However, he was never met engaged in this lucrative way of
business,--he simply turned his back on everybody, Morgana Royal
included, and so far as "society" was concerned, just disappeared.
In the "hut of the dying" on that lonely hill-slope in California he
was happy, feeling a relief from infinite boredom, and thankful to
be alone. He had much to think about and much to do--inhabited
places and the movement of people were to him tedious and fatiguing,
and he decided that nature,--wild nature in a solitary and savage
aspect,--would suit his speculative and creative tendencies best.
Yet, like all human beings, he had his odd, almost child-like moods,
inexplicable even to himself--moods illogical, almost pettish, and
wholly incongruous with his own accepted principles of reasoning.
For instance, he maintained that women had neither attraction nor
interest for him--yet he found himself singularly displeased when
after two or three days of utter solitude, and when he was rather
eagerly expecting Manella to arrive with the new milk which was his
staple food, a lanky, red-haired ugly boy appeared instead of her--a
boy who slouched along, swinging the milk pail in one hand and
clutching a half-munched slice of pine-apple in the other.

"Hello--o!" called this individual. "Not dead yet?"

For answer Seaton strode forward and taking the milk-pail from him
gripped him by the dirty cotton shirt and gave him a brief but
severe shaking.

"No,--not dead yet!" he said--"You insolent young monkey! Who are
you?"