laring
orchid and produces on my retina a sensation of disquiet.

I broke the tidings of the tragedy as gently as I could. I had news of
Harry, I said, gravely. She merely looked interested and asked me when
he was coming.

"I'm afraid he will never come," said I.

"If he does not come, then I can stay here with you?"

Her eyes betrayed a quiver of anxiety. For the life of me I could not
avoid the ironical.

"If you will condescend to dwell as a member of my family beneath my
humble roof."

The irony was lost on her. She uttered a joyous little cry and held out
both her hands to me. Her eyes danced.

"Oh, I am glad he is not coming. I don't like him any more. I love to
stay here with you."

I took both the hands in mine. Mortal man could not have done otherwise.

"Have you thought why it is that you will never see Harry again?"

She shook her beautiful head and held it to one side and puckered up her
brows, like a wistful terrier.

"Is he dead?"

"Would it grieve you, if he were?"

"No-o," she replied, thoughtfully.

"Then," said I, dropping her hands and turning away, "Harry is dead."

She stood silent for a couple of minutes, regarding the row of pink
toes that protruded beneath the peignoir. At last her bosom shook with a
sigh. She glanced up at me sweetly.

"I am so glad," she said.

That is all she has vouchsafed to say with regard to the unhappy young
man. "She was so glad!" She has not even asked how he met his death. She
has simply accepted my statement. Harry is dead. He has gone out of her
life like yesterday's sunshine or yesterday's frippery. If I had told
her that yesterday's cab-horse had broken his neck, she could not be
more unconcerned. Nay, she is glad. Harry had not treated her nicely. He
had boxed her up in a cabin where she had been sick, and had subjected
her to various other discomforts. I, on the contrary, had surrounded her
with luxuries and dressed her in red silk. She rather dreaded Harry's
coming. When she learned that this was improbable she was relieved. His
death had turned the improbable into the impossible. It was the end of
the matter. She was so glad!

Yet there must have been some tender passage in their brief intercourse.
He must have kissed her during their flight from home to steamer. Her
young pulses must have throbbed a little faster at the sight of his
comely face.

What kind of a mythological being am I housing? Did she come at all out
of Hamdi Eff