“Oh, non, non… Georges… pas du tout vous tes si gentil… si doux,” murmured the blond beauty, sighing as she felt her shoulders circled so masterfully by his left arm, which brushed the bare flesh with amorous entreaty.

Provocative she was in this intimate dishabille and most stirring to the senses, because she was submissive, yielding and candid in her acceptance of desire-all the attributes that Marcia could not and would not possess.

Now gently placing his hands upon her milky forearms and, bending his head, he kissed her fleetingly in that most amorously bewitching niche which is the dimpled, thrilling feminine shoulder hollow.

Marie quivered, her eyes closed and slowly, her golden head fell back, tautening her delicious naked throat, in which the pulse throbbed with a cadence that was sensual in its rhythmic affirmation… and his lips, rising from that sweet niche of girlish flesh, paid homage to the purity of her throat, kissing the pulse exquisitely and she sighed languorously, half swooning under the savoring intoxication of his calculating, artistic caresses.

Marcia, for all her loathing, was compelled to wonder, she had read that lustful men sought out brothels surreptitiously to give vent to their most bestial desires-but this amorous badinage was gentle, refined, the communion of an esthete and his beloved. It was strange. Who was this man who called himself Mr. George? And how was it, yes, how could it be, that Marie, the gentle and modest Marie, gave herself so willingly to a stranger’s caresses?

And what would be her fate? She had entreated him to aid her-and his answer had been to pinion and gag her and force her to watch the scene of his wooing of her maid, her own maid- who had, as if hypnotized by some strange spell, aided him in the deed!

And, if he did not mean to free her, but aid Marie instead and leave her here, she would become the helpless prey of men far less polished in behavior than he; she would be ravished tortured, even!