibbling. Bethink you, is it worth your while to anger me?”

She sat rigid and silent.

“I love youay, you shudder. One day you will not do that.”

“You call this love, your Grace?” she cried out, between scorn and misery.

“Something near it,” he answered imperturbably.

“God help you then!” she shivered, thinking of one other who had loved her so differently.

“Belike He will,” was the pleasant rejoinder. “But we wander from the point. It is this: you shall retire to your chamber at once—er—armed with the key—an you will swear to marry me to-morrow.”

Very white, she made as if to rise. The thin fingers closed over her shoulders, forcing her to remain.

“No, my dear. Sit still.”

Her self-control was slipping away from her; she struggled to be free of that hateful hand.