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.