"So are you," he said quietly,
"really pretty."
She was locked in, his hands on the arms of her chair and his body
making the bars, against which, even had she wished it, escape were
impossible. She tried to take it with a little smile, the ordinary
compliment in the ordinary way. But the note in his voice refused
to harmonize with that. Her smile was forced, her expression
unnatural. And there she was caged, locked in by his eyes and, like
a bird in the first moments of its captivity, her heart beat wildly
against her breast. It was not because she was afraid--the trust in
her mind never failed her for an instant--but she knew that she was
captive. Whoever the other woman might be, if his honour, his heart,
his whole soul were plighted to her, yet Sally knew that she must
love him. There was all the giving, all the yielding, all the passive
abandonment in her eyes; and when he saw that, Traill shot upright,
forcing his hands to anything they might do.
"That's my sister," he said hurriedly, breaking into
conversation--the man pursued and seeking sanctuary. He could not
trust himself to look closely at her again. The boiling of the milk
was an action of refuge; he crushed the saucepan down on to the
glowing coals.
Pages:
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185