story I've heard from every gossip in the pueblo since I can remember."

"It's not an old story to HER," said Joan, dryly, "and even if it were,
you might reflect that all people are not as anxious to forget the past
as you are."

Demorest drew back to let the shaft glance by. "The story is old enough,
at least for her to have had a dozen flirtations, as you know, since
then," he returned gently, "and I don't think she herself seriously
believes in it. But let that pass. I am sorry I offended her. I had no
idea of doing so. As a rule, I think she is not so easily offended. But
I shall apologize to her." He stopped and approached nearer his wife in
a half-timid, half-tentative affection. "As to my forgetfulness of the
past, Joan, even if it were true, I have had little cause to forget it
lately. Your friend, Corwin--"

"I must insist upon your not calling him MY friend, Richard,"
interrupted Joan, sharply, "considering that it was through YOUR
indiscretion in coming to us for the buggy that night, that he
suspected--"

She stopped suddenly, for at that moment a startled little shriek,
quickly subdued, rang through the garden. Demorest ran hurriedly down
the steps in the direction of the outcry. Joan followed more cautiously.
At the first turning of the path Dona Rosita almost fell into his arms.
She was breathless and trembling, but broke into a hysterical laugh.

"I have such a fear come to me--I cry out! I think I have seen a man;
but it was nothing--nothing! I am a fool. It is no one here."