extravagance to touch him seriously. He found himself only considering
how strange it was that the old petulance and impulsiveness of her
girlhood were actually bringing back with them her pink cheeks and
brilliant eyes.

"You surely didn't ask Jim to bring me here," he said smilingly, "to
tell me that Mrs. Peyton"--he corrected himself hastily as a malicious
sparkle came into Susy's blue eyes--"that my wife was a Southern woman,
and probably sympathized with her class? Well, I don't know that I
should blame her for that any more than she should blame me for being a
Northern man and a Unionist."

"And she doesn't blame you?" asked Susy sneeringly.

The color came slightly to Clarence's cheek, but before he could reply
the actress added,--

"No, she prefers to use you!"

"I don't think I understand you," said Clarence, rising coldly.

"No, you don't understand HER!" retorted Susy sharply. "Look here,
Clarence Brant, you're right; I didn't ask you here to tell you--what
you and everybody knows--that your wife is a Southerner. I didn't ask
you here to tell you what everybody suspects--that she turns you round
her little finger. But I did ask you here to tell you what nobody,
not even you, suspects--but what I know!--and that is that she's a
TRAITOR--and more, a SPY!--and that I've only got to say the word,
or send that man Jim to say the word, to have her dragged out of her
Copperhead den at Robles Ranche and shut up in Fort Alcatraz this very