And I didn't rest till I did.
I'm not to be fooled, Clarence,--you don't mind my calling you Clarence now we're both married and done for,--and I'm not the kind to be fooled by anybody from the Cow counties--and that's the Robles Ranche.

I'm a Southern woman myself from Missouri, but I'm for the Union first, last, and all the time, and I call myself a match for any lazy, dawdling, lash-swinging slaveholder and slaveholderess--whether they're mixed blood, Heaven only knows, or what--or their friends or relations, or the dirty half-Spanish grandees and their mixed half-nigger peons who truckle to them.

You bet!" His blood had stirred quickly at the mention of the Robles Ranche, but the rest of Susy's speech was too much in the vein of her old 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.