Mavis, reckless of what she said.

"I'm going to be honest at last and tell you something," he declared.

"More insults!"

"It is an insult this time, but all the same you'll hear it."

Mavis was a little awed by the resolution in his face and manner. He
went on now a trifle hoarsely:

"Little Mavis, I love you more than I ever believed it possible for man
to love woman. I've tried to forget you, but I want you more and more."

"How--how dare you!" she cried.

"Because I love you. And because I do, I've fought against seeing you;
but as you've come to me and you're going away to-morrow, I must tell
you."

Mavis was less resentful of his words; she resisted an inclination to
tremble violently.

"Don't go," urged Windebank.

"Where?"

"Abroad. Don't go and leave me. I love you."

"How can you! Harold was your friend."

"My enemy. He took you from me when I was sure of you; my enemy, I tell
you. Oh, little Mavis, let me make you happy. You can do no good going
with him, so why not stay? I'd give my life to hold you in my arms, and
I know I'd make you happy."

"You mustn't; you mustn't," murmured Mavis, as she strove to believe
that his words and the grasp of his hand on her arm did not minister to
the repressed, but, none the less ardent longings of her being.

"I must. I tell you I haven't been near a woman since I struck you
again in Pimlico, and all for love of you. I've waited. Now, I'll get
you."

Windebank placed his arms about her and kissed her lips, eyes, and hair
many, many times. Then he held her at arm's length, while his eyes
looked fixedly into hers.

A delicious inertia stole over Mavis's senses. He had only to kiss her
again for her to fall helplessly into his arms.

Although she realised the enormity of his offence, something within her
seemed to impel her to wind her arm about his neck and draw his lips to
hers. Instead, she summoned all her resolution; striking him full in
the face, she freed herself to run quickly from him. As she ran, she
strove to hide from herself that, in her inmost heart, she was longing
for him to overtake her, seize her about the body, and carry her off,
as might some primeval man, to some lair of his own, where he would
defend her with his life against any who might seek to disturb her
peace.

But Windebank did not follow her. That night she sobbed herself to
sleep. The next morning, Mavis left with Harold for Southampton.

Many months later, Mavis, cl