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The last words were spoken very low for the girl's ears alone, though more than one person at the table seeing him bend over her, understood, that Alan Massey, that professional master-lover was "off" again. "Don't, Mr. Massey. I don't care for that kind of jest." "Jest! Good God! Tony Holiday, don't you know that I mean it, that this, is the real thing at last for me and for you?
The girl stirred his passion too deeply, roused his will to conquer too irresistibly to permit him to forego the privilege of the place and hour. She looked up at him and he smiled down at her, once more the master-lover. "I was right, was I not, Toinetta mia? I did make you a little bit mine, did I not? Be honest. Tell me."
Besides, when you really want anything very much, you have a way of forcing me to want it, too, my master-lover!" He laughed joyously. "Claire," he said, "if we ever do go to smash, you and I, there will have been a glorious day and a glorious house to smash with. It won't be a petty breaking of toy dishes!" "No," she whispered, "it will be the breaking of life's foundations."
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