It stirred him oddly, making him see her for the first time as a woman rather than as the fantastic being, half-elf, half-child, whom he had wrested from the very jaws of Death against her will.

He leaned slowly forward, marking the deep, deep shadows about her eyes, the vivid red of her lips.
"What do you know about the dregs ?" he said.
She beat her hands with a small, fierce movement on his knees, mutely refusing to answer.
"Ah, well," he said, "I don't know why I should answer either.

But I will.

Yes, I've had dregs--dregs--and nothing but dregs for the last fifteen years." He spoke with a bitterness that he scarcely attempted to restrain, and the girl at his feet nodded--a wise little feminine nod.
"I knew you had.

It comes harder to a man, doesn't it ?" "I don't know why it should," said Merryon, moodily.
"I do," said the Dragon-Fly.