ely at each other, but Colonel Pendleton,
abruptly anticipating the Mayor's functions, said, "Have her in," and
settled himself back in his chair.

A moment later the door opened, and the stranger appeared. As she
closed the door behind her she removed her heavy veil, and displayed
the face of a very handsome woman of past thirty. It is only necessary
to add that it was a face known to the two men, and all San Francisco.

"Well, Kate," said the Mayor, motioning to a chair, but without rising
or changing his attitude. "Here I am, and here is Colonel Pendleton,
and these are office hours. What can we do for you?"

If he had received her with magisterial formality, or even politely,
she would have been embarrassed, in spite of a certain boldness of her
dark eyes and an ever present consciousness of her power. It is
possible that his own ease and that of his companion was part of their
instinctive good nature and perception. She accepted it as such, took
the chair familiarly, and seated herself sideways upon it, her right
arm half encircling its back and hanging over it; altogether an easy
and not ungraceful pose.

"Thank you, Jack--I mean, Mr. Mayor--and you, too, Harry. I came on
business. I want you two men to act as guardians for my little
daughter."

"Your what?" asked the two men simultaneously.

"My daughter," she repeated, with a short laugh, which, however, ended
with a note of defiance. "Of course you don't know. Well," she added
half aggressively, and yet with the air of hurrying over a compromising
and inexplicable weakness, "the long and short of it is I've got a
little girl down at the Convent of Santa Clara, and have had--there!
I've been taking care of her--GOOD care, too, boys--for some time. And
now I want to put things square for her for the future. See? I want
to make over to her all my property--it's nigh on to seventy-five
thousand dollars, for Bob Snelling put me up to getting those water
lots a year ago--and, you see, I'll have to have regular guardians,
trustees, or whatever you call 'em, to take care of the money for her."

"Who's her father?" asked the Mayor.

"What's that to do with it?" she said impetuously.

"Everything--because he's her natural guardian."

"Suppose he isn't known? Say dead, for instance."

"Dead will do," said the Mayor gravely. "Yes, dead will do," repeated
Colonel Pendleton. After a pause, in which the two men seemed to have
buried this vague rel