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Fyne at the cottage. "Why didn't you do it?" I asked point-
blank.
She said: "I am not a very plucky girl." She looked up at me and added
meaningly: "And _you_ know it. And you know why."
I must remark that she seemed to have become very subdued since our first
meeting at the quarry. Almost a different person from the defiant, angry
and despairing girl with quivering lips and resentful glances.
"I thought it was very sensible of you to get away from that sheer drop,"
I said.
She looked up with something of that old expression.
"That's not what I mean. I see you will have it that you saved my life.
Nothing of the kind. I was concerned for that vile little beast of a
dog. No! It was the idea of--of doing away with myself which was
cowardly. That's what I meant by saying I am not a very plucky girl."
"Oh!" I retorted airily. "That little dog. He isn't really a bad little
dog." But she lowered her eyelids and went on:
"I was so miserable that I could think only of myself. This was mean. It
was cruel too. And besides I had _not_ given it up--not then.


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