Please--please, Billikins!" she begged, incoherently. "You promised--you
promised--"

"What did I promise?" he said.

"That you wouldn't--wouldn't"--she spoke breathlessly, for his hold was
tightening upon her--"gobble me up," she ended, with a painful little
laugh.

"I see." Merryon's voice was deep and low. "And you meantime are at
liberty to play any fool game you like with me. Is that it?"

She was quivering from head to foot. She did not lift her face. "It
wasn't--a fool game," she protested. "I did it because--because--you
were so horrid this morning, so--so cold-blooded. And I--and I--wanted
to see if--I could make you care."

"Make me care!" Merryon said the words over oddly to himself; and then,
still fast holding her, he began to feel for the face that was so
strenuously hidden from him.

She resisted him desperately. "Let me go!" she begged, piteously. "I'll
be so good, Billikins. I'll go to the Hills. I'll do anything you like.
Only let me go now! Billikins!"

She cried out sharply, for he had overcome her resistance by quiet
force, had turned her white face up to his own.

"I am not cold-blooded to-night, Puck," he said. "Whatever you
are--child or woman--gutter-snipe or angel--you are mine, all mine.