Jose, in Oakland? You see I have followed you. I saw you as you came
down the canyon, and knew you at once. I saw your letter to Joseph,
and knew you were coming. Why didn't you write to me? You will some
time!--Good-evening, Mr. Hamilton."

She had withdrawn her hands, but not until Hamilton, ascending the
staircase, was nearly abreast of them. He raised his hat to her with
well-bred composure, nodded familiarly to Oakhurst, and passed on. When
he had gone, Mrs. Decker lifted her eyes to Mr. Oakhurst. "Some day I
shall ask a great favor of you."

Mr. Oakhurst begged that it should be now.

"No, not until you know me better. Then, some day, I shall want you
to--kill that man!"

She laughed such a pleasant little ringing laugh, such a display of
dimples,--albeit a little fixed in the corners of her mouth,--such an
innocent light in her brown eyes, and such a lovely color in her cheeks,
that Mr. Oakhurst (who seldom laughed) was fain to laugh too. It was as
if a lamb had proposed to a fox a foray into a neighboring sheepfold.

A few evenings after this, Mrs. Decker arose from a charmed circle of
her admirers on the hotel piazza, excused herself for a few moments,
laughingly declined an escort, and ran over to her little cottage--one
of her husband's creation--across the road. Perhaps from the sudden
and unwonted exercise in her still convalescent state, she breathed
hurriedly and feverishly as she entered her boudoir, and once or twice
placed her hand upon her breast. She was startled on turning up the
light to find her husband lying on the sofa.