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.

And then, quite suddenly, his mood softened. He leaned slowly forward.

"You needn't be afraid of me," he said. "I'm not a heady youngster. I
shan't gobble you up."

She laughed at that--a quick, nervous laugh. "And you won't beat me
either? Promise!"

He frowned at her. "Beat you! I?"

She nodded several times, faintly smiling. "Yes, you, Mr. Monster! I'm
sure you could."

He smiled also, somewhat grimly. "You're wrong, madam. I couldn't beat a
child."

"Oh, my!" she said, and threw up her arms with a quivering laugh,
dropping his coat in a heap on the floor. "How old do you think this
child is?" she questioned, glancing down at him in her sidelong,
speculative fashion.

He looked at her hard and straight, looked at the slim young body in its
sheath of iridescent green that shimmered with every breath she drew,
and very suddenly he rose.

She made a spring backwards, but she was too late. He caught and held
her.

"Let me go!" she cried, her face crimson.

"But why?" Merryon's voice fell curt and direct. He held her firmly by
the shoulders.

She struggled against him fiercely for a moment, then became suddenly
still. "You're not a brute, are you?" she questioned, breathlessly.
"You--you'll be good to me? You said so!"

He surveyed her grimly. "Yes, I will be good to you," he said. "But I'm
not going to be fooled. Understand? If you marry me, you must play the
part. I don't know how old you are. I don't greatly care. All I do care
about is that you behave yourself as the wife of a man in my position
should. You're old enough to know what that means, I suppose?"

He spoke impressively, but the effect of his words was not quite what he
expected. The point of a very red tongue came suddenly from between the
red lips, and instantly disappeared.

"That all?" she said. "Oh yes; I think I can do that. I'll try, anyway.
And if you're not satisfied--well, you'll have to let me know. See?

Now let me go, there's a good man! I don't like the feel of your
hands."

He let her go in answer to the pleading of her eyes, and she slipped
from his grasp like an eel, caught up the coat at her feet, and wriggled
into it.

Then, impishly, she faced him, buttoning it with nimble fingers the
while. "This is the garment of respectability," she declared. "It isn't
much of a