She shut herself within herself like a flower folding away its beauty
and leaving exposed only the underside of its petals. It was impossible
to say whether she understood or was merely obeying an instinct.

He watched her a moment in silence. Then he said:

"I am mad about you--mad. You _must_ understand. I can think only of you.
I am insane with jealousy of you. I want you--I must have you."

He would have seized her in his arms, but the look of sheer amazement
she gave him protected her where no protest or struggle would. "You?"
she said. "Did you really mean it? I thought you were just talking."

"Can't you see that I mean it?"

"Yes--you look as if you did. But I can't believe it. I could never
think of you in that way."

Once more that frank statement of indifference infuriated him. He _must_
compel her to feel--he must give that indifference the lie--and at once!
He caught her in his arms. He rained kisses upon her pale face. She made
not the least resistance, but seemed dazed. "I will teach you to love
me," he cried, drunk now with the wine of her lips, with the perfume of
her exquisite youth. "I will make you happy. We shall be mad with
happiness."

She gently freed herself. "I don't believe I could ever think of you in
that way."

"Yes, darling--you will. You can't help loving where you are loved so