as Gaga must have known; but he did not dare to put his
arm round her, as he might easily have done. Sally, so experienced,
guessed at his temptation, at his fear, and relished both. She was also
aware of a singular tenderness towards him, a protective, superior
wisdom that made Gaga seem to be a child in his trepidation. To her an
embrace meant so much less than it meant to him, and she knew quite well
that a flirtatious man would have recognised the game that was in
progress and risked a rebuff because of the successive return. Sally was
still so far from deliberately exploiting Gaga that she did not feel
impatient at his slowness. She savoured it, appreciating the fact that
he shrank, knowing that when she wanted him to do anything she could
always manage Gaga with the lightest touch. And that was why, in a
moment, she allowed herself contact with his shoulder. Gaga's arm
mechanically rose, and was about her waist, quite unpossessively. His
face was moved with a conflict of emotions. Sally recognised temptation
and self-consciousness, and also with amusement, a sense of his own
incomparable daring.

"You _are_ a devil, aren't you!" she whispered. Instantly she knew that
she had made a mistake. His arm relaxed. It was only when she drew his
aching head to her breast that she recovered her mastery of him. It was
the only mistake she had made, and it was at that time the last, for she
learnt at once that he was sensitive to ridicule. She had stepped too
far, and had thereby, for a moment, endangered her sport. She was
smiling again, but she had breathed quickly, at the knowledge of danger.

"How's the head?" she asked. "My hand's getting hot."

"Very bad," answered Gaga, dreading her withdrawal.

"Let me get a wet handkerchief."

"No, no. Don't move. I.... I don't want you to move."

Unconsciously, Sally gave a little sigh. It was all so easy, so much a
question of his being content with whatever she gave, that the adventure
was fading. It was ceasing to amuse her.

"That's enough," she said. "Now I'm going home." She did not move, and
Gaga's clasp tightened.

"No," he murmured entreatingly. "Not yet."

"_Must_ go." She took her hand away from his forehead, lingeringly. Gaga
held her to him with rigidity. "Let me go." He took no notice, and
Sally's hand rested gently upon his shoulder. At last: "Well?" said she.

"Don't go."

There was the slightest struggle, and Sally was free. Gaga's face was
quite red.