“Would you please tie my handkerchief round it?” she asked.

“Let it bleed.  What are you thinking of?”

“I want to get back.”

“Where’s the hurry?”

“Only that I want to get back.”

“But I haven’t seen you for ages.”

“Haven’t you?” she asked innocently.

“Cruel Mavis!  But before you go back you must wash your hand in the river.”

“I’ll do nothing of the kind.”

“Not if it’s for your good?”

“Not if I don’t wish it.”

“As it’s for your good, I insist on your doing what I wish,” he declared, as he caught her firmly by the wrist and led her, all unresisting, to the river’s brink.  She was surprised at her helplessness and was inclined to criticise it impersonally, the while Perigal plunged her wounded hand into the water.  Her reflections were interrupted by a sharp pain caused by the contact of water with the torn flesh.

“It’s better than blood poisoning,” he hastened to assure her.

“I believe you do it on purpose to hurt me,” she remarked, upon his freeing her hand.

“I’m justified in hurting you if it’s for your good,” he declared calmly.  “Now let me bind it up.”

While he tied up her hand, she looked at him resentfully, the colour heightening on her cheek.

“I wish you’d often look like that,” he remarked.

“I shall if you treat me so unkindly.”

He took no notice of the accusation, but said: 

“When you look like that it’s wonderful.  Then certain verses in the ‘Song of Solomon’ might have been written to you.”

“The ’Song of Solomon’?”

“Don’t you read your Bible?”

“But you said some of them might have been written to me.  What do you mean?”

“They’re the finest love verses in the English language.  They might have been written to you.  They’re quite the best thing in the Bible.”

She was perplexed, and showed it in her face; then, she looked appealingly to him for enlightenment.  He disregarded the entreaty in her eyes.  He looked at her from head to foot before saying: 

“Little Mavis, little Mavis, why are you so alluring?”

“Don’t talk nonsense.  I’m not a bit,” she replied, as something seemed to tighten at her heart.

“You are, you are.  You’ve soul and body, an irresistible combination,” he declared ardently.

His words troubled her; she looked about her, large-eyed, afraid; she did not once glance in his direction.

Then she felt his grasp upon her wrist and the pressure of his lips upon her wounded hand.

“Forgive me:  forgive me!” he cried.  “But I know you never will.”

“Don’t, don’t,” she murmured.

“Are you very angry?”

“I—­I—­” she hesitated.

“Let me know the worst.”

“I don’t know,” she faltered ruefully.

His face brightened.