ght ride over in the cool of the morning. My things are
coming by the stage-coach, later. It seemed such a slow way of coming
one's self."

Mary Rogers's black eyes intimated that the way he had taken was the
right one, but she gallantly recovered herself and remembered her
position as confidante. And here was the opportunity of delivering
Susy's warning unobserved. She withdrew her hand from Clarence's frank
grasp, and passing it through the grating, patted the sleek, shining
flanks of his horse, with a discreet division of admiration.

"And such a lovely creature, too! And Susy will be so delighted! and
oh, Mr. Brant, please, you're to say nothing of having met her at Santa
Clara. It's just as well not to begin with THAT here, for, you see"
(with a large, maternal manner), "you were both SO young then."

Clarence drew a quick breath. It was the first check to his vision of
independence and equal footing! Then his invitation was NOT the outcome
of a continuous friendship revived by Susy, as he had hoped; the Peytons
had known nothing of his meeting with her, or perhaps they would not
have invited him. He was here as an impostor,--and all because Susy had
chosen to make a mystery of a harmless encounter, which might have
been explained, and which they might have even countenanced. He thought
bitterly of his old playmate for a brief moment,--as brief as Mary's
antagonism. The young girl noticed the change in his face, but
misinterpreted it.

"Oh, there's no danger of its coming out if you don't say anything," she
said, quickly. "Ride on to the house, and don't wait for me. You'll find
them in the patio on the veranda."

Clarence moved on, but not as spiritedly as before. Nevertheless there
was still dash enough about him and the animal he bestrode to stir into
admiration the few lounging vacqueros of a country which was apt to
judge the status of a rider by the quality of his horse. Nor was the
favorable impression confined to them alone. Peyton's gratification rang
out cheerily in his greeting:--

"Bravo, Clarence! You are here in true caballero style. Thanks for the
compliment to the rancho."

For a moment the young man was transported back again to his boyhood,
and once more felt Peyton's approving hand pushing back the worn straw
hat from his childish forehead. A faint color rose to his cheeks; his
eyes momentarily dropped. The highest art could have done no more! The
slight aggressiveness of his youthful fin