"Don't you dare speak of him like that again! If you do, it will be the last time you will ever speak to me. I understand him--as well as if he were literally a part of myself. I'll never explain to you nor to any one, but _I know_. And there is nothing in me that does not respond to him. Now, do you understand? Will you say another word?" "Oh, very well. Don't stifle me!" Miss Shropshire released herself. "Have it that way, if it suits you best. I didn't come here to quarrel with you." Nina resumed her seat. After a few moments she said: "There is another thing: Richard Clough knows." And she told Miss Shropshire of his letter. "Um, well, I don't know but that that will be as good an arrangement as any. Some one must attend you, and a relative--" "What! Do you think I'd have that reptile near me?" "Now, Nina, look at the matter like a sensible woman. We shall have to get a doctor from Napa. If it storms, he may be days getting here. If he has a wife, she'll want to know where he has been, and will worm it out of him. If he hasn't, he'll let it out some night when he has his feet on the table in his favourite saloon, and is outside his eighth glass of punch. It will be to Richard's interest to keep the matter quiet--you can make it his interest: I don't fancy he's above pocketing a couple of thousands. And he'll not dare annoy you after Dudley Thorpe is here. I'll do Dudley Thorpe this much justice: he could whip most men, and he wouldn't stop to think about it, either. Don't let us discuss the matter any further now. Just turn it over in your mind. I am sure you will come to the conclusion that I am right. If you ignore Richard, there's no knowing what he may do." V The next day Miss Shropshire cut out many small garments, Nina watching her with ecstatic eyes. Both were expert needlewomen,--most Californian girls were in those days of the infrequent and inferior dressmaker,--and in the weeks that came they fashioned many dainty and elegant garments. Nina no longer went to the forest, rarely on the lake. Miss Shropshire could hardly persuade her to go out once a day for a walk, so enthralled was she by that bewildering mass of fine linen and lace. She was prouder of her tucks than she had ever been of a semi-circle of admirers, four deep; and when she had finished her first yoke she wept with delight. Miss Shropshire often watched her curiously, half-comprehending. She abominated babies. Her home was with one of her married sisters, and a new baby meant the splitting of ear-drums, the foolish prattle and attenuated vocabulary of the female parent, and the systematic irritations of the inefficient nurse-maid. Why a woman should look as if heaven had opened its gates because she was going to have a baby, passed her comprehension, particularly in the embarrassing circumstances. Nina was alone when Thorpe's next letter arrived.