gentlemen no other topic
for a lady?"

She punctuated her sentence with a mischievous look at her interlocutor.
For a second time I regret to say that Mr. Gashwiler succumbed. The
Roman constituency at Remus, it is to be hoped, were happily ignorant of
this last defection of their great legislator. Mr. Gashwiler instantly
forgot his theme,--began to ply the lady with a certain bovine-like
gallantry, which it is to be said to her credit she parried with a
playful, terrier-like dexterity, when the servant suddenly announced,
"Mr. Wiles."

Gashwiler started. Not so Mrs. Hopkinson, who, however, prudently and
quietly removed her own chair several inches from Gashwiler's.

"Do you know Mr. Wiles?" she asked pleasantly.

"No! That is, I--ah--yes, I may say I have had some business relations
with him," responded Gashwiler rising.

"Won't you stay?" she added pleadingly. "Do!"

Mr. Gashwiler's prudence always got the better of his gallantry. "Not
now," he responded in some nervousness. "Perhaps I had better go now,
in view of what you have just said about gossip. You need not mention my
name to this-er--this--Mr. Wiles." And with one eye on the door, and an
awkward dash of his lips at the lady's fingers, he withdrew.

There was no introductory formula to Mr. Wiles's interview. He dashed at
once in medias res. "Gashwiler knows a woman that, he says, can help us
against that Spanish girl who is coming here with proofs, prettiness,
fascination, and what not! You must find her out."

"Why?" asked the lady laughingly.

"Because I don't trust that Gashwiler. A woman with a pretty face and an
ounce of brains could sell him out; aye, and US with him."

"Oh, say TWO ounces of brains. Mr. Wiles, Mr. Gashwiler is no fool."

"Possibly, except when your sex is concerned, and it is very likely that
the woman is his superior."

"I should think so," said Mrs. Hopkinson with a mischievous look.

"Ah, you know her, then?"

"Not so well as I know him," said Mrs. H. quite seriously. "I wish I
did."

"Well, you'll find out if she's to be trusted! You are laughing,--it is
a serious matter! This woman--"

Mrs. Hopkinson dropped him a charming courtesy and said,

"C'est moi!"

CHAPTER XII

A RACE FOR IT

Royal Thatcher worked hard. That the boyish little painter who shared
his hospitality at the "Blue Mass" mine should afterward have little
part in his active life seemed not inconsistent with his habits. At
present the