hers. Her eyes looked back at him, hard and
cold and determined. They remained motionless for some seconds.
Then, a stray wisp of her hair catching his attention, desire filled
his heart, warm and full, obliterating his anger in the combat. For
a moment he softened. He saw her hardness becoming more assertive,
and he wavered in sudden dislike, and almost dropped her. Then again
the desire flushed his heart, his smile became reckless of her, and
he picked her right up.

"Yes," he said. "Now."

For a second, she struggled frenziedly. But almost instantly she
recognized how much stronger he was, and she was still, mute and
motionless with anger. White, and mute, and motionless, she was taken
to her room. And at the back of her mind all the time she wondered at
his deliberate recklessness of her. Recklessly, he had his will of
her--but deliberately, and thoroughly, not rushing to the issue, but
taking everything he wanted of her, progressively, and fully, leaving
her stark, with nothing, nothing of herself--nothing.

When she could lie still she turned away from him, still mute. And
he lay with his arms over her, motionless. Noises went on, in the
street, overhead in the work-room. But theirs was complete silence.

At last he rose and looked at her.

"Love is a fine thing, Allaye," he said.

She lay mute and unmoving. He approached, laid his hand on her
breast, and kissed her.

"Love," he said, asserting, and laughing.

But still she was completely mute and motionless. He threw
bedclothes over her and went downstairs, whistling softly.

She knew she would have to break her own trance of obstinacy. So she
snuggled down into the bedclothes, shivering deliciously, for her
skin had become chilled. She didn't care a bit, really, about her
own downfall. She snuggled deliciously in the sheets, and admitted
to herself that she loved him. In truth, she loved him--and she was
laughing to herself.

Luxuriously, she resented having to get up and tackle her heap of
broken garments. But she did it. She took other clothes, adjusted
her hair, tied on her apron, and went downstairs once more. She
could not find Ciccio: he had gone out. A stray cat darted from the
scullery, and broke a plate in her leap. Alvina found her washing-up
water cold. She put on more, and began to dry her dishes.

Ciccio returned shortly, and stood in the doorway looking at her.
She turned to him, unexpectedly laughing.

"What do you think of yourse