as accidentally found out that she had taken an interest in one of the
first things I ever wrote for your paper. She neither knew you nor me.
It was then that she told me this story; she did not even then know who
I was, though she had met some of my family. She was very good and has
generously tried to help me."

Fletcher's eyes remained fixed upon him.

"But this tells me only WHAT she is, not WHO she is."

"I am afraid you must inquire of her brother, Mr. Shipley," said
Harcourt curtly.

"Shipley?"

"Yes; he is traveling with her for his health, and they are going
south when the rains come. They are wealthy Philadelphians, I believe,
and--and she is a widow."

Fletcher picked up her note and glanced again at the signature,
"Constance Ashwood." There was a moment of silence, when he resumed in
quite a different voice: "It's odd I never met them nor they me."

As he seemed to be waiting for a response, John Milton said simply:
"I suppose it's because they have not been here long, and are somewhat
reserved."

Mr. Fletcher laid aside the manuscript and letter, and took up his
apparently suspended work.

"When you see this Mrs.--Mrs. Ashwood again, you might say"--

"I shall not see her again," interrupted John Milton hastily.

Mr. Fletcher shrugged his shoulders. "Very well," he said with a
peculiar smile, "I will write to her. Now, Mr. Harcourt," he continued
with a sudden business brevity, "if you please, we'll drop this affair
and attend to the matter for which I just summoned you. Since yesterday
an important contract for which I have been waiting is concluded, and
its performance will take me East at once. I have made arrangements that
you will be left in the literary charge of the 'Clarion.' It is only a
fitting recompense that the paper owes to you and your father,--to whom
I hope to see you presently reconciled. But we won't discuss that now!
As my affairs take me back to Los Gatos within half an hour, I am sorry
I cannot dispense my hospitality in person,--but you will dine and
sleep here to-night. Good-by. As you go out will you please send up Mr.
Jackson to me." He nodded briefly, seemed to plunge instantly into his
papers again, and John Milton was glad to withdraw.

The shock he had felt at Mrs. Ashwood's frigid disposition of his wishes
and his manuscript had benumbed him to any enjoyment or appreciation of
the change in his fortune. He wandered out of the house and descended
to the beach i