“Can we get to business now?” she said.

“Business?” said Mercer.

With a steadiness that she found somewhat difficult of accomplishment she made reply: 

“You thought you could find me employment—­some means by which I could pay you back.”

“You still want to pay me back?” he said.

She glanced up half nervously.

“I know that I can never repay your kindness to me,” she said.  “So far as that goes, I am in your debt for always.  But—­the money part I must and will, somehow, return.”

“Being the most important part?” he suggested, halting in front of her.

“I didn’t mean to imply that,” she answered.  “I think you know which I put first.  But I can only do what I can, and money is repayable.”

“So is kindness,” said Mercer.

Again shyly she glanced at him.

“I am afraid I don’t quite understand.”

He sat down once more upon the table edge to bring his eyes on a level with hers.

“There’s nothing to be scared about,” he said.

She smiled a little.

“Oh, no; I am not scared.  I believe you think me even more foolish than I actually am.”

“No, I don’t,” said Mercer.  “If I did, I shouldn’t say what I am going to say.  As it is, you are not to answer till you have counted up to fifty.  Is that a bargain?”

“Yes,” she said, beginning to feel more curious than afraid.

“Here goes then,” said Brett Mercer.  “I want a wife, and I want you.  Will you marry me?  Now, shut your eyes and count!”

But Sybil disobeyed him.  She opened her eyes wide, and stared at him in breathless amazement.

Mercer stared back with absolute composure.

“I’m in dead earnest,” he told her.  “Never made a joke in my life.  Of course, you’ll refuse me.  I know that.  But I shan’t give you up if you do.  If you don’t marry me, you won’t marry any one else, for I’ll lick any other man off the ground.  I come first with you now, and I mean to stay first.”

He stopped, for amazement had given place to something else on her face.  She looked at him queerly, as if irresolute for a few seconds; but she no longer shrank from meeting his eyes.  And then quite suddenly she broke into her funny little laugh.

“Amusing, is it?” he said.

She turned sharply away, with one hand pressed to her mouth, obviously struggling with herself.

At last: 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said.  “I didn’t mean to laugh really—­really.  Only you—­you’re such a monster, and I’m such a shrimp!  Please don’t be vexed with me!”

She put out her hand to him, without turning.

He did not take it at once.  When he did, he drew her round to face him.  There was an odd restraint about the action, determined though it was.

“Well?” he said gruffly.  “Which is it to be?  Am I to go to the devil, or stay with you?”