Under his gloating gaze her flesh crawled. Only by supreme effort did she
succeed in resisting a mad impulse to risk a rush for door or windows, and
whipped her will into maintaining what seemed to be frank response.
"Very well," she said; "I agree."
Again he offered to touch her, again she moved slightly, eluding him.
"No," she stipulated with an arch glance--"not yet! First prove you mean to
make good your word."
"How?"
"Let me go--with my letters--and call on me to-morrow."
His look clouded. "Can I trust you?" He was putting the question to himself
more than to her. "Dare I?" He added in a tone colourless and flat: "I've
half a mind to take you at your word. Only--forgive my doubts--appearances
are against you--you seem almost too keen for the bargain. How can I
know--?"
"What proof do you want?"
"Something definite.... You pledge yourself to me?" A movement of her head
assented. "You will give yourself back to me?" He came nearer, but she
contrived to repeat the sign of assent. "Wholly, without reserve?"
An invincible disgust shook her as the full sense of his insistence struck
home. Still she whipped herself to play out the scene--and win!
"As you say, Victor, as you will...."
He moved still nearer. She became conscious of his nearness as if a
palpable aura of vileness emanated from his person.
"Then give me proof--here and now."
"How?"
He laughed a throaty, evil laugh. "Need you ask? Not much, my Sofia ...
only a little .
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