fered itself--like a flower--fluttered its honeyed, crimson petals
close to his. Tears of rage and love magnified her ardent eyes. The
pulse of her reckless young breast against his was like the pulse of the
sea against the rock. Loring was no rock. He hesitated--was lost--kissed
her greedily. Grew mad with those intemperate kisses intemperately
returned. Drank and drank of the honeyed, flower-scented mouth.

"We 'belong' ... oh, Morry! say we belong...." Belinda kept sobbing
without tears, the quick dry sobs of passion. "_I_ belong to _you_ body
and soul ... _you_ belong to _me_ body and soul ... don't you? don't you
... body and soul?..."

"Well ... chiefly body," said Loring thickly, with that short,
unpleasant laugh.

XXXIII

They were very quiet for some time after that storm of kisses had spent
itself. Morris leaned back languidly in a smooth hollow of the rocks.
Belinda leaned against him. Her head was on his breast, her arm clinging
close about him under his coat. The buckle of his waistcoat cut into her
arm, but she loved the bite of the little piece of metal that was warm
with his body. It amused and thrilled her both, to feel the everyday
intimacy of his clothing in this sharp pressure of the buckle that
nipped her soft forearm. And she loved the feeling of his strong, lean
waist breathing in the living girdle of her arm. She lay in a daze of
happiness, not thinking of the past or future, or even of the present
clearly. She was _being_ fully--she had no need of thought.

Morris's voice roused her with a start.

"See here, Linda," he was saying. "This is all very fine-- I'd be an
ungrateful beggar to complain if we'd only the present to consider. But
we've jolly well got to consider a good deal else."

"Oh, it'll all come straight of itself, Morry," she murmured drowsily.
"_Don't_ bother ... not now at any rate...."

"'_Now_' is just what's got to be bothered about, you reckless witch....
We'll have the house about our ears if we go on like this...."

"I don't care _what_ comes about my ears.... Your heart's under my ear
now--that's all I care about...."

"Linda! You really _are_ a reckless devilkin, aren't you?"

"Well ... isn't it nice to have me reckless about you?"

Loring gave his short laugh.

"Oh, it's 'nice' enough, I grant you. But nice things have a rather
cussed way of ending nastily, my dear."

"_This_ won't----"

"Come, Linda. Show a little gumption. You say you think Sop