"Upon my word!" he exclaimed--"I am making a nice fool of myself! Actually wasting time on a woman. Go home, Manella, go home! If you are wise you won't stop here another minute! See now! You are full of curiosity--all women are! You want to know why I stay up here in this hill cabin by myself instead of staying at the 'Plaza.' You think I'm a rich Englishman. I'm not. No Englishman is ever rich,--not up to his own desires. He wants the earth and all that therein is--does the Englishman, and of course he can't have it. He rather grudges America her large slice of rich plum-pudding territory, forgetting that he could have had it himself for the price of tea. But I don't grudge anybody anything--America is welcome to the whole bulk as far as I'm concerned--Britain ditto,--let them both eat and be filled. All _I_ want is to be left alone. Do you hear that, Manella? To be left alone! Particularly by women. That's one reason why I came here. This cabin is supposed to be a sort of tuberculosis 'shelter,' where a patient in hopeless condition comes with a special nurse to die. I don't want a nurse, and I'm not going to die. Tubercles don't touch me--they don't flourish on my soil. So this solitude just suits me. If I were at the 'Plaza' I should have to meet a lot of women--" "No, you wouldn't," interrupted Manella, suddenly and sharply--"only one woman." "Only one? You?" She sighed, and moved impatiently. "Oh, no! Not me. A stranger." He looked at her with a touch of inquisitiveness. "An invalid?" "She may be. I don't know. She has golden hair." He gave a gesture of dislike. "Dreadful! That's enough! I can imagine her,--a die-away creature with a cough and a straw-coloured wig. Yes!--that will do, Manella! You'd better go and wait upon her. I've got all I want for a couple of days at least." He seated himself and took up his note-book. She turned away. "Stop a minute, Manella!" She obeyed. "Golden hair, you said?" She nodded. "Old or young?" "She might be either"--and Manella gazed dreamily at the darkening sky--"There is nobody old nowadays--or so it seems to me." "An invalid?" "I don't think so. She looks quite well. She arrived at the Plaza only yesterday." "Ah! Well, good-night, Manella! And if you want to know anything more about me, I don't mind telling you this,--that there's nothing in the world I so utterly detest as a woman with golden hair! There!" She looked at him, surprised at his harsh tone. He shook his forefinger at her. "Fact!" he said--"Fact as hard as nails! A woman with golden hair is a demon--a witch--a mischief and a curse! See? Always has been and always will be! Good-night!" But Manella paused, meditatively. "She looks like a witch," she said slowly--"One of those creatures they put in pictures of fairy tales,--small and white. Very small,--I could carry her." "I wouldn't try it if I were you"--he answered, with visible impatience--"Off you go! Good-night!"