swered.

"But I suppose even widows may have pedigrees, and be conjugated in the
past tense," was the cool reply. She drew herself up a little proudly.

I was greatly astonished. Here was a girl living most of her life in
these mountains, having only had a few years of social life in the East,
practising with considerable skill those arts of conversation so much
cultivated in metropolitan drawing-rooms. But I was a very dull fellow
then, and had yet to learn that women may develop in a day to wonderful
things.

"Well," I said in reply, "I suppose not. But I fear I cannot answer
regarding the pedigree, nor a great deal about the past, for I only met
her under two years ago."

"And yet I have imagined that you knew her pretty well, and that Mr.
Roscoe knew her even better--perhaps," she said suggestively.

"That is so," I tried to say with apparent frankness, "for she lived in
the South Seas with her father, and Roscoe knew her there."

"She is a strange woman, and quite heartless in some ways; and yet, do
you know, I like her while I dislike her; and I cannot tell why."

"Do not try to tell," I answered, "for she has the gift of making people
do both.--I think she likes and dislikes herself--as well as others."

"As well--as others," she replied slowly. "Yes, I think I have noticed
that. You see," she added, "I do not look at people as most girls of
my age: and perhaps I am no better for that. But Mrs. Falchion's
introduction to me occurred in such peculiar circumstances, and the
coincidence of your knowing her was so strange, that my interest is not
unnatural, I suppose."

"On the contrary," I said, "I am only surprised that you have restrained
your curiosity so much and so long. It was all very strange; though the
meeting was quite to be expected, as Mrs. Falchion herself explained
that day. She had determined on coming over to the Pacific Coast; this
place was in her way; it is a fashionable resort; and she stood a good
chance of finding old friends."

"Yes--of finding--old friends," was the abstracted reply. "I like Miss
Caron, her companion, very much better than--most women I have met."

This was not what she was going to say, but she checked herself, lest
she might be suspected of thinking uncharitably of Mrs. Falchion. I,
of course, agreed with her, and told her the story of Galt Roscoe and
Hector Caron, and of Justine's earnestness regarding her fancied debt to
Roscoe.

I saw that the poison of anx