My brain took fire.
"I am not indulgent," I said slowly, with my throat dry. "I am wise.
She has kissed you, yes. I have no doubt that she has kissed you many
times, casually, lightly, indifferently. She brushed the plumage of
her falcon in the same way. You are welcome to the memory of those
kisses, my lord. You may have more like them in the future, and I
shall not say you nay. They mean nothing."
He scowled at me. "What do you know of her kisses?" he said under his
breath.
I looked him in the eye. "I know this. There is but one kiss that
means anything from a woman, and she gives it, if she is the right kind
of a woman, to but one man in her life. For the rest,--I value them no
more than the brush of her finger-tips. Tell me, have you felt her
lips pressed to yours till her breath and her soul were one with you?
Tell me that. Answer, I say."
I had let the cord of reason and decency slip. I rose, and I think
that the hate in my face must have been wolfish, for the man drew back.
He tried to look contemptuous, but I saw fear in his eyes. Fear and
something more,--a sudden pain and longing. The emotion that
heretofore he had kept well in hand trapped him for the moment.
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