on a carpet. Clarence was
voiceless, and yet he seemed to be moving beside a spirit that must be
first addressed.

But it was flesh and blood nevertheless.

"I interrupted you in something you were saying when I left the office,"
she said quietly.

"I was speaking of Susy," returned Clarence eagerly; "and"--

"Then you needn't go on," interrupted Mrs. Peyton quickly. "I understand
you, and believe you. I would rather talk of something else. We have not
yet arranged how I can make restitution to you for the capital you sank
in saving this place. You will be reasonable, Mr. Brant, and not leave
me with the shame and pain of knowing that you ruined yourself for the
sake of your old friends. For it is no more a sentimental idea of mine
to feel in this way than it is a fair and sensible one for you to imply
that a mere quibble of construction absolves me from responsibility. Mr.
Sanderson himself admits that the repossession you gave us is a fair and
legal basis for any arrangement of sharing or division of the property
with you, that might enable you to remain here and continue the work you
have so well begun. Have you no suggestion, or must it come from ME, Mr.
Brant?"

"Neither. Let us not talk of that now."

She did not seem to notice the boyish doggedness of his speech, except
so far as it might have increased her inconsequent and nervously pitched
levity.

"Then suppose we speak of the Misses Hernandez, with whom you scarcely
exchanged a word at dinner, and whom I invited for you and your fluent
Spanish. They are charming girls, even if they are a little stupid.
But what can I do? If I am to live here, I must have a few young people
around me, if only to make the place cheerful for others. Do you know I
have taken a great fancy to Miss Rogers, and have asked her to visit me.
I think she is a good friend of yours, although perhaps she is a little
shy. What's the matter? You have nothing against her, have you?"

Clarence had stopped short. They had reached the end of the pear-tree
shadows. A few steps more would bring them to the fallen south wall
of the garden and the open moonlight beyond, but to the right an olive
alley of deeper shadow diverged.

"No," he said, with slow deliberation; "I have to thank Mary Rogers for
having discovered something in me that I have been blindly, foolishly,
and hopelessly struggling with."

"And, pray, what was that?" said Mrs. Peyton sharply.

"That I love you!"

Mrs. Pe