"
I ran upstairs to the little den that my hospitable host had kept
always reserved for me in my wanderings. I lingered some time over
my ablutions, hearing the languid, gentlemanly drawl of Sylvester
below, mingled with the equally cool, easy slang of my mysterious
acquaintance. When I came down to the sitting-room I was
surprised, however, to find the self-styled Kearney quietly seated
on the sofa, the gentle May Sylvester, the "Lily of Lone Valley,"
sitting with maidenly awe and unaffected interest on one side of
him, while on the other that arrant flirt, her cousin Kate, was
practicing the pitiless archery of her eyes, with an excitement
that seemed almost real.
"Who is your deliciously cool friend?" she managed to whisper to me
at supper, as I sat utterly dazed and bewildered between the enrapt
May Sylvester, who seemed to hang upon his words, and this giddy
girl of the period, who was emptying the battery of her charms in
active rivalry upon him. "Of course we know his name isn't
Kearney. But how romantic! And isn't he perfectly lovely? And
who is he?"
I replied with severe irony that I was not aware what foreign
potentate was then traveling incognito in the Sierras of
California, but that when his royal highness was pleased to inform
me, I should be glad to introduce him properly.
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