ent eyes--slate blue, with thick,
velvety black lashes. Irish.

In a moment Kitty had three eggs and half a dozen strips of bacon frying
in a fresh pan. She kept one eye upon the pan and the other upon the
intruder, risking strabismus. At length she transferred the contents of
the pan to a plate, backed to the ice chest, and reached for a bottle
of milk. She placed the food at the far end of the table and retreated
a few steps, her arms crossed in such a way as to keep the revolver in
view.

"Please do not be afraid of me.

"What makes you think I am?"

"Any woman would be."

Kitty saw that he was actually hungry, and her suspicions began to ebb.
He hadn't lied about that. And he ate like a gentleman. Young, not more
than thirty; possibly less. But that dreadful stubble and that black
eye! The clothes would have passed muster on any fashionable golf links.
A fugitive? From what?

"Thank you," he said, setting down the empty milk bottle.

"Your accent is English."

"Which is to say?"

"That your gestures are Italian."

"My mother was Italian. But what makes you believe I am not English?"

"An Englishman--or an American, for that matter--with money in his
pocket would have gone into the street in search of a restaurant."

"You are right. The fundamentals of the blood will always crop out.
You can educate the brain but not the blood. I am not an Englishman; I
merely received my education at Oxford."

"A fugitive, however, of any blood might have come to my window."

"Yes; I am a fugitive, pursued by the god of Irony. And Irony is never
particular; the chase is the thing. What matters it whether the quarry
be wolf or sheep?"

Kitty was impressed by the bitterness of the tone. "What is your name?"

"John Hawksley."

"But that is English!"

"I should not care to call myself Two-Hawks, literally. It would be
embarrassing. So I call myself Hawksley."

A pause. Kitty wondered what new impetus she might give to the
conversation, which was interesting her despite her distrust.

"How did you come by that black eye?" she asked with embarrassing
directness.

Hawksley smiled, revealing beautifully white teeth. "I say, it is a bit
off, isn't it! I received it"--a twinkle coming into his eyes--"in a
situation that had moribund perspectives."

"Moribund perspectives," repeated Kitty, casting the phrase about in her
mind in search of an equivalent less academic.

"I am young and healthy, and I wanted to live