But this most irritating of women
resented immediately that which she had just invited.
"You must not!" she said, vehemently, trying with both hands to
disengage her waist from my arm, her face changing uncertainly from
white to scarlet, her eyes meeting mine with a fugitive alarm, which
nearly, but not entirely, overwhelmed a furtive transitory look of
pleasure at the contact.
I had not mistaken her, I thought, she was both weak and sensual. I
must conquer the first quality, and seduce the second, and the
battle was won. But it was hard to prevent my own self-command
slipping from me, and if I did not keep that, my real object would
be lost in this useless sort of coquetry, or possibly a quarrel. I
wanted all my own judgment--and it was difficult to summon it and
keep it--to tell me exactly how far to push matters to excite her,
without driving her to get up and leave me altogether.
"Nonsense!" I said, looking down into the changing face and on to
the heaving, panting bosom; "if we are engaged, you know, I have a
right to do much more than put my arm round your waist."
"Right!" she repeated, scornfully, "there is no right except what I
choose! Take your arm away!"
"Listen to me," I said quietly, paying no heed to her request,
except to tighten my clasp just so much as I dared.
Such a waist it was, yielding, supple, and warm; it was maddening to
have to restrain the muscles in my arm and regulate their pressure.
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