The amazement in his face was answer enough.

"Don't you suppose," she went on, "the picture you presented, standing
on that ledge, the red light of the torch on your face, the bird-cage
in your hand,--don't you suppose you roused my sense the romantic to
the highest pitch? Parrot & Co.!" with a wave of her hands.

She was laughing at him. It could not be otherwise. It made him at
once sad and angry. "Romance! I hate the word. Once I was as full of
romance as a water-chestnut is of starch. I again affirm that young
women should not travel alone. They think every bit of tinsel is gold,
every bit of colored glass, ruby. Go home; don't bother about romance
outside of books. There it is safe. The English are right. They may
be snobs when they travel abroad, but they travel securely. Romance,
adventure! Bah! So much twaddle has been written about the East that
cads and scoundrels are mistaken for Galahads and D'Artagnans. Few men
remain in this country who can with honor leave it. Who knows what
manner of man I am?"

He picked up the parrot-cage and strode away.

"Jah, jah!" began the bird.

Not all the diplomacy which worldly-wise men have at their disposal
could have drawn this girl's interest more surely than the abrupt rude
manner of his departure.