"Your lips," he commanded.
But Joyce fell to weeping broken-heartedly. Meredith kissed her cheek with a pain at his heart, and turned away.
"Won't you tell me everything?" he asked another time, studying her intently. Normally, he imagined she would have babbled childishly of all her experiences, and have been insatiable in her demands for petting. Why did she seem crushed and silent as to details? Honor had said the shock would account for her shaken and hysterical state; but it did not explain her strange aloofness.
"You know it all," Joyce returned listlessly, the tears springing to her eyes at his first question as to the experience she had undergone.
"I know the barest outline—and that from Honor Bright. You wanted a particular stone for a souvenir, and in digging it out, the arch collapsed, which brought down a large bit of the roof and a lot more besides. What happened after that? How did you manage to spend the night? It must have been horrible!"
"Some day I may be able to talk about it, but not now," she cried with quivering lips. "It is cruel to question me now."
Meredith leaned back in despair. "I hope Dalton was properly careful of you?" he asked, devoured with jealousy.
"He gave me his coat and his rug, and made cups out of pipal leaves to catch the raindrops as they fell. We were so thirsty," she said monotonously.
"Rather a brainy idea!"
"Please don't recall all that to me. I don't want to think of it!" she cried; and that was all Meredith could learn of the events of that night.