Page:The Works of H G Wells Volume 7.pdf/126

 anger quivered through his pose of brilliant wickedness.

"I will go to the station," she said. "I will go back"

"The last train for anywhere leaves at 7.42."

"I will appeal to the police"

"You don't know them."

"I will tell these hotel people."

"They will turn you out of doors. You're in such a thoroughly false position now. They don't understand—unconventionality, down here."

She stamped her foot. "If I wander about the streets all night—" she said.

"You who have never been out alone after dusk? Do you know what the streets of a charming little holiday resort are like?"

"I don't care," she said. "I can go to the clergyman here."

"He's a charming man. Unmarried. And men are really more alike than you think. And anyhow"

"Well?"

"How can you explain the last two nights to any one now? The mischief is done, Jessie."

"You cur," she said, and suddenly put her hand to her breast. He thought she meant to faint, but she stood, with the colour gone from her face.

"No," he said. "I love you."

"Love!" said she.

"Yes—love."

"There are ways yet," she said, after a pause.

"Not for you. You are too full of life and hope yet for, what is it?—not the dark arch nor the black