ad still old friends. Yet she
did not dream of returning to her Blue Grass home; her parents had died
since she left; she shrank from the thought of dragging her ruined life
before the hopeful youth of her girlhood's companions.

Mr. Calhoun Weaver arrived promptly, ostentatiously, oracularly, and
cordially, but a little coarsely. He had--did she remember?--expected
this from the first. Spencer had lost his head through vanity, and
had attempted too much. It required foresight and firmness, as he
himself--who had lately made successful "combinations" which she might
perhaps have heard of--well knew. But Spencer had got the "big head."
"As to that woman--a devilish handsome woman too!--well, everybody knew
that Spencer always had a weakness that way, and he would say--but if
she didn't care to hear any more about her--well, perhaps she was right.
That was the best way to take it." Sitting before her, prosperous,
weak, egotistical, incompetent, unavailable, and yet filled with a vague
kindliness of intent, Mrs. Tucker loathed him. A sickening perception of
her own weakness in sending for him, a new and aching sense of her utter
isolation and helplessness, seemed to paralyze her.

"Nat'rally you feel bad," he continued, with the large air of a profound
student of human nature. "Nat'rally, nat'rally you're kept in an
uncomfortable state, not knowing jist how you stand. There ain't but one
thing to do. Jist rise up, quiet like, and get a divorce agin Spencer.
Hold on! There ain't a judge or jury in California that wouldn't give it
to you right off the nail, without asking questions. Why, you 'ld get it
by default if you wanted to; you 'ld just have to walk over the course!
And then, Belle," he drew his chair still nearer her, "when you've
settled down again--well!--I don't mind renewing that offer I once made
ye, before Spencer ever came round ye--I don't mind, Belle, I swear I
don't! Honest Injin! I'm in earnest, there's my hand!"

Mrs. Tucker's reply has not been recorded. Enough that half an hour
later Mr. Weaver appeared in the courtyard with traces of tears on his
foolish face, a broken falsetto voice, and other evidence of mental and
moral disturbance. His cordiality and oracular predisposition remained
sufficiently to enable him to suggest the magical words "Blue Grass"
mysteriously to Concha, with an indication of his hand to the erect
figure of her pale mistress in the doorway, who waved to him a silent
but half-c