I was born at Monterey." Morgana began to hum softly-- "Under the walls of Monterey At dawn the bugles began to play Come forth to thy death Victor Galbraith." She broke off,--then said-- "You have not seen many men ?" "Oh, yes, I have!" and Manella tossed her head airily--"Men all more or less alike--greedy for dollars, fond of smoke and cinema women,--I do not care for them.

Some have asked me to marry, but I would rather hang myself than be wife to one of them!" Morgana slid off the edge of her bed and stood upright, her white silk nightgown falling symmetrically round her small figure.

With a dexterous movement she loosened the knot into which she had twisted her hair for the night, and it fell in a sinuous coil like a golden snake from head to knee.

Manella stepped back in amazement.
"Oh!" she cried--"How beautiful! I have quite as much in quantity, but it is black and heavy--ugly!--no good.

And he,--that man who lives in the hut on the hill--says there is nothing he hates so much as a woman with golden hair! How can he hate such a lovely thing!" Morgana shrugged her shoulders.
"Each one to his taste!" she said, airily--"Some like black hair--some red--some gold--some nut-brown.