with expanded eyes, but she answered evenly enough: "He has some
ailment and is remaining in town under Howard's care."

"Liver, no doubt," said Masters viciously. "Too bad his spleen
doesn't burst once for all."

He continued unguardedly, "Well, if he tries to make mischief,
Howard will tell him bluntly that we walk together with his
permission and invite him to go to the devil."

Her own guard was up at once, although it was not any gossip carried
to Howard she feared. "He has probably already forgotten us," she
said coldly. "Have you finished that paper for _Putnam's?_"

"Three days ago, and begun another for the _Edinburgh Review_.
That is the first time I have been invited to write for an English
review."

"You see!" she cried gaily. "You are famous already. And ambitious!
You were once thinking of writing for our _Overland Monthly_
only. Bret Harte told me you had promised him three papers this year."

"I shall write them."

"Perfunctory patriotism. You'd have to write the entire magazine and
bring it out weekly to get rid of all your ideas and superfluous
energy."

"Well, and wouldn't the good Californians rather read any magazine
but their own? Even Harte is far better known in the East than here.