“Your father”--Bessie looked down at the deeply-bordered handkerchief in her hand--“was a man of great kindliness and generosity. Mr. Shackleton knew him in the Sierras, mining, a long time ago, when he”--she paused, not from embarrassment, but in order to choose her words carefully--“was very kind to my husband and others of our party. It was an obligation Mr. Shackleton never forgot.” Mariposa could make no answer. Shackleton had never spoken to her with this daring. Bessie looked at her for a response, and saw her with her eyes on the ground, pale and slightly frowning. She wanted to sweep away any possible suspicion from the girl’s mind by making her understand that the attitude of the family toward her rose from gratitude for a past benefit. “Mr. Shackleton,” she went on, “often talked to me about his plans for you. He wanted to have you study in Paris, under some teacher Lepine spoke to him about. I understand you’ve got a remarkable voice. I wanted, several times, to hear you, but it couldn’t seem to be managed, living in the country, and always so busy. In his sudden--passing away, all these plans came to an end. He hadn’t regularly arranged anything. There were such a lot of delays.” Mariposa nodded, then feeling that she must say something, she murmured: “My mother died. I was not well, and I couldn’t see him.” “Exactly, I understand just how it was. And it wasn’t a bit fair, that simply because you didn’t happen to be able to go to the office at that time, you should lose your chance of a musical education and all that might have come out of it. Now, Miss Moreau, it’s my intention to carry out my husband’s wishes.” She looked at Mariposa, not smiling, nor condescending, but with a hard earnestness. The girl raised her eyes and the two glances met. “His wishes with regard to me?” said Mariposa, with a questioning inflection. “That’s it. I want you to go to Paris, as he wanted you to go. I want you to study to be a singer. I’ll pay it all--education, masters, and a monthly sum for living besides. I don’t think, from what I hear, that it would be necessary for you to study more than two or three years. Then you would make your appearance as a grand opera prima donna, or concert singer, as your teachers thought fit. I don’t know much about it, but I believe they can’t always tell about a voice right off at the start. Anyway, I’d see to it that yours got every chance for the best development.” She paused. “I--I’m--afraid it will be impossible,” said Mariposa, in a low voice. “Impossible!” exclaimed the elder woman, sitting upright in her surprise. “Why?”