"Why, he was always uneasy for fear I'd give away the fact that it was I who made his money for him. But, God bless my soul!" said the old man, throwing back his head and going off into a sonorous laugh, "he needn't be afraid. I wouldn't rob him of any of his glory. Only I took it pretty hard, when Mrs. Maroney was here last winter, that she didn't go out of her way to be kind to you." Viola gave a little exclamation, Gault could not make out whether of annoyance or protest. That the colonel should have expected his daughter to be the object of Mrs. Maroney's attention and patronage was only another evidence of his painful self-delusion. Mrs. Maroney was a lady who aspired to storm the fashionable citadels of New York and London, and troubled herself little with those of whom she could make no practical use in the campaign. "You're unjust to Mrs. Maroney," Viola said gently, and rather weariedly, the visitor thought; "she was only here for two months, and she had quantities of friends to see and people to entertain." "Oh, my dear, my dear," answered the old man, "that's just your amiable way of looking at it. She was like her husband--she wanted to forget." He turned his eyes, still bright under their thick white brows, upon the younger man, and looking at him with an expression of mingled pride and patience, said: "That is the way with the Californians. Once fall, and the procession passes you, and the men that were beside you don't wait to turn and see where you dropped. You stay where you fall and you watch the others sweep on. That's what I have done." "Don't talk that way, father," said Viola; "Mr. Gault will think you feel unhappy about it." The old man smiled, and leaning forward, clasped her hand and held it. "Mr. Gault," he said, with quite a grand air, "knows better than that. The opinions of other people don't affect our happiness. I don't resent the prosperity of my old mates, nor feel any discouragement at our present--er--temporary embarrassments." Viola stirred uneasily, and said quickly: "No--no; of course not. Why should you?" John Gault rose here, and she rose, too. Her embarrassment, which had vanished during the evening's conversation, now returned, and she plucked nervously at the paper flower on the lamp-globe. It seemed to him that she was anxious for him to go. With the colonel it was otherwise. Rising and standing upright in the patched limpness of his dressing-gown, he affected incredulity at the thought that his guest contemplated such an early departure. Then, being politely assured that this was unavoidable, and that, for the matter of that, it was now close upon eleven, he urged him to repeat the visit at an early date. "We are always here, Viola and I," he said. "We have not many engagements, as you see--just a friend here and there. But we value our friends more highly than the people do who count them by dozens." He had followed John Gault out into the hall, and from here his voice called: