“Oh, dear Mrs. Willers,” she said, “don’t ask me any more. Don’t tease me. I do love you, and you’ve been so kind to me I can never stop loving you, no matter what you did. But let me be. Perhaps I have a reason, and perhaps I am only a fool, but whichever way it is, be sure I haven’t acted hastily; and I’ve suffered, too, trying to do what seemed to me right.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she got up quickly to hide them, and stood looking out of the window. Mrs. Willers rose, too, and, putting an arm around her, kissed her cheek. “All right,” she said, “I’ll try not to bother. But you want to tell me whatever you think you can. You’re too good-looking, Mariposa, and you’re such--a--” She stopped. “A fool,” came from Mariposa, in the stifled tones of imminent tears. There was a moment’s pause, and then their simultaneous laughter filled the room. “You see you can’t help saying it,” said Mariposa, laughing foolishly, with the tears hanging on her lashes. “It’s like any other bad habit--its getting entire control of you.” A few moments later Mrs. Willers was walking quickly down the hill toward Sutter Street, her brows knit in thought. She had certainly discovered nothing. In her pocket was Mrs. Shackleton’s letter telling of Miss Moreau’s refusal of her offer and asking if Mrs. Willers knew the reason of it. Mrs. Shackleton had wondered if Miss Moreau’s affections had been engaged, which could perhaps account for her otherwise unaccountable rejection of an opportunity upon which her whole future might depend. Mrs. Willers had been relieved to find there was certainly no man influencing Miss Moreau’s decision. For unless it was Essex, it could be no one. Mrs. Willers knew the paucity of Mariposa’s social circle. That Essex had asked the girl to marry him and been refused was astonishing. The rejection was only a little more surprising than the offer. For a man like Essex to want to marry a penniless orphan was only exceeded in singularity by a girl like Mariposa refusing a man of Essex’s indisputable attractions. But there was always something to be thankful for in the darkest situation, and Mariposa undoubtedly had no intention of marrying him. Providence was guiding her, at least, in that respect. It was still early when Mrs. Willers approached _The Trumpet_ office. The sky was leaden and hung with low clouds. As she drew near the door the first few drops of rain fell, spotting the sidewalk here and there as though they were slowly and reluctantly wrung from the swollen heavens. It would be a storm, she thought, as she turned into the doorway and began the ascent of the dark stairs with the lanterns on the landings. In her own cubby-hole she answered Mrs. Shackleton’s letter, and then passed along the passageway to the sanctum of the proprietor, who was still in his office.