The Crocodile

A better judge than I might have liked it. She had a rosy face of curves and dimples, unruly hair of many browns, eyes that were deep wonders of blue, a mouth of pearl and pomegranate.

"You," she said, "look very grave -- and yes, hungry. But you have nice eyes and a good skin, though it ought to be browner in this climate, and if you don't smile this minute I shall scream."

So I smiled, and we went into the house.

"My God! Cousin," she cried, to my mind most irreverently, "can't you open something and let in the light?"

"My father," I said, "prefers the house dark."

"Then let it be dark when he's in it," she cried, "and bright when he's out of it."

And she ran to a window and struggled with the shutter. When she had flung that open she braced herself for an attack upon the next; but I bowed to the inevitable and saved her from the trouble of consummating it. The floods of light let thus into the hall and dining room s