He paused.
"You must be sensible. The thing's your own doing. Come out on the beach now—the beach here is splendid, and the moon will soon be high."
"I won't," she said, stamping her foot.
"Well, well—"
"Oh! leave me alone. Let me think—"
"Think," he said, "if you want to. It's your cry always. But you can't save yourself by thinking, my dear girl. You can't save yourself in any way now. If saving it is—this parsimony—"
"Oh, go—go."
"Very well. I will go. I will go and smoke a cigar. And think of you, dear. . . . But do you think I should do all this if I did not care?"
"Go," she whispered, without glancing round. She continued to stare out of the window. He stood looking at her for a moment, with a strange light in his eyes. He made a step towards her. "I have you," he said. "You are mine. Netted—caught. But mine." He would have gone up to her and laid his hand upon her, but he did not dare to do that yet. "I have you in my hand," he said, "in my power. Do you hear—Power!"
She remained impassive. He stared at her for half a minute, and then, with a superb gesture that was lost upon her, went to the door. Surely the
