Constance did not withdraw her hand.

Rather she watched in his eyes the subtle physical change in the man that her very touch produced, watched and felt a response in herself.
Quickly she withdrew her hand.

"I must go," she said rather hurriedly, "it is getting late." "Constance," he whispered, as he helped her on with her wraps, brushing the waiter aside that he might himself perform any duty that involved even touching her, "Constance, I am in your hands--absolutely." It had been pleasant to dine with him.

It was more pleasant now to feel her influence and power over him.

She knew it, though she only half admitted it.