She started to struggle; it was the impossibility of breaking away from him against his will that made her shrink suddenly towards him; that, and the marvellous feeling of security his strength gave her. Without knowing why, she began to cry, very softly, with her face buried in his coat. His arms were tight about her, she felt his lips on her hair, and presently his fingers came under her chin and forced her head up that he might look into her eyes. She bore his look for a moment, and then her lashes fell and she felt his lips hard-pressed against her mouth.

He was gentle with her after that, knowing her fright, and dried her tears with his own large handkerchief, laughing at her a little, but very tenderly.

“Little babe! Oh, my darling, I’ll be so good to you! You shall never be lonely again, never! Elizabeth, dearest one, say that you love me! Say it quickly!”

Her senses were whirling; she was no longer Elizabeth, but some strange, mad girl who had been kissed by a man who was not her father. She was being swept off her feet by a swift tide of unreality and things unknown.

Stephen gave her a quick hug; she gasped and put her hands up against his chest.

“Say it, you little witch! If you don’t I’ll—”

She flung her head back to avoid the threatened kiss, and pulled away from him as far as his arms would let her.

“I love you,” she stammered. “Let me go! Please, Stephen, please!”

His arms slackened from about her shoulders, but he took her face between his hands and very gently kissed her.

Nothing he could have done would have made so great an appeal to her as his present forbearance. She felt his iron self-control and loved him for it. His passion had frightened her, even though it carried all before it, but his consideration now drove out her fear. Shyly she returned his kiss, then drooped her head and laid nervous fingers on his coat-sleeve.

He wanted to pick her up, but something warned him that he must not. It was in keeping with his ideal of her that she should be timid; he must be careful, and not forget her frailty. So he drew her down to sit beside him on the sofa and began to play with her little hand.

“When will your father be home, sweetheart? I just can’t wait.”

“I don’t know—the usual time— Oh, Stephen, are you sure?”

“My darling! Am I sure! Elizabeth, you won’t make me wait too long?”

“Would you—if I wanted to?” she asked, peeping up at him. “Would you, Stephen?”

His fingers crushed hers against his lips.

“I—yes, if you wished. But don’t, Elizabeth, don’t!”