sn't she sweet--do you blame me?" He had his arm about
Manzanita, their eyes were together, his tender and proud, the girl's
laughing and shy,--they did not see Mrs. Phelps's expression. "And what
did you think?" Austin rushed on, "Were you surprised? Did you tell
Cornelia? That's good. Did you tell every one--have the home papers had
it? You know, mother," Austin dropped his voice confidentially, "I
wasn't sure you'd be awfully glad,--just at first, you know. I knew you
would be the minute you saw Manz'ita; but I was afraid--But now, it's
all right,--and it's just great!"

"But I thought Yerba Buena was quite a little village, dear," said Mrs.
Phelps, accusingly.

"What's the difference?" said Austin, cheerfully, much concerned
because Manzanita was silently implying that he should remove his arm
from her waist.

"Why, I thought I could stay at a hotel, or at least a
boarding-house--" began his mother. Miss Boone laughed out. She was a
noisy young creature.

"We'll 'phone the Waldorf-Astoria," said she.

"Seriously, Austin--" said Mrs. Phelps, looking annoyed.

"Seriously, mater," he met her distress comfortably, "you'll stay here
at the ranch-house. I live here, you know. Manz'ita'll love to have
you, and you'll get the best meals you ever had since you were born!
This was certainly a corking thing for you to do, mother!" he broke off
joyfully. "And you're looking awfully well!"

"I find you changed, Austin," his mother said, with a delicate
inflection that made the words significant. "You're brown, dear, and
bigger, and--heavier, aren't you?"

"Why don't you say fat?" said Manzanita, with a little push for her
affianced husband. "He was an awfully pasty-looking thing when he came
here," she confided to his mother. "But I fed him up, didn't I, Aus?"
And she rubbed her cheek against his head like a little friendly pony.

"And he's going to marry her!" Mrs. Phelps said to herself, heartsick.
She felt suddenly old and discouraged and helpless; out of their zone
of youth and love. But on the heels of despair, her courage rose up
again. She would save Austin while there was yet time, if human power
could do it.

The three were sitting in the parlor, a small, square room, through
whose western windows the sinking sun streamed boldly. Mrs. Phelps had
never seen a room like this before. There was no note of quaintness
here; no high-boy, no heavy old mahogany drop-leaf table, no braided
rugs or small-paned windows