“Melian darling, you will have to go on to Coates’ camp a little ahead of me. The fact is—I must go with these people for a bit—but I’ll rejoin you soon. The chief is going to tell off two of his men as an escort for you, and you will be quite safe—quite safe. Tell Coates I’ll join him later.”
He tried to speak jauntily—to force a smile. But Melian was not to be taken in—not for a moment. She shook her head.
“I am not going to Mr Coates’ camp,” she said, “at least, not without you. If you have got to go with these people I go too.”
Mervyn had not reckoned upon this. He tried to reason with her, pointing out that a forced march with a gang of wild tribesmen and a sojourn in their more or less uncomfortable villages, was no fit experience for her. Of any clement of peril he purposely said nothing, knowing full well that to do so would be simply to rivet her opposition the closer. But he might as well have argued with the tent walls, or have tried to turn the Gularzai chieftain from his fixed purpose.
“Now be reasonable, my little one,” he concluded. “Say good-bye to me here, and I’ll see you started off all comfortably.”
But Melian set her lips, and those very pretty lips of hers could set very firmly indeed on occasion.
“I shall do no such thing,” she answered. “I’m going with you. We came here together, and I’m not going to leave you.”
She was clinging to him now, firmly, and kissing him.
“You won’t go to Coates’ then?” he said helplessly.
“No. I’m going with you. So now, let’s go out and tell them so.”