he evidently took a caustic rather than an enthusiastic view of life, and
in my present state of mind there seemed a _prima facie_ case for
suspicion. Anyhow he was a man to be watched.

As to his daughter, I had learned that her name was Jean, that she had
been to school at a somewhat select seminary which I chanced to have
heard of, and that she had finished her education a couple of years ago
in Switzerland.

"Nothing very suspicious in all that," I thought. "Still, what is this
surprising apparition doing in this out of the way island? 'Looking after
my father,' she'd say. But why look after him here instead of some more
amusing place. Perhaps because they are hard up. On the other hand,
perhaps not."

Then I thought over the pair simply as one thought of any new
acquaintances before war was dreamt of, and I am bound to say they came
out of the ordeal very creditably. He was well born, well bred, and very
far from a fool. She was--well, I don't mind confessing that that night I
considered her charming, in spite of the pretty obvious fact that she was
not at all charmed with me. Or if she was, she concealed her feelings
admirably. She had a good enough excuse, either way; whether she were
honest and thought me a traitor, or whether she were treacherous and
thought me honest. Besides, I had not yet shaved.

So I forgave Miss Jean her prejudice and reflected on her attractions. I
changed my mind about them later, as will appear, but that first evening
she seemed to me a most piquant and dainty young lady. Slim, trim, and
demure, with eyes like stars (I borrow the metaphor unblushingly), and a
pleasant spice of mischief in her tongue, and a touch of the devil very