The Safety Curtain | Page 6

note of derision. "Sure, you're joking!"
she protested. "I've looked after myself ever since I was eight."
"And made a success of it?" Merryon asked.
Her eyes shot swift defiance. "That's nobody's business but my own,"
she said. "You know what I think of life."
Merryon's hand closed slowly upon hers. "There seems to be a pair of
us," he said. "You can't refuse to let me help you--for fellowship's
sake."
The red lips trembled suddenly. The dark eyes fell before his for the
first time. She spoke almost under her breath. "I'm too old--to take help
from a man--like that."
He bent slightly towards her. "What has age to do with it?"
"Everything." Her eyes remained downcast; the hand he held was
trying to wriggle free, but he would not suffer it.
"Circumstances alter cases," he said. "I accepted the responsibility
when I saved you."
"But you haven't the least idea what to do with me," said the
Dragon-Fly, with a forlorn smile. "You ought to have thought of that.
You'll be going back to India soon. And I--and I--" She stopped, still
stubbornly refusing to meet the man's eyes.
"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.
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