ould have had it himself for the price of tea. But I don't grudge
anybody anything--America is welcome to the whole bulk as far as I'm
concerned--Britain ditto,--let them both eat and be filled. All _I_
want is to be left alone. Do you hear that, Manella? To be left alone!
Particularly by women. That's one reason why I came here. This cabin is
supposed to be a sort of tuberculosis 'shelter,' where a patient in
hopeless condition comes with a special nurse to die. I don't want a
nurse, and I'm not going to die. Tubercles don't touch me--they don't
flourish on my soil. So this solitude just suits me. If I were at the
'Plaza' I should have to meet a lot of women--"

"No, you wouldn't," interrupted Manella, suddenly and sharply--"only
one woman."

"Only one? You?"

She sighed, and moved impatiently.

"Oh, no! Not me. A stranger."

He looked at her with a touch of inquisitiveness.

"An invalid?"

"She may be. I don't know. She has golden hair."

He gave a gesture of dislike.

"Dreadful! That's enough! I can imagine her,--a die-away creature with
a cough and a straw-coloured wig. Yes!--that will do, Manella! You'd
better go and wait upon her. I've got all I want for a couple of days
at least." He seated himself and took up his note-book. She turned away.

"Stop a minute, Manella!"

She obeyed.

"Golden hair, you said?"

She nodded.

"Old or young?"

"She might be either"--and Manella gazed dreamily at the darkening
sky--"There is nobody old nowadays--or so it seems to me."

"An invalid?"

"I don't think so. She looks quite well. She arrived at the Plaza only
yesterday."

"Ah! Well, good-night, Manella! And if you want to know anything more
about me, I don't mind telling you this,--that there's nothing in the
world I so utterly detest as a woman with golden hair! There!"

She looked at him, surprised at his harsh tone. He shook his forefinger
at her.

"Fact!" he said--"Fact as hard as nails! A woman with golden hair is a
demon--a witch--a mischief and a curse! See? Always has been and always
will be! Good-night!"

But Manella paused, meditatively.

"She looks like a witch," she said slowly--"One of those creatures they
put in pictures of fairy tales,--small and white. Very small,--I could
carry her."

"I wouldn't try it if I were you"--he answered, with visible
impatience--"Off you go! Good-night!"

She gave him one lingering glance; then, turning abruptly picked up her
empty milk pail and st