Many minutes later, when her anguish had a little spent itself, she
realised that he was kneeling beside her, holding her pressed against
his heart. Through all the bitter chaos of her misery and her shame
there came to her the touch of his hand upon her head.
It amazed her--it thrilled her, that touch of his; in a fashion it
awed her. She kept her face hidden from him; she could not look up.
But he did not seek to see her face. He only kept his hand upon her
throbbing temple till she grew still against his breast.
Then at length, his voice slow and deep and very steady, he spoke.
"Daisy, we will never speak of this again."
She gave a great start. Pity, even a certain measure of kindness,
she had almost begun to expect; but not this--not this! She made a
movement to draw herself away from him, but he would not suffer it. He
only held her closer.
"Oh, don't, Will, don't!" she implored him brokenly. "For your own
sake--let me go!"
"For my own sake, Daisy," he answered quietly,--"and for yours, since
you have come to me, I will never let you go again."
"But you can't want me," she insisted piteously. "Don't be generous,
Will. I can't bear it. Anything but that! I would rather you cursed
me--indeed--indeed!"
His hand restrained her, silenced her. "Hush!" he said.
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