"Then it's up to me to look after you," Merryon said, quietly.

But she shook her head at that more vigorously still. "You look after
me!" Her voice trembled on a 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.