“It’s a great deal better business for her to have a husband in the ‘profesh’ if she’s agoin’ to stick to it,” said his informant, Mrs. McClosky, “and she’s nothing if she ain’t business and profesh, Mr. Brant.  I never see a girl that was born for the stage—­yes, you might say jess cut out o’ the boards of the stage—­as that girl Susy is!  And that’s jest what’s the matter; and you know it, and I know it, and there you are!”

It was with these experiences that Clarence was to-day reentering the wooded and rocky gateway of the rancho from the high road of the canada; but as he cantered up the first slope, through the drift of scarlet poppies that almost obliterated the track, and the blue and yellow blooms of the terraces again broke upon his view, he thought only of Mrs. Peyton’s pleasure in this changed aspect of her old home.  She had told him of it once before, and of her delight in it; and he had once thought how happy he should be to see it with her.

The servant who took his horse told him that the senora had arrived that morning from Santa Inez, bringing with her the two Senoritas Hernandez from the rancho of Los Canejos, and that other guests were expected.  And there was the Senor Sanderson and his Reverence Padre Esteban.  Truly an affair of hospitality, the first since the padron died.  Whatever dream Clarence might have had of opportunities for confidential interview was rudely dispelled.  Yet Mrs. Peyton had left orders to be informed at once of Don Clarencio’s arrival.

As he crossed the patio and stepped upon the corridor he fancied he already detected in the internal arrangements the subtle influence of Mrs. Peyton’s taste and the indefinable domination of the mistress.  For an instant he thought of anticipating the servant and seeking her in the boudoir, but some instinct withheld him, and he turned into the study which he had used as an office.  It was empty; a few embers glimmered on the hearth.  At the same moment there was a light step behind him, and Mrs. Peyton entered and closed the door behind her.  She was very beautiful.  Although paler and thinner, there was an odd sort of animation about her, so unlike her usual repose that it seemed almost feverish.

“I thought we could talk together a few moments before the guests arrive.  The house will be presently so full, and my duties as hostess commence.”

“I was—­about to seek you—­in—­in the boudoir,” hesitated Clarence.

She gave an impatient shiver.

“Good heavens, not there!  I shall never go there again.  I should fancy every time I looked out of the window that I saw the head of that man between the bars.  No!  I am only thankful that I wasn’t here at the time, and that I can keep my remembrance of the dear old place unchanged.”  She checked herself a little abruptly, and then added somewhat irrelevantly but cheerfully, “Well, you have been away?  What have you done?”

“Nothing,” said Clarence.