“Who told you that?” he demanded.

She met the fierceness of his eyes unflinchingly.  “I know it.  Everyone knows it.  You have given yourself heart and soul to India, to the Empire.  Nothing else counts—­or ever can count now—­in the same way.  It is quite right that it should be so.  You are a builder, and you must follow your profession.  You will follow it to the end.  And you will do great things,—­immortal things.”  Her voice shook a little.  “But you must keep free from all hampering burdens, all private cares.  Above all, you must not think of marriage with a woman whose chief desire is to escape from India and all that India means, whose sympathies are utterly alien from her, and whose youth has died a violent death at her hands.  Oh, don’t you see the madness of it?  Surely you must see!”

A quiver of deep feeling ran through her words.  She had not meant to go so far, but she was driven, driven by a force that would not be denied.  She wanted him to see the matter with her eyes.  Somehow that seemed essential now.  Things had gone so far between them.  It was intolerable now that he should misunderstand.

But as she ceased to speak, she abruptly realized that the effect of her words was other than she intended.  He had listened to her with a rigid patience, but as her words went into silence it seemed as if the iron will by which till then he had held himself in check had suddenly snapped.

He stood for a second or two longer with an odd smile on his face and that in his eyes which startled her into a momentary feeling that was almost panic; then with a single, swift movement he bent and caught her to him.

“And you think that counts!” he said.  “You think that anything on earth counts—­but this!”

His lips were upon hers as he ended, stopping all protest, all utterance.  He kissed her hotly, fiercely, holding her so pressed that above the wild throbbing of her own heart she felt the deep, strong beat of his.  His action was passionate and overwhelming.  She would have withstood him, but she could not; and there was that within her that rejoiced, that exulted, because she could not.  Yet as at last his lips left hers, she turned her face aside, hiding it from him that he might not see how completely he had triumphed.

He laughed a little above her bent head; he did not need to see.  “Stella, you and I have got to sink or swim together.  If you won’t have success with me, then I will share your failure.”

She quivered at his words; she was clinging to him almost without knowing it.  “Oh, no!  Oh, no!” she said.

His hand came gently upwards and lay upon her head.  “My dear, that rests with you.  I have sworn that marriage to me shall not mean bondage.  If India is any obstacle between us, India will go.”

“Oh, no!” she said again.  “No, Everard!  No!”

He bent his face to hers.  His lips were on her hair.  “You love me, Stella,” he said.