"Good night." And no more realizing the coldness of her manner than the reason for his hanging about, she faced him, hand on the door to close it.
"You ain't a bit friendly," wheedled he.
"I'm sorry you think so.

Good night--and thank you." And he could not but withdraw his form from the door.

She closed it and forgot him.

And she did not dream she had passed through one of those perilous adventures incident to a female traveling alone--adventures that even in the telling frighten ladies whose nervousness for their safety seems to increase in direct proportion to the degree of tranquillity their charms create in the male bosom.

She decided it would be unwise regularly to undress; the boat might catch fire or blow up or something.