oquetry of her own, using the usual methods with an
individuality that was certainly fetching. For instance, when she lost
her needle--and, another time, when we both, on hands and knees,
hunted for her thimble.

However, directions for these pastimes may be found in contemporary
classics.

I was as entertaining as I could be--perhaps not quite as entertaining
as a young man usually thinks he is. However, we got on very well
together until I asked her tenderly who the harbor-master might be,
whom they all discussed so mysteriously.

"I do not care to speak about it," she said, with a primness of which
I had not suspected her capable.

Of course I could scarcely pursue the subject after that--and, indeed,
I did not intend to--so I began to tell her how I fancied I had seen a
man on the cliff that afternoon, and how the creature slid over the
sheer rock like a snake.

To my amazement, she asked me to kindly discontinue the account of my
adventures, in an icy tone, which left no room for protest.

"It was only a sea-otter," I tried to explain, thinking perhaps she
did not care for snake stories.

But the explanation did not appear to interest her, and I was
mortified to observe that my impression upon her was anything but
pleasant.

"She doesn't seem to like me and my stories," thought I, "but she is
too young, perhaps, to appreciate them."

So I forgave her--for she was even prettier than I had thought her at
first--and I took my leave, saying that Mr. Halyard would doubtless
direct me to my room.

Halyard was in his library, cleaning a revolver, when I entered.

"Your room is next to mine," he said; "pleasant dreams, and kindly
refrain from snoring."

"May I venture an absurd hope that you will do the same!" I replied,
politely.

That maddened him, so I hastily withdrew.

I had been asleep for at least two hours when a movement by my bedside
and a light in my eyes awakened me. I sat bolt upright in bed,
blinking at Halyard, who, clad in a dressing-gown and wearing a
night-cap, had wheeled himself into my room with one hand, while with
the other he solemnly waved a candle over my head.

"I'm so cursed lonely," he said--"come, there's a good fellow--talk to
me in your own original, impudent way."

I objected strenuously, but he looked so worn and thin, so lonely and
bad-tempered, so lovelessly grotesque, that I got out of bed and
passed a spongeful of cold water over my head.

Then I returned to bed