The seconds ticked off, the minutes passed, and still the two stood clasped rigid together, mouth to mouth, like a statue in one block.
But again his fingers went seeking over her, restless, wandering, dissatisfied.

The hot blood came up wave upon wave.

She laid her head on his shoulder.
"Come you to my room," he murmured.
She looked at him and shook her head, her mouth pouting disconsolately, her eyes heavy with passion.

He watched her fixedly.
"Yes!" he said.
Again she shook her head.
"Why not ?" he asked.
She looked at him still heavily, sorrowfully, and again she shook her head.

His eyes hardened, and he gave way.
When, later on, he was back in bed, he wondered why she had refused to come to him openly, so that her mother would know.