wife, with the little touch of nectarine bloom and a little powder also;
and though she spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, there was a look of
wistfulness in her eyes, a gleam of which Kitty caught ere it passed.

"You've been separated, Mrs. Crozier," answered the elder woman, "and
I've no right to let you into his room without his consent. You've had
no correspondence at all for five years--isn't that so?"

"Did he tell you that?" the regal little lady asked composedly, but with
an underglow of anger in her eyes.

"He told the court that at the Logan Trial," was the reply.

"At the murder trial--he told that?" Mrs. Crozier asked almost
mechanically, her face gone pale and a little haggard.

"He was obliged to answer when that wolf, Gus Burlingame, was after him,"
interposed Kitty with kindness in her tone, for, suddenly, she saw
through the outer walls of the little wife's being into the inner courts.
She saw that Mrs. Crozier loved her husband now, whatever she had done in
the past. The sight of love does not beget compassion in a loveless
heart, but there was love in Kitty's heart; and it was even greater than
she would have wished any human being to see; and by it she saw with
radium clearness through the veil of the other woman's being.

"Surely he could have avoided answering that," urged Mona Crozier
bitterly.

"Only by telling a lie," Kitty quickly answered, "and I don't believe he
ever told a lie in his life. Come," she added, "I will show you his