, she felt that such an
event would be deplorable, and she therefore begged to leave it to
Mr. Fletcher's delicacy and tact to arrange with the author for its
publication. She knew that Mr. Fletcher had only to read it to be
convinced of its remarkable literary merit, and she again would impress
upon him the fact that her playful and thoughtless criticism--which was
personal and confidential--was only based upon the circumstances that
the author had really made a more beautiful and touching story than the
poor facts which she had furnished seemed to warrant. She had only
just learned the fortunate circumstance that Mr. Fletcher was in the
neighborhood of the hotel where she was staying with her brother.

With the same practical, business-like directness, but perhaps a certain
unbusiness-like haste superadded, she rolled up the manuscript and
dispatched it with the letter.

This done, however, a slight reaction set in, and having taken off her
hat and shawl, she dropped listlessly on a chair by the window, but as
suddenly rose and took a seat in the darker part of the room. She felt
that she had done right, that highest but most depressing of human
convictions! It was entirely for his good. There was no reason why his
best interests should suffer for his folly. If anybody was to suffer
it was she. But what nonsense was she thinking! She would write to him
later when she was a little cooler,--as she had said. But then he had
distinctly told her, and very rudely too, that he didn't want her to
write. Wanted her to make SIGNALS to him,--the idiot! and probably was
even now watching her with a telescope. It was really too preposterous!

The result was that her brother found her on his return in a somewhat
uncertain mood, and, as a counselor, variable and conflicting in
judgment. If this Clementina, who seemed to have the family qualities of
obstinacy and audacity, really cared for him, she certainly wouldn't let
delicacy stand in the way of letting him know it--and he was therefore
safe to wait a little. A few moments later, she languidly declared that
she was afraid that she was no counselor in such matters; really she
was getting too old to take any interest in that sort of thing, and she
never had been a matchmaker! By the way now, wasn't it odd that
this neighbor, that rich capitalist across the bay, should be called
Fletcher, and "James Fletcher" too, for Diego meant "James" in Spanish.
Exactly the same name as poor "