She saw an unmistakable change in her young friend's mobile face. “I will be ready in a moment,” she said to the landlord. Then, turning to John Milton, the arch-hypocrite said sweetly: “My brother must have known instinctively that I was in good hands, as he didn't come. But I am sorry, for I should have so liked to introduce him to you--although by the way,” with a bright smile, “I don't think you have yet told me your name. I know I couldn't have FORGOTTEN it.” “Harcourt,” said John Milton, with a half-embarrassed laugh. “But you must come and see me, Mr.--Mr. Harcourt,” she said, producing a card from a case already in her fingers, “at my hotel, and let my brother thank you there for your kindness and gallantry to a stranger. I shall be here a few weeks longer before we go south to look for a place where my brother can winter. DO come and see me, although I cannot introduce you to anything as real and beautiful as what YOU have shown me to-day. Good-by, Mr. Harcourt; I won't trouble you to come down and bore yourself with my escort's questions and congratulations.” She bent her head and allowed her soft eyes to rest upon his with a graciousness that was beyond her speech, pulled her veil over her eyes again, with a pretty suggestion that she had no further use for them, and taking her riding-skirt lightly in her hand seemed to glide from the room. On her way to San Mateo, where it appeared the disorganized party had prolonged their visit to accept an invitation to dine with a local magnate, she was pleasantly conversational with the slightly abstracted Grant. She was so sorry to have given them all this trouble and anxiety! Of course she ought to have waited at the fork of the road, but she had never doubted but she could rejoin them presently on the main road. She was glad that Miss Euphemia's runaway horse had been stopped without accident; it would have been dreadful if anything had happened to HER; Mr. Harcourt seemed so wrapped up in his girls. It was a pity they never had a son--Ah? Indeed! Then there was a son? So--and father and son had quarreled? That was so sad. And for some trifling cause, no doubt? “I believe he married the housemaid,” said Grant grimly. “Be careful!--Allow me.” “It's no use!” said Mrs. Ashwood, flushing with pink impatience, as she recovered her seat, which a sudden bolt of her mustang had imperiled, “I really can't make out the tricks of this beast! Thank you,” she added, with a sweet smile, “but I think I can manage him now. I can't see why he stopped. I'll be more careful. You were saying the son was married--surely not that boy!” “Boy!” echoed Grant. “Then you know?”-- “I mean of course he must be a boy--they all grew up here--and it was only five or six years ago that their parents emigrated,” she retorted a little impatiently. “And what about this creature?” “Your horse?” “You know I mean the woman he married. Of course she was older than he--and caught him?”