Cousin Jim" who disappeared. Did he
remember her old playmate Jim? But her brother thought something else
was a deuced sight more odd, namely, that this same Don Diego Fletcher
was said to be very sweet on Clementina now, and was always in her
company at the Ramirez. And that, with this "Clarion" apology on the top
of it, looked infernally queer.

Mrs. Ashwood felt a sudden consternation. Here had she--Jack's
sister--just been taking Jack's probable rival into confidential
correspondence! She turned upon Jack sharply:--

"Why didn't you say that before?"

"I did tell you," he said gloomily, "but you didn't listen. But what
difference does it make to you now?"

"None whatever," said Mrs. Ashwood calmly as she walked out of the room.

Nevertheless the afternoon passed wearily, and her usual ride into the
upland canyon did not reanimate her. For reasons known best to herself
she did not take her after-dinner stroll along the shore to watch the
outlying fog. At a comparatively early hour, while there was still a
roseate glow in the western sky, she appeared with grim deliberation,
and the blue lamp-shade in her hand, and placed it over the lamp which
she lit and stood on her table beside the window. This done she sat down
and began to write with bright-eyed but vicious complacency.

"But you don't want that light AND the window, Constance," said Jack
wonderingly.

Mrs. Ashwood could not stand the dreadful twilight.

"But take away your lamp and you'll have light enough from the sunset,"
responded Jack.

That was just what she didn't want! The light from the window was that
horrid vulgar red glow which she hated. It might be very romantic and
suit lovers like Jack, but as SHE had some work to do, she wanted the
blue shade of the lamp to correct that dreadful glare.

CHAPER XII.

John Milton had rowed back without lifting his eyes to Mrs. Ashwood's
receding figure. He believed that he was right in declining her
invitation, although he had a miserable feeling that it entailed seeing
her for the last time. With all that he believed was his previous
experience of the affections, he was still so untutored as to be
confused as to his reasons for declining, or his right to have been
shocked and disappointed at her manner. It seemed to him sufficiently
plain that he had offended the most perfect woman he had ever known
without knowing more. The feeling he had for her was none the
less powerful because, in his g