But Prince Charming’s quick eyes had detected her, and the next moment his beautiful horse was beside the grating, and his ready hand of greeting extended through the bars.

“I suppose I am early and unexpected, but I slept at Santa Inez last night, that I might 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 finery and picturesque good looks was condoned at once; his modesty conquered where self-assertion might have provoked opposition, and even Mrs. Peyton felt herself impelled to come forward with an outstretched