The voice paused, and the face so near her own remained motionless, waiting. Into the pause crept the music of the orchestra--beat, beat, beat, like the throbbing of a mighty heart. Above it, distinct for an instant, sounded the tinkle of a woman's laugh; then again silence. It was now the girl's turn to speak, to answer; but not a sound left her lips. She had an odd feeling that she was playing a game of checkers, and that it was her turn to play. "Move!" said an inward monitor. "Move! move!" But she knew not where or how.
The man's arm tightened around her; his lips touched hers again and again; and although she was conscious of the fact, it carried no particular significance. It all seemed a part of the scene that was going on in which she was a silent actor--of the game in which she was a player.
"Florence," said an insistent voice, "Florence, Florence Baker! Don't sit like that! For God's sake, speak to me, answer me!"
This time the figure stirred, the head drooped in assent.
"Yes," she said.
Again the circling arm tightened, and the man's lips touched her own, again and again. The very repetition aroused her.
"And you will sail with me in ten days?"
Fully awake was Florence Baker now, fully conscious of all that had happened and was happening.
"Yes," she said. "The sooner the better. I want to have it over with." A moment longer she sat still as death; then suddenly the mood of apathy departed, and in infinite weakness, infinite pathos, the dark head buried itself on the man's shoulder. "Promise me," she pleaded brokenly, "that you will be kind to me! Promise me that you always will be kind!"