cans came, long
after, they robbed the Californians shamefully, but fortunately the son
of the Argueello that owned the ranch at the time married an American
girl whose father bought up the mortgages. He left the property to his
only grandchild, a girl, who married my great-grandfather, James Otis--a
northern rancher, born in Boston, and descended from old Sam Adams. He
had two children, a boy and a girl, who inherited the northern and
southern ranches in equal shares. The girl came over to England to visit
an aunt who lived here, was presented at court, and straightway married
a lord."

"Then you are second cousin to Vicky and third to Jack. I had no idea
the relationship was so close."

"It has seemed very remote to me ever since I laid eyes on Lady Victoria
down-stairs. Father made me promise, just before he died, that if ever I
visited Europe I would look her up. Somehow I hadn't thought of her
except as Elton Gwynne's mother, so I wrote to her without a qualm. But
I see that she is an individual."

"Rather! How self-contained our great London is, after all! Vicky has
been a beauty for over thirty years--to be sure her fame was at its
height before you were old enough to be interested in such things. But I
should have thought your father--"

"He must have known all about her. It comes back to me that he was very
proud of the connection for more than family reasons, but it made no
impression on me at the time."

"Proud?"

"Yes, he was rather a snob. He was very clever, but he fell out of
things, and being able to dwell on his English and Spanish connections
meant a good deal to him. I can recite the family history backwards."

"But if he was clever, why on earth did he live in Rosewater? Surely he
could have practised in San Francisco?"

"He drank. When a man drinks he doesn't care much where he lives. My
father had fads but no ambition."

"Great heaven!" exclaimed Miss Thangue, aghast at this toneless
frankness. "You must have been glad to be rid of him!"

"I was fond of him, but his death was a great relief. He was a hard
steady secret drinker. I nursed him through several attacks of delirium
tremens, and was always in fear that he would get out and disgrace us.
Sometimes he did, although when I saw the worst coming I generally
managed to get him over to the ranch. Of course it tied me down. I
rarely even visited my sister. My father hated San Francisco. He had
practised there in his youth, promised gr