Page:The little blue devil (IA littlebluedevil00mackiala).pdf/253

“You’re not going to be angry with me,” he pleaded. “You know———”

“How dare you touch me?” she said. He could only just hear the words. “Is this why you asked me to come out? You are never to speak to me again.”

What an absolute baby she was! He smiled, and drew nearer. She did not move, but somehow he did not touch her again. For a moment he was almost disconcerted. She looked so—aloof—so unlike every other girl he had ever kissed. He said, quite quietly: “You know I worship you.”

The mouth that had looked so babyish grew very scornful.

“Is it so very hard to forgive me? I couldn’t help myself. And I thought you understood. Say you’ll forgive me, Pamela.”

“You are never to speak to me again.”

This was absurd, of course, but she really was angry. What did she mean him to do or say?—and it was all such a waste of time. He resolutely kept his voice quiet, and tried again.

“I beg your pardon. I can see you didn’t understand. You aren’t used to—my ways. I thought I was being very patient, but I swear to you that, till you give me leave, I won’t touch you again.”

“You will have no opportunity,” Pamela said. Then she turned, and had disappeared before he could think of any arguments that could be put into words. When he returned to the house he heard that Pamela was tired and had gone to bed. Far into the night he sat motionless in his room, his black eyes staring blindly before him, the small flame in his heart fanned to a raging fire which he now strove—not to overcome, but to control, that it might gain and not lose him his ends, as it had threatened to do that night.

Meanwhile Pamela, having scrubbed her burning cheeks