She looked down at the great hand that held her.  She was still half laughing, though her lips quivered.

“I couldn’t possibly marry you yet,” she said.

“No.  To-morrow!” said Mercer.

She shook her head.

“Not even then.”

“Listen!” he said.  “If you won’t marry me at once you will have to come with me without.  For I am going up-country to see my farms, and I don’t mean to leave you here.”

“Can’t I wait till you come back?” she said.

“What for?”

He leaned forward a little, trying to peer under her drooping lids.  She was trembling slightly.

“I think you forget,” she said, “that—­that we hardly know each other.”

“How are we to get any nearer if I’m up-country and you’re here?” he said.

She looked at him unwillingly.

“You may change your mind when you have had time to think it over,” she said, colouring deeply.

“I’ll take the risk,” said Mercer.  “Besides”—­she saw his grim smile for an instant—­“I’ve been thinking of nothing else since I met you.”

She started a little.

“I—­I had no idea.”

“No,” he said; “I saw that.  You needn’t be afraid of me on that account.  It ought to have the opposite effect.”

“I am not afraid of you,” she said, with a certain dignity.  “But I, too, should have time for consideration.”

“A woman doesn’t need it,” he asserted.  “She can make up her mind at a moment’s notice.”

“And is often sorry for ever afterwards,” she said smiling faintly.

He thrust out his jaw, as if challenging her.

“You think I shall make you sorry?”

“No,” she answered.  “But I want to be quite sure.”

“Which is another reason for marrying me to-morrow,” he said.  “I’m not going to let you wait.  It’s only a whim.  You weren’t created to live alone, and there is no reason why you should.  I am here, and you will have to take me.”

“Whether I want to or not?” she said.

“Don’t you want to?” he questioned.

She was silent.

He lifted the hand he held and looked at it.  He spanned her wrist with his finger and thumb.

“That’s reason enough for me,” he abruptly said.  “You are nothing but skin and bone.  You’ve been starving yourself.”

“I haven’t,” she protested.  “I haven’t, indeed.”

“I don’t believe you,” he retorted rudely.  “You weren’t such a skeleton as this when I saw you last.  Come, what’s the good of fighting?  You’ll have to give in.”

She smiled again faintly at the rough persuasion in his voice, but still she hesitated.

“I shan’t eat you, you know,” he proceeded, pressing his advantage.  “I shan’t do anything you won’t like.”

She glanced at him quickly.

“You mean that?”

His eyes looked straight back at her.

“Yes, I mean it.”