She did not resist him, for the moment she felt his touch she knew
herself a captive. The magic force of his personality had caught her; but
she did not give herself wholly to him. She stood and palpitated in his
hold, her head bent low.

"I--I'm not running away," she told him breathlessly. "I was just--just
coming. But--but--shan't we be seen? Your brother--"

"What?" He was stooping over her; she felt his breath upon her neck. "Oh,
Scott! Surely you're not afraid of Scott, are you? You needn't be. I've
sent him off to write some letters. He'll be occupied for an hour at
least. Come! Come! You promised. And we're wasting time."

There was a subtle caressing note in his voice. It thrilled her as she
stood, and ever the soft music drifted on around them, pulsing with a
sweetness almost too intense to be borne.

He held her with the hold of a conqueror. She was quivering from head to
foot, but all desire to free herself was gone. Still she would not raise
her face.

Panting, she spoke. "Yes, we--we are wasting time. Let us go!"

He laughed above her head--a low laugh of absolute assurance. "Are you
too shy to look at me,--Daphne?"

She laughed also very tremulously. "I think I am--just at present. Let us
dance first anyway! Must we go down to the salon? Couldn't we dance in
the corridor?"