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.