"Tell me something."
"I'll tell you something. When a McKay of Isla is near his end he is always warned."
"How?"
"A cold hand touches his hand in the dark."
"Kay!"
"It's so. It's called'the Cold Hand of Isla.' We are all doomed to feel it."
"Absurd!"
"Not at all. That's a pretty story; isn't it? Now what more shall I tell you?"
"Anything you like, Kay. I'm in paradise—or would be if only somebody would tell me stories till I fall asleep."
"Stories about what?"