“I’m not crying,” said Puck.

She uncovered her face and looked down at him through tears with a faintly mischievous smile.

“Tell me!” he reiterated.  “Is it because you don’t like the idea of leaving me?”

Her smile flashed full out upon him on the instant.

“Goodness, no!  Whatever made you think that?” she demanded, briskly.

He was momentarily disconcerted, but he recovered himself at once.

“Then what is your objection to going?” he asked.

She turned and sat down conversationally on the corner of the table.

“Well, you know, Billikins, it’s like this.  When I married you—­I did it out of pity.  See?  I was sorry for you.  You seemed such a poor, helpless sort of creature.  And I thought being married to me might help to improve your position a bit.  You see my point, Billikins?”

“Oh, quite,” he said.  “Please go on!”

She went on, with butterfly gaiety.

“I worked hard—­really hard—­to get you out of your bog.  It was a horrid deep one, wasn’t it, Billikins?  My!  You were floundering!  But I’ve pulled you out of it and dragged you up the bank a bit.  You don’t get sniffed at anything like you used, do you, Billikins?  But I daren’t leave you yet—­I honestly daren’t.  You’d slip right back again directly my back was turned.  And I should have the pleasure of starting the business all over again.  I couldn’t face it, my dear.  It would be too disheartening.”

“I see,” said Merryon.  There was just the suspicion of a smile among the rugged lines of his face.  “Yes, I see your point.  But I can show you another if you’ll listen.”

He was holding her two hands as she sat, as though he feared an attempt to escape.  For though Puck sat quite still, it was with the stillness of a trapped creature that waits upon opportunity.

“Will you listen?” he said.

She nodded.

It was not an encouraging nod, but he proceeded.

“All the women go to the Hills for the hot weather.  It’s unspeakable here.  No white woman could stand it.  And we men get leave by turns to join them.  There is nothing doing down here, no social round whatever.  It’s just stark duty.  I can’t lose much social status that way.  It will serve my turn much better if you go up with the other women and continue to hold your own there.  Not that I care a rap,” he added, with masculine tactlessness.  “I am no longer susceptible to snubs.”

“Then I shan’t go,” she said at once, beginning to swing a restless foot.

“Yes, but you will go,” he said.  “I wish it.”

“You want to get rid of me,” said Puck, looking over his head with the eyes of a troubled child.

Merryon was silent.  He was watching her with a kind of speculative curiosity.  His hands were still locked upon hers.

Slowly her eyes came down to his.

“Billikins,” she said, “let me stay down for a little!” Her lips were quivering.  She kicked his chair agitatedly.  “I don’t want to go,” she said, dismally.  “Let me stay—­anyhow—­till I get ill!”