"
He made a curious sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. "You don't know
yourself, Avery," he said.
"But you don't doubt my love, Piers," she protested very earnestly. "You
know that it would never fail you."
"Your love is like the moonlight, Avery," he answered. "It is all
whiteness and purity. But mine--mine is red like the fire that is
under the earth. And though sometimes it scorches you, it never quite
reaches you. You stoop to me, but you can't lift me. You are too far
above. And the moonlight doesn't always reach to the prisoner in the
dungeon either."
"All the same dear, don't be afraid that it will ever fail you!" she
said.
He kissed her again, hotly, lingeringly, and let her go. "Perhaps I shall
remind you of that one day," he said.
All through dinner his spirits were recklessly high. He talked
incessantly, playing the host with a brilliant ease that betrayed no sign
of strain. He did not seem to have a care in the world, and Avery
marvelled at his versatility.
She herself felt weary and strangely sick at heart. Those few words of
his had been a bitter revelation to her. She knew now what was wanting
between them. He desired passion from her rather than love. He had no use
for spiritual things. And she,--she knew that she shrank inwardly
whenever she encountered that fierce, untamed desire of his.
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