Mary's arm, "why, Clarence
Brant, of course."

"No!" said Mary, vaguely.

Nevertheless, Susy went on rapidly, as if to neutralize the effect of
her comrade's vacuity.

"You never could have imagined it! Never! Even I, when mother told me, I
thought I should have fainted, and ALL would have been revealed!"

"But," hesitated the still wondering confidante, "I thought that was all
over long ago. You haven't seen him nor heard from him since that day
you met accidentally at Santa Clara, two years ago, have you?"

Susy's eyes shot a blue ray of dark but unutterable significance into
Mary's, and then were carefully averted. Mary Rogers, although perfectly
satisfied that Susy had never seen Clarence since, nevertheless
instantly accepted and was even thrilled with this artful suggestion
of a clandestine correspondence. Such was the simple faith of youthful
friendship.

"Mother knows nothing of it, of course, and a word from you or him would
ruin everything," continued the breathless Susy. "That's why I came
to fetch you and warn you. You must see him first, and warn him at any
cost. If I hadn't run every risk to come here to-day, Heaven knows what
might have happened! What do you think of the ponies, dear? They're
my own, and the sweetest! This one's Susy, that one Clarence,--but
privately, you know. Before the world and in the stables he's only
Birdie."

"But I thought you wrote to me that you called them 'Paul and
Virginie,'" said Mary doubtfully.

"I do, sometimes," said Susy calmly. "But one has to learn to suppress
one's feelings, dear!" Then quickly, "I do so hate deceit, don't you?
Tell me, don't you think deceit perfectly hateful?"

Without waiting for her friend's loyal assent, she continued rapidly:
"And he's just rolling in wealth! and educated, papa says, to the
highest degree!"

"Then," began Mary, "if he's coming with your mother's consent, and if
you haven't quarreled, and it is not broken off, I should think you'd be
just delighted."

But another quick flash from Susy's eyes dispersed these beatific
visions of the future. "Hush!" she said, with suppressed dramatic
intensity. "You know not what you say! There's an awful mystery hangs
over him. Mary Rogers," continued the young girl, approaching her small
mouth to her confidante's ear in an appalling whisper. "His father
was--a PIRATE! Yes--lived a pirate and was killed a pirate!"

The statement, however, seemed to be partly ineffective. Mary Roge