"I can make her happy," he replied, "if you order me; and when I have done so, perhaps you will trust me more."
Emily's mother had started home, but Emily and the little friend still sat beside the tea-things—she in her white piqué dress and biscuit straw, he in his rough but well-cut summer suit. The great pagan figure of the Faun towered insolently above them.
The friend was saying, "And have you never felt the appalling loneliness of a crowd?"
"All that," replied Emily, "have I felt, and very much more———"
Then the Faun laid his hands upon them. They, who had only intended a little cultured flirtation, resisted him as long as they could, but were gradually urged into each other's arms, and embraced with passion.
"Miscreant!" I shouted, bursting from the wood. "You have betrayed me."
"I know it: I care not," cried the little friend. "Stand aside. You are in the presence of that which you do not understand. In the great solitude we have found ourselves at last."
"Remove your accursed hands!" I shrieked to the Faun.
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