you cannot go!..." she pleaded.
She had felt his strong arms closing round her, his lips seeking hers, her eyes, her hair, her clinging hands, which dragged at his shoulders in a wild agony of despair.
"If you really loved me, Percy," she murmured, "you would not go, you would not go..." He would not trust himself to speak; it well-nigh seemed as if his sinews cracked with the violent effort at self-control.

Oh! how she loved him, when she felt in him the passionate lover, the wild, untamed creature that he was at heart, on whom the frigid courtliness of manner sat but as a thin veneer.

This was his own real personality, and there was little now of the elegant and accomplished gentleman of fashion, schooled to hold every emotion in check, to hide every thought, every desire save that for amusement or for display.
She--feeling her power and his weakness now--gave herself wholly to his embrace, not grudging one single, passionate caress, yielding her lips to him, the while she murmured: "You cannot go...

you cannot...

why should you go ?...