“I am going back next week,” Merryon said.

“How fine to be you!” said the Dragon-Fly.  “You wouldn’t like to take me with you now as—­as valet de chambre?”

He raised his brows momentarily.  Then:  “Would you come?” he asked, with a certain roughness, as though he suspected her of trifling.

She raised her eyes suddenly, kindled and eager.  “Would I come!” she said, in a tone that said more than words.

“You would?” he said, and laid an abrupt hand on her shoulder.  “You would, eh?”

She knelt up swiftly, the coat that enveloped her falling back, displaying the slim, boyish figure, the active, supple limbs.  Her breathing came through parted lips.

“As your—­your servant—­your valet?” she panted.

His rough brows drew together.  “My what?  Good heavens, no!  I could only take you in one capacity.”

She started back from his hand.  For a moment sheer horror looked out from her eyes.  Then, almost in the same instant, they were veiled.  She caught her breath, saying no word, only dumbly waiting.

“I could only take you as my wife,” he said, still in that half-bantering, half-embarrassed fashion of his.  “Will you come?”

She threw back her head and stared at him.  “Marry you!  What, really?  Really?” she questioned, breathlessly.

“Merely for appearances’ sake,” said Merryon, with grim irony.  “The regimental morals are somewhat easily offended, and an outsider like myself can’t be too careful.”

The girl was still staring at him, as though at some novel specimen of humanity that had never before crossed her path.  Suddenly she leaned towards him, looking him full and straight in the eyes.

“What would you do if I said ’Yes’?” she questioned, in a small, tense whisper.

He looked back at her, half-interested, half amused.  “Do, urchin?  Why, marry you!” he said.

“Really marry me?” she urged.  “Not make-believe?”

He stiffened at that.  “Do you know what you’re saying?” he demanded, sternly.

She sprang to her feet with a wild, startled movement; then, as he remained seated, paused, looking down at him sideways, half-doubtful, half-confiding.  “But you can’t be in earnest!” she said.

“I am in earnest.”  He raised his face to her with a certain doggedness, as though challenging her to detect in it aught but honesty.  “I may be several kinds of a fool,” he said, “but I am in earnest.  I’m no great catch, but I’ll marry you if you’ll have me.  I’ll protect you, and I’ll be good to you.  I can’t promise to make you happy, of course, but—­anyway, I shan’t make you miserable.”

“But—­but—­” She still stood before him as though hovering on the edge of flight.  Her lips were trembling, her whole form quivering and scintillating in the lamplight.  She halted on the words as if uncertain how to proceed.

“What is it?” said Merryon.