“Yes,” said the girl with the first trace of animation in her face. “It was four or five months ago when we were visiting the Briones at Monterey. We had ridden out to the old Mission by moonlight. There were some Mexicans lounging around the posada, and one of them attracted my attention by the way he seemed to watch me, without revealing any more of his face than I could see between his serape and the black silk handkerchief that was tied around his head under his sombrero. But I knew he was an American--and his eyes were familiar. I believe it was he.” “Why did you not speak of it before?” The look of animation died out of the girl's face. “Why should I?” she said listlessly. “I did not know of these reports then. He was nothing more to us. You wouldn't have cared to see him again.” She rose, smoothed out her skirt and stood looking at her father. “There is one thing, of course, that you'll do at once.” Her voice had changed so oddly that he said quickly: “What's that?” “Call Grant off the scent. He'll only frighten or exasperate your game, and that's what you don't want.” Her voice was as imperious as it had been previously listless. And it was the first time he had ever known her to use slang. It seemed as startling as if it had fallen from the marble lips above him. “But I've promised him that we should go together to my lawyer to-morrow, and begin a suit against the proprietors of the 'Clarion.'” “Do nothing of the kind. Get rid of Grant's assistance in this matter; and see the 'Clarion' proprietor yourself. What sort of a man is he? Can you invite him to your house?” “I have never seen him; I believe he lives at San Jose. He is a wealthy man and a large land owner there. You understand that after the first article appeared in his paper, and I knew that he had employed your brother--although Grant says that he had nothing to do with it and left Fletcher on account of it--I could have no intercourse with him. Even if I invited him he would not come.” “He MUST come. Leave it to ME.” She stopped and resumed her former impassive manner. “I had something to say to you too, father. Mr. Shipley proposed to me the day we went to San Mateo.” Her father's eyes lit with an eager sparkle. “Well,” he said quickly. “I reminded him that I had known him only a few weeks, and that I wanted time to consider.” “Consider! Why, Clemmy, he's one of the oldest Boston families, rich from his father and grandfather--rich when I was a shopkeeper and your mother”-- “I thought you liked Grant?” she said quietly. “Yes, but if YOU have no choice nor feeling in the matter, why Shipley is far the better man. And if any of the scandal should come to his ears”-- “So much the better that the hesitation should come from me. But if you think it better, I can sit down here and write to him at once declining the offer.” She moved towards the desk.