Her hair hung on her shoulders. She was in a white
dressing-gown. Her face was red and her eyes swollen. She did not
attempt to move. Affectionately Hubert caught her in his arms and asked
about her headache.
"It is better," she answered in scarcely audible accents.
"Why, you poor child! I hope you are not going to be ill! Have you been
racing in the sun without your hat?"
"No. I haven't been out of doors since yesterday."
"What's the matter, little Berenice? Has some one been cross with her?"
She pushed him from her violently.
"Hubert Falcroft, when you treat me as a woman and not as a child--"
"But I am treating you as a woman," he said. Her dark face became
tragic. She had emerged from girlhood in a few hours. And as he held her
closer some perverse spirit entered into his soul. Her vibrating youth
and beauty forced him to gaze into her blazing eyes until he saw the
pupils contract.
"Let me go!" she panted. "Let me free! I am not a doll. Go to your
portrait and worship it. Let me free!"
"And what if I do not?" Something of her rebellious feeling filled his
veins.
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