"No," she answered firmly; "not that one."
It was the ballad which Andrew had told her helped to send him up into the wilds where his duty lay. Henceforward it was sacred—not to be sung to such a man as Mappin.
"Why?" he demanded.
"I sing that only to people who I know will appreciate it."
"And you don't think I would?"
"It strikes me as very doubtful," she said with a smile in which there was a touch of scorn.
His color deepened. She had shown signs of yielding, and how he wondered whether she had after all been amusing herself with him. Stirred as he was by passion he was in no reasoning mood; savage jealousy filled his heart.
"It's the kind of thing you keep for sentimental fools like Allinson!" he exclaimed.
Geraldine had expected some such outbreak. Indeed it was what she desired.
"Well," she said with a tenderness which was meant to disturb her companion, "I sang it to him once."