NOBODY'S BUSINESS "My name is Merryon," the man said, curtly.

"I am a major in the Indian Army--home on leave.

Now tell me about yourself!" He delivered the information in the brief, aggressive fashion that seemed to be characteristic of him, and he looked over the head of his young visitor as he did so, almost as if he made the statement against his will.
The visitor, still clad in his great-coat, crouched like a dog on the hearthrug before the fire in Merryon's sitting-room, and gazed with wide, unblinking eyes into the flames.
After a few moments Merryon's eyes descended to the dark head and surveyed it critically.

The collar of his coat was turned up all round it.

It was glistening with rain-drops and looked like the head of some small, furry animal.
As if aware of that straight regard, the dancer presently spoke, without turning or moving an eyelid.
"What you are doesn't matter to any one except yourself.