He forced himself into conversation with me, however, and we
interchanged a few remarks on the weather and on the various
beauties of the coast along which we had been sailing all day.

"I see that you care very much for fine scenery," he said--"Few
women do."

"Really?" And I smiled. "Is admiration of the beautiful a special
privilege of men only?"

"It should be,"--he answered, with a little bow--"We are the
admirers of your sex."

I made no answer. Mr. Harland looked at me with a somewhat quizzical
air.

"You are not a believer in compliments," he said.

"Was it a compliment?" I asked, laughingly--"I'm afraid I'm very
dense! I did not see that it was meant as one."

Dr. Brayle's dark brows drew together in a slight frown. With that
expression on his face he looked very much like an Italian poisoner
of old time,--the kind of man whom Caesar Borgia might have employed
to give the happy dispatch to his enemies by some sure and
undiscoverable means known only to intricate chemistry.

Presently Mr. Harland spoke again, while he peeled a pear slowly and
delicately with a deft movement of his fruit knife that suggested
cruelty and the flaying alive of some sentient thing.