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.