At parting, Spindler, in sheer gratefulness, pressed her hand, and lingered so long over it that a little color sprang into the widow’s brown cheek.  Perhaps a fresh courage sprang into her heart, too, for she went to Sacramento the next day, previously enjoining Spindler on no account to show any answers he might receive.  At Sacramento her nieces flew to her with confidences.

“We so wanted to see you, Aunt Huldy, for we’ve heard something so delightful about your funny Christmas Party!” Mrs. Price’s heart sank, but her eyes snapped.  “Only think of it!  One of Mr. Spindler’s long-lost relatives—­a Mr. Wragg—­lives in this hotel, and papa knows him.  He’s a sort of half-uncle, I believe, and he’s just furious that Spindler should have invited him.  He showed papa the letter; said it was the greatest piece of insolence in the world; that Spindler was an ostentatious fool, who had made a little money and wanted to use him to get into society; and the fun of the whole thing was that this half-uncle and whole brute is himself a parvenu,—­a vulgar, ostentatious creature, who was only a”—­

“Never mind what he was, Kate,” interrupted Mrs. Price hastily.  “I call his conduct a shame.”

“So do we,” said both girls eagerly.  After a pause Kate clasped her knees with her locked fingers, and rocking backwards and forwards, said, “Milly and I have got an idea, and don’t you say ‘No’ to it.  We’ve had it ever since that brute talked in that way.  Now, through him, we know more about this Mr. Spindler’s family connections than you do; and we know all the trouble you and he’ll have in getting up this party.  You understand?  Now, we first want to know what Spindler’s like.  Is he a savage, bearded creature, like the miners we saw on the boat?”

Mrs. Price said that, on the contrary, he was very gentle, soft-spoken, and rather good-looking.

“Young or old?”

“Young,—­in fact, a mere boy, as you may judge from his actions,” returned Mrs. Price, with a suggestive matronly air.

Kate here put up a long-handled eyeglass to her fine gray eyes, fitted it ostentatiously over her aquiline nose, and then said, in a voice of simulated horror, “Aunt Huldy,—­this revelation is shocking!”

Mrs. Price laughed her usual frank laugh, albeit her brown cheek took upon it a faint tint of Indian red.  “If that’s the wonderful idea you girls have got, I don’t see how it’s going to help matters,” she said dryly.

“No, that’s not it?  We really have an idea.  Now look here.”

Mrs. Price “looked here.”  This process seemed to the superficial observer to be merely submitting her waist and shoulders to the arms of her nieces, and her ears to their confidential and coaxing voices.

Twice she said “it couldn’t be thought of,” and “it was impossible;” once addressed Kate as “You limb!” and finally said that she “wouldn’t promise, but might write!”

*****