And what I am doesn't matter either.

It's just--nobody's business." "I see," said Merryon.
A faint smile crossed his grim, hard-featured face.

He sat down in a low chair near his guest and drew to his side a small table that bore a tray of refreshments.

He poured out a glass of wine and held it towards the queer, elfin figure crouched upon his hearth.
The dark eyes suddenly flashed from the fire to his face.

"Why do you offer me--that ?" the dancer demanded, in a voice that was curiously vibrant, as though it strove to conceal some overwhelming emotion.