She interrupted him with a quick gesture, and, turning her face to his,
for the first time kissed him voluntarily, brushing his tanned cheek
with swift, cold lips.
He laughed disdainfully. "Bon Dieu! Has the hot sun of the
desert taught you no better than that? Have you learned so little from
me? Has the vile climate of your detestable country frozen you so
thoroughly that nothing can melt you? Or is there some man in England
who has the power to turn you from a statue to a woman?" he added, with
an angry snarl.
She clenched her hands with the pain of his words. "There is no one,"
she muttered, "but I--I don't feel like that."
"You had better learn," he said thickly. "I am tired of holding an
icicle in my arms," and sweeping her completely into his masterful
grasp he covered her face with fierce, burning kisses.
And for the first time she surrendered to him wholly, clinging to him
passionately, and giving him kiss for kiss with an absolute abandon of
all resistance. At last he let her go, panting and breathless, and
leaped up, drawing his hand across his eyes.
"You go to my head, Diane," he said, with a laugh that was half anger,
and shrugging his shoulders moved across the tent to the chest where
the spare arms were kept, and unlocking it took out a revolver and
began to clean it.
She looked at him bewildered. What had he meant? How could she
reconcile what he said with the advice that he had given her before?
Was he totally inconsistent? Did he, after all, want the satisfaction
of knowing that he had made her love him--of flattering himself on the
power he exercised over her? Did he care that he was able to torture
her heart with a refinement of cruelty that took all and gave nothing?
Did he wish her to crawl abjectly to his feet to give him the pleasure
of spurning her contemptuously, or was it only that he wanted her
senses merely to respond to his ardent, Eastern temperament? Her face
grew hot and shamed. She knew the fiery nature that was hidden under
his impassive exterior and knew the control he exercised over himself,
knew, too, that the strain he put upon himself was liable to be broken
with unexpected suddenness. It was an easy thing to rule his wild
followers, and she guessed that the relaxation that he looked for in
the privacy of his own tent meant more to him than he would ever have
admitted, than perhaps he even know. The hatred and defiance with which
she had repelled him had provoked and amused him, but it had also at
times angered him.