It was deserted, but the sound of
laughing voices and the tuning of violins floated up from below. Again
that feeling that was akin to physical sickness assailed Dinah. Down
there he was waiting for her, waiting to be intoxicated into headlong,
devouring passion by her dancing. She seemed to feel his arms already
holding her, straining her to him, so that the warmth of him was as a
fiery atmosphere all about her, encompassing her, possessing her. Her
whole body burned at the thought, and then again was cold--cold as though
she had drunk a draught of poison. She stood still, feeling too sick to
go on.
And then, while she waited, she heard a step. Her heart seemed to spring
into her throat, throbbing wildly like a caged bird seeking freedom. She
drew back against the wall, trembling from head to foot.
He came along the passage, magnificent, princely, confident, swinging his
shoulders with that semi-conscious swagger she knew so well. He spied her
where she stood, and she heard his brief, half-mocking laugh as he strode
to her.
"Ah, Daphne! Hiding as usual!" he said.
He took her between his hands, and she felt the mastery of him in that
free hold. She stood as a prisoner in his grasp. Her new-found resolution
was gone at the first contact with that overwhelming personality of his.
She hung her head in quivering distress.
He bent down, bringing his face close to hers.
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