ane the wrong
one. Oh, that smooth-tongued, shiny-eyed, meeching, bowing, complimenting
hypocrite! I see at last what a villain he was. _I_ see it," she
emphasized, as if nobody else had discovered it. "To think that a person
who was so right on the main question [female suffrage] could be so wrong
on everything else! The contradiction adds to his guilt. Well, I have had
my lesson. Every one must make her mistake. I shall never be so humbugged
again."

Some little time after Thurstane had received the acceptance of his
resignation and established himself in his handsome city house, Aunt Maria
observed abruptly, "My dears, I must go back."

"Go back where? To the desert and turn hermit?" asked Clara, who was
accustomed to joke her relative about "spheres and missions."

"To New York," replied Mrs. Stanley. "I can accomplish nothing here. This
miserable Legislature will take no notice of my petitions for female
suffrage."

"Oh, that is because you sign them alone," laughed the younger lady.

"I can't get anybody else to sign them," said Aunt Maria with some
asperity. "And what if I do sign them alone? A house full of men ought to
have gallantry enough to grant one lady's request. California is not ripe
for any great and noble measure. I can't remain where I find so little
sympathy and collaboration. I must go where I can be of use. It is my
duty."

And go she did. But before she shook off her dust against the Pacific
coast there was an interview with an old acquaintance.

It must be understood that the fatigues and sufferings of that terrible
pilgrimage through the desert had bothered the constitution of little
Sweeny, and that, after lying in garrison hospital at San Francisco for
several months, he had been discharged from the service on "certificate of
physical disability." Thurstane, who had kept track of him, immediately
took him to his house, first as an invalid hanger-on, and then as a jack
of all work.

As the family were sitting at breakfast Sweeny's voice was heard in the
veranda outside, "colloguing" with another voice which seemed familiar.

"Listen," whispered Clara. "That is Captain Glover. Let us hear what they
say. They are both so queer!"

"An' what" ("fwat" he pronounced it) "the divil have ye been up to?"
demanded Sweeny. "Ye're a purty sailor, buttoned up in a long-tail coat,
wid a white hankerchy round yer neck. Have ye been foolin' paple wid
makin' 'em think ye're a Protestant praste?"