THE SISTERS-IN-LAW

A NOVEL OF OUR TIME

BY GERTRUDE ATHERTON

TO DR. ALANSON WEEKS OF SAN FRANCISCO

Several people who enter casually into this novel are leading charactersin other novels and stories of the "California Series, " which covers thesocial history of the state from the beginning of the last century. Theyare Gwynne, his mother, Lady Victoria Gwynne, Isabel Otis and the Hofersin ANCESTORS; the Randolphs in A DAUGHTER OF THE VINE; Lee Tarlton, LadyBarnstable, Lady Arrowmount, Coralie Geary, the Montgomerys and Trennahansin TRANSPLANTED and THE CALIFORNIANS; Rezánov in the novel of that name, and Chonita Iturbi y Moncada in THE DOOMSWOMAN, both bound in the volume, BEFORE THE GRINGO CAME; The Price Ruylers in THE AVALANCHE. 

BOOK I

CHAPTER I

I

The long street rising and falling and rising again until its farthestcrest high in the east seemed to brush the fading stars, was deserted evenby the private watchmen that guarded the homes of the apprehensive in theWestern Addition. Alexina darted across and into the shadows of the avenuethat led up to her old-fashioned home, a relic of San Francisco's "earlydays, " perched high on the steepest of the casual hills in that city of ahundred hills. 

She was breathless and rather frightened, for although of an adventurousspirit, which had led her to slide down the pillars of the verandah atnight when her legs were longer than her years, and during the past winterto make a hardly less dignified exit by a side door when her worthy buthopelessly Victorian mother was asleep, this was the first time that shehad been out after midnight. 

And it was five o'clock in the morning!

She had gone with Aileen Lawton, her mother's pet aversion, to a partygiven by one of those new people whom Mrs. Groome, a massive if crumblingpillar of San Francisco's proud old aristocracy, held in pious disdain, andhad danced in the magnificent ballroom with the tireless exhilaration ofher eighteen years until the weary band had played Home Sweet Home. 

She had never imagined that any entertainment could be so brilliant, evenamong the despised nouveaux riches, nor that there were so many flowerseven in California. Her own coming-out party in the dark double parlors ofthe old house among the eucalyptus trees, whose moans and sighs could beheard above the thin music of piano and violin, had been so formal and dullthat she had cried herself to sleep after the last depressed member of theold set had left on the stroke of midnight. Even Aileen's high mockingspirits had failed her, and she had barely been able to summon them fora moment as she kissed the friend, to whom she was sincerely devoted, asympathetic good-night. 

"Never mind, old girl. Nothing can ever be worse. Not even your ownfuneral. That's one comfort. "

II

That had been last November. During the ensuing five months Alexina hadbeen taken by her mother to such entertainments as were given by othermembers of that distinguished old band, whose glory, like Mrs. Groome'sown, had reached its meridian in the last of the eighties. 

Not that any one else in San Francisco was quite as exclusive as Mrs. Groome. Others might be as faithful in their way to the old tradition, beas proud of their inviolate past, when "money did not count, " and peoplemerely "new, " or of unknown ancestry, did not venture to knock at thegates: but the successive flocks of young folks had overpowered theirconservative parents, and Society had loosened its girdle, until in thisyear of grace nineteen-hundred-and-six, there were few rich people sohopelessly new that their ball rooms either in San Francisco or "Down thePeninsula, " were unknown to a generation equally determined to enjoy lifeand indifferent to traditions. 

Mrs. Groome alone had set her face obdurately against any change in thepersonnel of the eighties. She had the ugliest old house in San Francisco, and the change from lamps to gas had been her last concession to the marchof time. The bath tubs were tin and the double parlors crowded with theimposing carved Italian furniture whose like every member of her own sethad, in the seventies and eighties, brought home after their frequent andprolonged sojourns abroad: for the prouder the people of that era were oftheir lofty social position on the edge of the Pacific, the more time didthey spend in Europe. 

Mrs. Groome might be compelled therefore to look at new people in the homesof her friends--even her proud daughter, Mrs. Abbott, had unaccountablysurrendered to the meretricious glitter of Burlingame--but she would notmeet them, she would not permit Alexina to cross their thresholds, norshould the best of them ever cross her own. 

Poor Alexina, forced to submit, her mother placidly impervious to coaxings, tears, and storms, had finally compromised the matter to the satisfactionof herself and of her own close chosen friend, Aileen Lawton. Sheaccompanied her mother with outward resignation to small dinner dances andto the Matriarch balls, presided over by the newly elected social leader, a lady of unimpeachable Southern ancestry and indifference to wealth, who pledged her Virginia honor to Mrs. Groome that Alexina should not beintroduced to any young man whose name was not on her own visiting list;and, while her mother slept, the last of the Ballinger-Groomes accompaniedAileen (chaperoned by an unprincipled aunt, who was an ancient enemy ofMaria Groome) to parties quite as respectable but infinitely gayer, andindubitably mixed. 

She was quite safe, for Mrs. Groome, when free of social duties, retired onthe stroke of nine with a novel, and turned off the gas at ten. She neverread the society columns of the newspapers, choked as they were withunfamiliar and plebeian names; and her friends, regarding Alexina's gaydisobedience as a palatable joke on "poor old Maria, " and sympathetic withyouth, would have been the last to enlighten her. 

III

Alexina had never enjoyed herself more than to-night. Young Mrs. Hofer, whohad bought and remodeled the old Polk house on Nob Hill--the very one inwhich Mrs. Groome's oldest daughter had made her début in the far-offeighties--had turned all her immense rooms into a bower of every variety offlower that bloomed on the rich California soil. It was her second greatparty of the season, and it had been her avowed intention to outdo thefirst, which had attempted a revival of Spanish California and been thetalk of the town. The decorations had been done by a firm of young womenwhose parents and grandparents had danced in the old house, and thecatering by another scion of San Francisco's social founders, Miss AnneMontgomery. 

To do Mrs. Groome full justice, all of these enterprising young women werewelcome in her own home. She regarded it as unfortunate that ladies wereforced to work for their living, but had seen too many San Franciscofamilies in her own youth go down to ruin to feel more than sorrow. Inthat era the wives of lost millionaires had knitted baby socks and starvedslowly. Even she was forced to admit that the newer generation was morefortunate in its opportunities. 

Alexina had not gone to Mrs. Hofer's first party, Aileen being in SantaBarbara, but she had sniffed at the comparisons of the more critical girlsin their second season. She was quite convinced that nothing so splendidhad ever been given in the world. She had danced every dance. She had hadthe most delicious things to eat, and never had she met so charming a youngman as Mortimer Dwight. 

"Some party, " she thought as she ran up the steep avenue to her sacrosanctabode, where her haughty mother was chastely asleep, secure in the beliefthat her obedient little daughter was dreaming in her maiden bower. 

"What the poor old darling doesn't know 'll never hurt her, " thoughtAlexina gayly. "She really is old enough to be my grandmother, anyhow. Iwonder if Maria and Sally really stood for it or were as naughty as I am. "

Alexina was the youngest of a long line of boys and girls, all of whombut five were dead. Ballinger and Geary practiced law in New York, havingmarried sisters who refused to live elsewhere. Sally had married oneof their Harvard friends and dwelt in Boston. Maria alone had wed anindigenous Californian, an Abbott of Alta in the county of San Mateo, andlived the year round in that old and exclusive borough. She was now so likeher mother, barring a very slight loosening of her own social girdle, thatAlexina dismissed as fantastic the notion that even a quarter of a centuryearlier she may have had any of the promptings of rebellious youth. 

"Not she!" thought Alexina grimly. "Oh, Lord! I wonder if my summer destinyis Alta. "

CHAPTER II

I

She was quite breathless as she reached the eucalyptus grove and paused fora moment before slipping into the house and climbing the stairs. 

The city lying in the valleys and on the hills arrested her attention, forit was a long while since she had been awake and out of doors at five inthe morning. 

It looked like the ghost of a city in that pallid dawn. The houses seemedto have huddled together as if in fear before they sank into sleep, tocrouch close to the earth as if warding off a blow. Only the ugly dome ofthe City Hall, the church steeples, and the old shot tower held uptheir heads, and they had an almost terrifying sharpness of outline, ofalertness, as if ready to spring. 

In that far-off district known as "South of Market Street, " which she hadnever entered save in a closed carriage on her way to the Southern PacificStation or to pay a yearly call on some old family that still dwelt onthat oasis, Rincon Hill--sole outpost of the social life of thesixties--infrequent thin lines of smoke rose from humble chimneys. Itwas the region of factories and dwellings of the working-class, but itsinhabitants were not early risers in these days of high wages and shorthours. 

Even those gray spirals ascended as if the atmosphere lay heavy on them. They accentuated the lifelessness, the petrifaction, the intense andsinister quiet of the prostrate city. 

Alexina shuddered and her volatile spirits winged their way down into thosedark and intuitive depths of her mind she had never found time to plumb. She knew that the hour of dawn was always still, but she had never imagineda stillness so complete, so final as this. Nor was there any freshlightness in the morning air. It seemed to press downward like an enormousinvisible bat; or like the shade of buried cities, vain outcroppings ofa vanished civilization, brooding menacingly over this recent flimsyaccomplishment of man that Nature could obliterate with a sneer. 

Alexina, holding her breath, glanced upward. That ghost of evening'stwilight, the sad gray of dawn, had retreated, but not before the crimsonrays of sunrise. The unflecked arc above was a hard and steely blue. Itlooked as if marsh lights would play over its horrid surface presently, andthen come crashing down as the pillars of the earth gave way. 

II

Alexina was a child of California and knew what was coming. She barely hadtime to brace herself when she saw the sleeping city jar as if struck by asudden squall, and with the invisible storm came a loud menacing roar ofimprisoned forces making a concerted rush for freedom. 

She threw her arms about one of the trees, but it was bending and groaningwith an accent of fear, a tribute it would have scorned to offer the mightywinds of the Pacific. Alexina sprang clear of it and unable to keep herfeet sat down on the bouncing earth. 

Then she remembered that it was a rigid convention among real Californiansto treat an earthquake as a joke, and began to laugh. There was nothinghysterical in this perfunctory tribute to the lesser tradition and itimmediately restored her courage. Moreover, the curiosity she felt for allphases of life, psychical and physical, and her naïve delight in everythingthat savored of experience, caused her to stare down upon the city nowtossing and heaving like the sea in a hurricane, with an almost impersonalinterest. 

The houses seemed to clutch at their precarious foundations even while theydanced to the tune of various and appalling noises. Above the ascendingroar of the earthquake Alexina heard the crashing of steeples, the domeof the City Hall, of brick buildings too hastily erected, of ten thousandfalling chimneys; of creaking and grinding timbers, and of the eucalyptustrees behind her, whose leaves rustled with a shrill rising whisper thatseemed addressed to heaven; the neighing and pawing of horses in thestables, the sharp terrified yelps of dogs; and through all a longdespairing wail. The mountains across the bay and behind the city werewhirling in a devil's dance and the scattered houses on their slopes lookedlike drunken gnomes. The shot tower bowed low and solemnly but did notfall. 

III

As the earth with a final leap and twist settled abruptly into peace, thestreets filled suddenly with people, many in their nightclothes, butmore in dressing-gowns, opera cloaks, and overcoats. All were silent andapparently self-possessed. Whence came that long wail no one ever knew. 

Alexina, remembering her own attire, sprang to her feet and ran through thelittle side door and up the stair, praying that her mother, with her usualmonumental poise, would have disdained to rise. She had never been known toleave her room before eight. 

But as Alexina ran along the upper hall she became only too aware that Mrs. Groome had surrendered to Nature, for she was pounding on her door and in ahaughty but quivering voice demanding to be let out. 

Alexina tiptoed lightly to the threshold of her room and called outsympathetically:

"What is the matter, mother dear! Has your door sprung?"

"It has. Tell James to come here at once and bring a crow-bar ifnecessary. "

"Yes, darling. "

Alexina let down her hair and tore off her evening gown, kicking it into acloset, then threw on a bathrobe and ran over to the servants' quarters inan extension behind the house. They were deserted, but wild shrieks andgales of unseemly laughter arose from the yard. She opened a window and sawthe cook, a recent importation, on the ground in hysterics, the housemaidthrowing water on her, and the inherited butler calmly lighting his pipe, "James, " she called. "My mother's door is jammed. Please come right away. "

"Yes, miss. " He knocked his pipe against the wall and ground out thelife of the coal with his slippered heel. "Just what happened to yourgrandmother in the 'quake of sixty-eight. I mind the time I had getting herout. "

IV

It was quite half an hour before the door yielded to the combined effortsof James and the gardener-coachman, and during the interval Mrs. Groomerecovered her poise and made her morning toilette. 

She had taken her iron-gray hair from its pins and patted the narrow row offrizzes into place; the flat side bands, the concise coil of hair on topwere as severely disdainful of untoward circumstance or passing fashion asthey had been any morning these forty years or more. 

She wore old-fashioned corsets and was abdominally correct for her years; along gown of black voile with white polka dots, and a guimpe of white netwhose raff of chiffon somewhat disguised the wreck of her throat. On hershoulders, disposed to rheumatism, she wore a tippet of brown maraboutfeathers, and in her ears long jet earrings. 

She had the dark brown eyes of the Ballingers, but they were bleared atthe rims, and on the downward slope of her fine aquiline nose she worespectacles that looked as if mounted in cast iron. Altogether an imposingrelic; and "that built-up look" as Aileen expressed it, was the only onethat would have suited her mental style. Mrs. Abbott, who dressed with aprofound regard for fashion, had long since concluded that her mother'ssteadfast alliance with the past not only became her but was a distinctfamily asset. Only a woman of her overpowering position could afford it. 

Mrs. Groome's skin had never felt the guilty caress of cold-cream orpowder, and if it was mahogany in tint and deeply wrinkled, it was at leastas respectable as her past. In her day that now bourgeois adjective--twinto genteel--had been synchronous with the equally obsolete word swell, butit had never occurred to even the more modern Mrs. Abbott and her selectinner circle of friends, dwelling on family estates in the San Mateovalley, to change in this respect at least with the changing times. 

V

Alexina had washed the powder from her own fresh face and put on a morningfrock of green and brown gingham, made not by her mother's dressmaker butby her sister's. Her soft dusky hair, regardless of the fashion of themoment, was brushed back from her forehead and coiled at the base of herbeautiful little head. Her long widely set gray eyes, their large irisesvery dark and noticeably brilliant even for youth, had the favor of blacklashes as fine and lusterless as her hair, and very narrow black polishedeyebrows. Her skin was a pale olive lightly touched with color, althoughthe rather large mouth with its definitely curved lips was scarlet. Herlong throat like the rest of her body was white. 

All the other children had been clean-cut Ballingers or Groomes, consistently dark or fair; but it would seem that Nature, taken by surprisewhen the little Alexina came along several years after her mother wassupposed to have discharged her debt, had mixed the colors hurriedly andquite forgotten her usual nice proportions. 

The face, under the soft lines of youth, was less oval than it looked, forthe chin was square and the jaw bone accentuated. The short straight thinnose reclaimed the face and head from too classic a regularity, and thethin nostrils drew in when she was determined and shook quite alarminglywhen she was angry. 

These more significant indications of her still embryonic personality wereconcealed by the lovely curves and tints of her years, the brilliant happycandid eyes (which she could convert into a madonna's by the simple trickof lifting them a trifle and showing a lower crescent of devotional white), the love of life and eagerness to enjoy that radiated from her thinadmirably proportioned body, which, at this time, held in the limpslouching fashion of the hour, made her look rather small. In reality shewas nearly as tall as her mother or the dignified Mrs. Abbott, who rejoicedin every inch of her five feet eight, and retained the free erect carriageof her girlhood. 

Alexina, with a sharp glance about her disordered room, hastily disarrangedher bed, and, sending her ball slippers after the gown, ran across the halland threw herself into her mother's arms. 

"Some earthquake, what? You are sure you are not hurt, mommy dear? Theplaster is down all over the house. "

"More slang that you have learned from Aileen Lawton, I presume. It certainly was a dreadful earthquake, worse than that ofeighteen-sixty-eight. Is anything valuable broken? There is always lessdamage done on the hills. What is that abominable noise?"

The cook, who had recovered from her first attack, was emitting anothervolley of shrieks, in which the word "fire" could be distinguished insyllables of two. 

Mrs. Groome rang the bell violently and the imperturbable James appeared. 

"Is the house on fire?"

"No, ma'am; only the city. It's worth looking at, if you care to step outon the lawn. "

Mrs. Groome followed her daughter downstairs and out of the house. Hereyebrows were raised but there was a curious sensation in her knees thateven the earthquake had failed to induce. She sank into the chair James hadprovided and clutched the arms with both hands. 

"There are always fires after earthquakes, " she muttered. "Impossible!Impossible!"

"Oh, do you think San Francisco is really going?" cried Alexina, but therewas a thrill in her regret. "Oh, but it couldn't be. "

"No! impossible, impossible!"

Black clouds of smoke shot with red tongues of flame overhung the city atdifferent points, although they appeared to be more dense and frequent downin the "South of Market Street" region. There was also a rolling mass offlame above the water front and sporadic fires in the business district. 

The streets were black with people, now fully dressed, and long processionswere moving steadily toward the bay as well as in the direction of thehills behind the western rim of the city. James brought a pair of fieldglasses, and Mrs. Groome discovered that the hurrying throngs were ladenwith household goods, many pushing them in baby carriages and wheelbarrows. It was the first flight of the refugees. 

"James!" said Mrs. Groome sharply. "Bring me a cup of coffee and then godown and find out exactly what is happening. "

James, too wise in the habits of earthquakes to permit the still distractedcook to make a fire in the range, brewed the coffee over a spirit lamp, andthen departed, nothing loath, on his mission. Mrs. Groome swallowed thecoffee hastily, handed the cup to Alexina and burst into tears. 

"Mother!" Alexina was really terrified for the first time that morning. Mrs. Groome practiced the severe code, the repressions of her class, andwhat tears she had shed in her life, even over the deaths of those almostforgotten children, had been in the sanctity of her bedroom. Alexina, whohad grown up under her wing, after many sorrows and trials had given her aserenity that was one secret of her power over this impulsive child ofher old age, could hardly have been more appalled if her mother had beenstricken with paralysis. 

"You cannot understand, " sobbed Mrs. Groome. "This is my city! The city ofmy youth; the city my father helped to make the great and wonderful cityit is. Even your father--he may not have been a good husband--Oh, no! Nothe!--but he was a good citizen; he helped to drag San Francisco out of thepolitical mire more than once. And now it is going! It has always beenprophesied that San Francisco would burn to the ground some time, and nowthe time has come. I feel it in my bones. "

This was the first reference other than perfunctory, that Alexina had everheard her mother make to her father, who had died when she was ten. Thegirl realized abruptly that this elderly parent who, while uniformly kind, had appeared to be far above the ordinary weaknesses of her sex, had aninner life which bound her to the plane of mere mortals. She had a suddenvision of an unhappy married life, silently borne, a life of suppressions, bitter disappointments. Her chief compensation had been the unwaveringpride which had made the world forget to pity her. 

And it was the threatened destruction of her city that had beaten down thedefenses and given her youngest child a brief glimpse of that haughty butshivering spirit. 

VI

Alexina's mind, in spite of a great deal of worldly garnering with anindustrious and investigating scythe, was as immature as her years, forshe had felt little and lived not at all. But she had swift and deepintuitions, and in spite of the natural volatility of youth, free of care, she was fundamentally emotional and intense. 

Swept from her poor little girlish moorings in the sophisticated sea of thetwentieth-century maiden, she had a sudden wild access of conscience;she flung herself into her mother's arms and poured out the tale of hernocturnal transgressions, her frequent excursions into the forbidden realmof modern San Francisco, of her immense acquaintance with people whose verynames were unknown to Mrs. Groome, born Ballinger. 

Then she scrambled to her feet and stood twisting her hands together, expecting a burst of wrath that would further reveal the pent-up fires inthis long-sealed volcano; for Alexina was inclined to the exaggerationsof her sex and years and would not have been surprised if her mother, masterpiece of a lost art, had suddenly become as elementary as the forcesthat had devastated San Francisco. 

But there was only dismay in Mrs. Groome's eyes as she stared at herrepentant daughter. Her heart sank still lower. She had never been a vainwoman, but she had prided herself upon not feeling old. Suddenly, she feltvery old, and helpless. 

"Well, " she said in a moment. "Well--I suppose I have been wrong. There arealmost two generations between us. I haven't kept up. And you are naturallya truthful child--I should have--"

"Oh, mother, you are not blaming yourself!" Alexina felt as if the earthonce more were dancing beneath her unsteady feet. "Don't say that!"

The sharpness of her tone dispelled the confusion in Mrs. Groome's mind. She hastily buckled on her armor. 

"Let us say no more about it. I fancy it will be a long time before thereare any more parties in San Francisco, but when there are--well, I shallconsult Maria. I want your youth to be happy--as happy as mine was. Isuppose you young people can only be happy in the new way, but I wishconditions had not changed so lamentably in San Francisco. .. . Who is this?"

CHAPTER III

I

As Alexina followed her mother's eyes she flushed scarlet and turned awayher head. A young man was coming up the avenue. He was a very gallantfigure, moderately tall and very straight; he held his head high, hisfeatures were strong in outline. But the noticeable thing about him atthis early hour of the morning and in the wake of a great disaster was hisconsummate grooming. 

"That--that--" stammered Alexina, "is Mr. Dwight. I met him last night atthe Hofers'. "

The young man raised his hat and came forward quickly. "I hope you willforgive me, " he said with a charming deference, "but I couldn't resistcoming to see if you were all right. So many people are frightened offire--in their own houses. "

"Mr. Dwight--my mother--"

He lifted his hat again. Mrs. Groome in her chastened mood regardedhim favorably, and for the moment without suspicion. At least he was agentleman; but who could he be?

"Dwight, " she murmured. "I do not know the name. Were you born here?"

"I was born in Utica, New York. My parents came here when I was quiteyoung. We--always lived rather quietly. "

"But you go about now? To all these parties?"

"Oh, yes. I like to dance after the day's work. But I am not what you wouldcall a society man. I haven't the time. "

Mrs. Groome was not usually blunt, but she suddenly scented danger and shehad not fully recovered her poise. 

"You are in business?" She disliked business intensely. All gentlemen ofher day had followed one of the professions. 

"I am in a wholesale commission house. But I hope to be in business formyself one day. "

"Ah. "

Still, all young men in this terrible twentieth century could not belawyers. Mrs. Groome knew enough of the march of time to be aware of theincreasing difficulties in gaining a bare livelihood. Tom Abbott was alawyer, like his father before him, and his grandfather in the fifties. Itwas one of the oldest firms in San Francisco, but she recalled his frequentand bitter allusions to the necessity of sitting up nights these days if aman wanted to keep out of the poorhouse. 

And at least this young man did not look like an idler or a wastrel. No mancould have so clear a skin and be so well-groomed at six in the morningif he drank or gambled. Alexander Groome had done both and she knew theexternal seals. 

"Is Aileen Lawton a friend of yours?" she asked sharply. 

"I have met Miss Lawton at a number of dances but she has not done me thehonor to ask me to call. "

"I think the more highly of you. Judge Lawton is an old friend of mine. Hiswife, who was much younger than the Judge, was an intimate friend of mydaughter, Mrs. Abbott. Alexina and Aileen have grown up together. I find itimpossible to forbid her the house. But I disapprove of her in every way. She paints her lips, smokes cigarettes, boasts that she drinks cocktails, and uses the most abominable slang. I kept my daughter in New York for twoyears as much to break up the intimacy as to finish her education, but themoment we returned the intimacy was renewed, and for my old friend's sake Ihave been forced to submit. He worships that--that--really ill-conditionedchild. "

"Oh--Miss Lawton is a good sort, and--well--I suppose her position is sostrong that she feels she can do as she pleases. But she is all right, andnot so different--"

"Do you mean to tell me that you approve of girls--nicegirls--ladies--painting themselves, smoking, drinking cocktails?"

"I do not. " His tones were emphatic and his good American gray eyeswandered to the fresh innocent face of the girl who had captivated him lastnight. 

"I should hope not. You look like an exceptionally decent young man. Have you had breakfast? Alexina, go and ask Maggie, if she has recoveredherself, to make another cup of coffee. "

II

Alexina disappeared, repressing a desire to sing; and young Dwight, receiving permission, seated himself on the grass at Mrs. Groome's feet. Hewas lithe and graceful and as he threw back his head and looked up at hishostess with his straight, honest glance the good impression he had madewas visibly enhanced. Mrs. Groome gave him the warm and gracious smile thatonly her intimate friends and paid inferiors had ever seen. 

"The young men of to-day are a great disappointment to me, " she observed. 

"Oh, they are all right, I guess. Most of the men that go about have richfathers--or near-rich ones. I wish I had one myself. "

"And you would be as dissipated as the rest, I presume. "

"No, I have no inclinations that way. But a man gets a better start inlife. And a man's a nonentity without money. "

"Not if he has family. "

"My family is good--in Utica. But that is of no use to me here. "

"But your family _is_ good?"

"Oh, yes, it goes 'way back. There is a family mansion in Utica that isover two hundred years old. But when the business district swamped thatpart of the old town it was sold, and what it brought was divided amongsix. My father came out here but did not make much of a success of himself, so that he and my mother might as well have been on the Fiji Islands forall the notice society took of them. "

He spoke with some bitterness, and Mrs. Groome, to whom dwelling beyond theouter gates of San Francisco's elect was the ultimate tragedy, respondedsympathetically. 

"Society here is not what it used to be, and no doubt is only too gladto welcome presentable young men. I infer that you have not found itdifficult. "

"Oh, I dance well, and my employer's son, Bob Cheever, took me in. But I'monly tolerated. I don't count. "

The old lady looked at him keenly. "You are ambitious?"

He threw back his head. "Well, yes, I am, Mrs. Groome. As far as societygoes it is a matter of self-respect. I feel that I have the right to go inthe best society anywhere--that I am as good as anybody when it comes toblood. And I'd like to get to the top in every way. I don't mean that Iwould or could do the least thing dishonest to get there, as so many menhave done, but--well, I see no crime in being ambitious and using everychance to get to the top. I'd like not only to be one of the rich andimportant men of San Francisco, but to take a part in the big civicmovements. "

Mrs. Groome was charmed. She was by no means an impulsive woman, but shehad suddenly realized her age, and if she must soon leave her youngestchild, who, heaven knew, needed a guardian, this young man might be ason-in-law sent direct from heaven--via the earthquake. If he had realability the influential men she knew would see that he had a proper start. But she had no intention of committing herself. 

"And what do you think of what is now called San Francisco society?" shedemanded. 

He was quite aware of Mrs. Groome's attitude. Who in San Francisco was not?It was one of the standing jokes, although few of the younger or newer sethad ever heard of her until her naughty little daughter danced upon thescene. 

"Oh, it is mixed, of course. There are many houses where I do not care togo. But, well, after all, the rich people are rather simple for all theirluxury, and as for the old families there are no more real aristocrats inEngland itself. "

Mrs. Groome was still more charmed. "But you were at Mrs. Hofer's lastnight. I never heard of her before. "

"Her husband is one of the most important of the younger men. His fathermade a fortune in lumber and sent his son to Yale and all the rest of it. He is really a gentleman--it only takes one generation out here--and atpresent he's bent upon delivering the city from this abominable ringof grafters. .. There is no water to put out the fires because the CityAdministration pocketed the money appropriated for a new system; the pipesleading from Spring Valley were broken by the earthquake. "

"And who was she?"

Mrs. Groome asked this question with an inimitable inflection inheritedfrom her mother and grandmother, both of whom had been guardians of SanFrancisco society in their day. The accent was on the "who. " Bob Cheever, whose grandmother had asked or answered the same question in dark olddouble parlors filled with black walnut and carved oak, would havemuttered, "Oh, hell!" but Mr. Dwight replied sympathetically: "Somethingvery common, I believe-south of Market Street. But her father was veryclever, rose to be a foreman of the iron works, and finally went intobusiness and prospered in a small way. He sent his daughter to Europe to beeducated. .. And even you could hardly tell her from the real thing. "

"And you go down to Burlingame, I suppose! That is a very nest of these newpeople, and I am told they spend their time drinking and gambling. "

He set his large rather hard lips. "No, I have never been asked down toBurlingame-nor down the Peninsula anywhere. You see, I am only asked out intown because an unmarried dancing man is always welcome if there is nothingwrong with his manners. To be asked for intimate week-ends is anothermatter. But I don't fancy Burlingame is half as bad as it is represented tobe. They go in tremendously for sport, you know, and that is healthy andtakes up a good deal of time. After all when people are very rich and havemore leisure than they know what to do with--"

"Many of the old set in Alta, San Mateo, Atherton and Menlo Park havewealth and leisure-not vulgar fortunes, but enough-and for the most partthey live quite as they did in the old days. "

His eyes lit up. "Ah, San Mateo, Alta, Atherton, Menlo Park. There you havea real landed aristocracy. The Burlingame set must realize that they wouldbe nobodies for all their wealth if they could not call at all those oldcommunities down the Peninsula. "

"Not so very many of them do. But I see you have no false values. You. Mustgo down with us some Sunday to Alta. I am sure you would like my oldestdaughter. She is very smart, as they call it now, but distinctly of the oldrégime. "

"There is nothing I should like better. Thank you so much. " And there wasno doubting the sincerity of his voice, a rather deep and manly voice whichharmonized with the admirable mold of his ancestors. 

III

Alexina appeared. "Breakfast is ready for all of us, " she announced. "Wecooked it on the old stove in the woodhouse. I helped, for Maggie is awreck. Martha has swept the plaster out of the dining-room. Come along. I'mstarved. "

Young Dwight sprang to his feet and stood over Mrs. Groome with hischarming deferential manner, but he had far too much tact to offerassistance as she rose heavily from her chair. 

"Are you really going to give me breakfast? I am sure I could not get anyelsewhere. "

"We are only too happy. Your coming has been a real God-send. Will you giveme your arm? This morning--not the earthquake but those dreadful fires--hasquite upset me. "

He escorted her into the dark old house with glowing eyes. He had seen solittle of the world that he was still very young at thirty and his naturewas sanguine, but he had never dared to dream of even difficult access tothis most exclusive home in San Francisco. Its gloom, its tastelessness, relieved only by the splendid Italian pieces, but served to accentuateits aristocratic aloofness from those superb but too recently furnishedmansions of which he knew so little outside of their ballrooms. 

And he was breakfasting with the sequestered Mrs. Groome and the loveliestgirl he had ever seen, at seven o 'clock in the morning. 

He looked about eagerly as they entered the dining-room. . It was long andnarrow with a bow window at the end. The furniture was black walnut; twoimmense sideboards were built into the walls. It looked Ballinger, and itwas. 

It was heavily paneled; the walls above were tinted a pale buff and setwith cracked oil paintings of men in the uniforms of several generations. The ceiling was frescoed with fish and fowl. There had been a massivebronze chandelier over the table. It now lay on the floor, but as James hadturned off the gas in the meter while the earthquake was still in progressthe air of the large sunny room was untainted, and the windows were open. 

The breakfast was smoked but not uneatable and the strong coffee raisedeven Mrs. Groome's wavering spirits. They were all talking gayly when Jamesentered abruptly. He was very pale. 

"City's doomed, ma'am. Thirty fires broke out simultaneous, and the windblowing from the southeast. A chimney fell on the fire-chief's bed and hecan't live. People runnin' round like their heads was cut off and thousandspouring out of the city--over to Oakland and Berkeley. Lootin' was awfuland General Funston has ordered out the troops. Pipes broken and not a dropof water. They're goin' to dynamite, but only the fire-chief knew how. Everybody says the whole city'll go, Doomed, that's what it is. Better letme tell Mike to harness up and drive you down to San Mateo. "

Mrs. Groome had also turned pale, but she cut a piece of bacon withresolution in every finger of her large-veined hands. 

"I do not believe it, and I shall not run--like those people south ofMarket Street. I shall stay until the last minute at all events. The roadsat least cannot burn. "

"This house ought to be safe enough, ma 'am, standin' quite alone onthis hill as it does; but it's a question of food. We never keep muchof anything in the house, beyond what's needed for the week, and theCalifornia Market's right in the fire zone. And the smoke will be somethingterrible when the fire gets closer. "

"I shall stay in my own house. There are grocery stores and butcher shopsin Fillmore Street. Go and buy all you can. " She handed him a bunch ofkeys. "You will find money in my escritoire. Tell the maids to fill thebathtubs while there is any water left in the mains. You may go if you arefrightened, but I stay here. "

"Very well, and you needn't have said that, ma'am. I've been in thisfamily, man and boy, Ballinger and Groome, for fifty-two years, and youknow I'd never desert you. But no doubt those hussies in the kitchen will, with a lot of others. A lot of stoves have already been set up in thestreets out here and ladies are cookin' their own breakfasts. "

"Forgive me, James. I know you will never leave me. And if the others dowe shall get along. Miss Alexina is not a bad cook. " And she heroicallyswallowed the bacon. 

IV

James departed and she turned to Dwight, who was on his feet. 

"You are not going?"

"I think I must, Mrs. Groome. There may be something I can do down there. All able-bodied men will be needed, I fancy. "

"But you'll come back and see us?" cried Alexina. 

"Indeed I will. I'll report regularly. "

He thanked Mrs. Groome for her hospitality and she invited him to takepot luck with her at dinner time. After he had gone Alexina exclaimedrapturously:

"Oh, you do like him, don't you, mommy dear?"

And Mrs. Groome was pleased to reply, "He has perfect manners and certainlyhas the right ideas about things. I could do no less than ask him to dinnerif he is going to take the trouble to bring us the news. "

CHAPTER IV

I

That was a unique and vivid day for young Alexina Groome, whose dispositionwas to look upon life as drama and asked only that it shift its scenesoften and be consistently entertaining and picturesque. 

Never, so James told her, since her Grandmother Ballinger's reign, hadthere been such life and movement in the old house. All Mrs. Groome'sintimate friends and many of Alexina's came to it, some to make kindlyinquiries, others to beg them to leave the city, many to gossip andexchange experiences of that fateful morning; a few from Rincon Hill andthe old ladies' fashionable boarding-house district to claim shelter untilthey could make their way to relatives out of town. 

Mrs. Groome welcomed her friends not only with the more spontaneoushospitality of an older time but in that spirit of brotherhood thatevery disaster seems to release, however temporarily. Brotherhood isunquestionably an instinct of the soul, an inheritance from that sunriseera when mutual interdependence was as imperative as it was automatic. Thecomplexities of civilization have overlaid it, and almost but not whollyreplaced it by national and individual selfishness. But the world as yet isonly about one-third civilized. Centuries hence a unified civilization maycomplete the circle, but human nature and progress must act and react athousand times before the earthly millenium; and it cannot be hastened bydreamers and fanatics. 

All Mrs. Groome's spare rooms were placed at the service of her friends, and cots were bought in the humble Fillmore Street shops and put up in thebilliard room, the double parlors, the library and the upper hall. Someforty people would sleep under the old Ballinger roof that night--dynamitepermitting. Mrs. Groome was firm in her determination not to flee, and asJames and Mike were there to watch, she had graciously given a numberof the gloomy refugees from the lower regions permission to camp in theouthouses and grounds. 

II

Alexina spent the greater part of the day with Aileen Lawton, Olive Bascom, and Sibyl Thorndyke, out of doors, fascinated by the spectacle of theburning city. 

The valley beyond Market Street, and the lower business district, were arolling mass of smoke parting about pillars of fire, shot with a millionglittering sparks when a great building was dynamited. All the windows inthose sections of the city as yet beyond the path of the fire were open, for although closed windows might have shut out the torrid atmosphere, theexplosions would have shattered them. 

"Oh, dear, " sighed Olive Bascom, "there goes my building. The smoke liftedfor a moment and I saw the flames spouting out of the windows. A coolmillion and uninsured. We thought Class A buildings were safe from any sortof fire. "

"Heavens!" exclaimed Alexina naïvely, "I wish I had a million-dollarbuilding down in that furnace. It must be a great sensation to watch amillion dollars go up in sparks. "

"I hope your mother hasn't any buildings down in the business district, "said Aileen anxiously. "I've heard dad talk about her ground rents. She'llget those again soon enough. I fancy the old tradition survives in thistown and they'll begin to draw the plans for the new city before the fireis out. It used to burn down regularly in the fifties, dad says. "

"I don't fancy we have much of anything, " said Alexina cheerfully. "I thinkmother has only a life interest in a part of father's estate, and I heardher tell Maria once that she intended to leave me all she had of her own, this place and a few thousand a year in bonds and some flats that areprobably burning up right now. I gathered from the conversation that fatherdidn't have much left when he died and that it was understood mother wasto look out for me. I believe he gave a lot to the others when he waswealthy. "

"Good Lord!" Aileen sighed heavily. "It won't pay your dressmakers' bills, what with taxes and all. I won't be much better off. We'll have to marryRex Roberts or Bob Cheever or Frank Bascom--unless he's going up in smoketoo, Olive dear. But there are a few others. "

Alexina shook her head. Her color could not rise higher for her face wascrimson from the heat; like the others she had a wet handkerchief on herhead. "There is not a grain of romance in one of them, " she announced. "Curious that the sons of the rich nearly always have round faces, no particular features, and a tendency to bulge. I intend to have aromance--old style--good old style--before the vogue of the middle-classrealists. There's nothing in life but youth and you only have it once. I'm going to have a romance that means falling wildly, unreasonably, uncalculatingly in love. "

"You anticipate my adjectives, " said Aileen drily. "Although not all. Butlet that pass. I'd like to know where you expect to find the oppositelead, as they say on the stage. Our men are not such a bad sort, even therichest--with a few exceptions, of course. They may hit it up at week-ends, generally at the country clubs, but they're better than the last generationbecause their fathers have more sense. I'll bet they're all down there nowfighting the fire with the vim of their grandfathers. .. . But romantic! GoodLord! I'll marry one of them all right and glad of the chance--after I'vehad my fling. I'm in no hurry. I'd have outgrown my illusions in any caseby that time, only Nature did the trick by not giving me any. "

"Don't you believe there isn't a man in all San Francisco able to inspireromance. " If Alexina could not blush her dark gray eyes could sparkle andmelt. "All the men we meet don't belong to that rich group. "

"Bunch, darling. Where--will you give us the pointer?--are to be found theromantic knights of San Francisco? 'Frisco as those tiresome Eastern peoplecall it. Makes me sick to think that they are even now pitying 'poor'Frisco. ' "Well?--I could beat my brains and not call one to mind. "

"Oh!"

"What does that mean, Alex Groome? When you roll up your eyes like that youlook like a love-sick tomato. "

"Mortimer Dwight was most devoted last night, " said Sibyl Thorndyke. "Shedanced with him at least eight times. "

"You must have sat out alone to know what I was doing, " Alexina beganhotly, but Aileen sprang at her and gripped her shoulders. 

"Don't tell me that you are interested in that cheap skate. Alexina Groome!You!"

"He's not a cheap skate. I despise your cheap slang. "

"He's a rank nobody. "

"You mean he isn't rich. Or his family didn't belong. What do you suppose Icare? I'm not a snob. "

"He is. A climbing, ingenuous, empty-headed snob. "

"You are a snob. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. "

"I've a right to be a snob if I choose, and he hasn't. My snobbery is theright sort: the 'I will maintain' kind. He'd give all the hair on his headto have the right to that sort of snobbery. His is" (she chanted in ahigh light maddening voice): "Oh, God, let me climb. Yank me up into theparadise of San Francisco society. Burlingame, Alta, Menlo Park, Atherton, Belvidere, San Rafael. Oh, God, it's awful to be a nobody, not to be inthe same class with these rich fellers, not to belong to the Pacific-UnionClub, not to have polo ponies, not to belong to smart golf clubs, to theBurlingame Club. Not to get clothes from New York and London--"

"You keep quiet, " shrieked Alexina, who with difficulty refrained fromsubstituting: "You shut up. " She flung off Aileen's hands. "What do youknow about him? He doesn't like you. "

"Never had a chance to find out. "

"What can you know about him, then?"

"Think I'm blind? Think I'm deaf? Don't I know everything that goes on inthis town? Isn't sizing-up my long suit? And he's as dull as--as a fishwithout salt. I sat next to him at a dinner, and all he could talk aboutwas the people he'd met--our sort, of course. And he was dull even at that. He's all manners and bluff--"

"You couldn't draw him out. He talked to me. "

"What about? I'm really interested to know. Everybody says the same thing. They fall for his dancing and manners, and--well, yes--I 'll admit it--forhis looks. He even looks like a gentleman. But all the girls say he bores'em stiff. They have to talk their heads off. What did he say to you thatwas so frantically interesting?"

"Well, of course--we danced most of the time. "

"That's just it. He's inherited the shell of some able old ancestor and nota bit of the skull furniture. Nature often plays tricks like that. But Icould forgive him for being dull if he weren't such a damn snob. "

"You shan't call him names. If he wants to be one of us, and life wasso unkind as to--to--well, birth him on the outside, I'm sure that's nocrime. "

"Snobbery, " said Miss Thorndyke, who was intellectual at the moment andcultivating the phrase, "is merely a rather ingenuous form of aspiration. Ican't see that it varies except in kind from other forms of ambition. Andwithout ambition there would be no progress. "

"Oh, can it, " sneered Judge Lawton's daughter. "You're all wrong, anyhow. Snobbery leads to the rocks much oftener than to high achievement. I'veheard dad say so, and you won't venture to assert that _he_ doesn'tknow. It bears about the same relation to progress that grafting does tolegitimate profits. Anyhow, it makes me sick, and I'm not going to haveAlex falling in love with a poor fish--"

"Fish?" Alexina's voice rose above a fresh detonation, "You dare--and youthink I'm going to ask you whom I shall fall in love with? Fish? What doyou call those other shrimps who don't think of anything but drinking andsport, whether they attend to business or not?--their fathers make them, anyhow. And you want to marry one of them! They're fish, if you like. "

The two girls were glaring at each other. Gray eyes were blazing, greeneyes snapping. Two sets of white even teeth were bared. They looked like acouple of belligerent puppies. Another moment and they would have forgottenthe sacred traditions of their class and flown at each other's hair. ButMiss Bascom interposed. Even the loss of her uninsured million did notruffle her, for she had another in Government and railroad bonds, and fullconfidence in her brother, who was an admirable business man, and not inthe least dissipated. 

"Come, come, " she said. "It's much too hot to fight. Dwight is not goodenough for Alex--from a worldly point of view, I mean, " as Alexina made amovement in her direction. "We should none of us marry out of our class. Itnever works, somehow. But Mr. Dwight is really quite all right otherwise. Ilike him very much, Alex darling, and I don't mind his being an outsiderin the least--so long as he doesn't try to marry one of us. He's _too_good-looking, and his heels are fairly inspired. No one questions the factthat he is an honorable and worthy young man, working like a real man toearn his living. It isn't at all as if he were an adventurer. He has neverstruck me as being more of a snob than most people, and I don't see why Ihaven't thought to ask him down to San Mateo for a week-end. "

"You'll certainly have a friend for life if you do, " said Aileensatirically. "Fall in love with him yourself if you choose. You can affordit. "

"No fear. I've made up my mind. I'm going to marry a French marquis. "

"What?" Even Alexina forgot Mortimer Dwight. "Who is he? Where did you meethim?"

"I haven't met him yet. But I shall. I'm going to Paris next winter tovisit my aunt, and I'll find one. You get anything in this world you gofor hard enough. To be a French marquise is the most romantic thing in theworld. "

"Why not Elton Gwynne? It's an open secret that he's an English marquis. Orthat young Gathbroke Lady Victoria brought last night?"

"He's a younger son, and he never looked at any one but Alex. And IsabelOtis has preëmpted Mr. Gwynne. And I adore France and don't care aboutEngland. "

"Well, that is romantic if you like!" cried Aileen, her green eyes dancing""You have my best wishes. Doesn't it make your Geary Street knight lookcheap--he boards somewhere down on Geary Street. "

"No, it doesn't! And I'm a good American. French marquis, indeed! Mr. Dwight comes of the best old American stock from New York. He told motherso, I'd spit on any old decadent European title. "

"I wish your mother could hear you. So--he's been getting round her hashe? Where on earth did he meet her?"

Alexina, with sulky triumph, reported Mr. Dwight's early visit and thefavorable impression he had made. 

Aileen groaned. "That's just the one thing she would fall for in a rankoutsider--superlative manners. His being poor is rather in his favor. I'llput a flea in her ear--"

"You dare!"

Aileen lifted her shoulders. "Well, as a matter of fact I can't. Tattlingjust isn't in my line. But if I can queer him with you I will. "

"I won't talk about him any more. " Alexina drew herself up with immensedignity. She had the advantage of Aileen not only in inches but in anatural repose of manner. The eminent Judge Lawton's only child, upon whom, possibly, he may have lavished too much education, had a thin nervouslittle body that was seldom in repose, and her face, with its keenirregular features and brilliant green eyes, shifted its surfaceimpressions as rapidly as a cinematograph. Olive Bascom had soft blue eyesand abundant brown hair, and Sibyl Thorndyke had learned to hold her longblack eyes half closed, and had the black hair and rich complexion of aCreole great-grandmother. Alexina was admittedly the "beauty of the bunch. "Nevertheless, Miss Lawton had informed her doting parent before this, herfirst season, was half over, that she was _vivid_ enough to hold her ownwith the best of them. The boys said she was a live wire and she preferredthat high specialization to the tameness of mere beauty. 

IV

Said Alexina: "Sibyl, what are you going to do with your young life? Shallyou marry an English duke or a New York millionaire?"

But Miss Thorndyke smiled mysteriously. She was not as frank as the othergirls, although by no means as opaque as she imagined. 

Aileen laughed. "Oh, don't ask her. Doubt if she knows. To-day she's allfor being intellectual and reading those damn dull Russian novelists. To-morrow she may be setting up as an odalisque. It would suit her stylebetter. "

Miss Thorndyke's face was also crimson from the heat, but she would nothave flushed had it been the day before. She was not subject to suddenreflexes. 

"Your satire is always a bit clumsy, dear, " she said sweetly. "Theodalisque is not your rôle at all events. "

"I don't go in for rôles. "

And the four girls wrangled and dreamed and planned, while a city burntbeneath them; some three hundred million dollars flamed out, lives wereruined, exterminated, altered; and Labor sat on the hills and smiledcynically at the tremendous impetus the earth had handed them on thatmorning of April eighteenth, nineteen hundred and six. 

They were too young to know or to care. When the imagination is trying itswings it is undismayed even by a world at war. 

CHAPTER V

I

That night Alexina knew that romance had surely come to her. She shared herroom with three old ladies who slept fitfully between blasts of dynamite. But she sat at the window with no desire for oblivion. 

On the lawn paced a young man with a rifle in the crook of his arm. He wastall and young and very gallant of bearing; no less a person than MortimerDwight, who had been sworn in that morning as a member of the Citizens'Patrol, and at his own request detailed to keep watch over the house ofMrs. Groome. 

He had not been able to pay his promised visits during the day but hadarrived at seven o'clock, dining beside Mrs. Abbott, and surrounded by oldladies whose names were as historic as Mrs. Groome's. The cook had desertedafter the second heavy shock, and, with her wardrobe in a pillow case, hadtramped to the farthest confines of the Presidio. It was not fear alonethat induced her flight. There was a rumor that the Government would feedthe city, and why should not a hard-working woman enjoy a month or two ofsheer idleness? Let the quality cook for themselves. It would do them good. 

James and the housemaid had cooked the dinner, and Alexina and her friendswaited on the table. Then the girls, to Alexina's relief, went home toinquire after their families, and she accompanied Mr. Dwight while heexplored every corner of the grounds to make sure that no potential thieveslurked in the heavy shadows cast by the trees. 

He had been very alert and thorough and Alexina admired him consumedly. There was no question but that he was one of those men--Aileen called itthe one hundred per cent male--upon whose clear brain and strong arm awoman might depend even in the midst of an infuriated mob. He had anopportunity that comes to few aspiring young men born into the world'sunblest millions, and if he made the most of it he was equally assured thathe was acting in strict accord with the instincts and characteristics thathad descended upon him by the grace of God. 

II

There was no physical cowardice in him; and if he would have preferred alife of ease and splendor, he had no illusions regarding the amountof "hustling" necessary to carry him to the goal of his desires andambitions--unless he made a lucky strike. He played the stock market in asmall way and made a few hundred dollars now and then. 

He would have been glad to marry a wealthy girl, Olive Bascom, bypreference, for he had an inner urge to the short cut, but he had foundthese spoiled daughters of San Francisco unresponsive. .. And then, suddenly, he had fallen in love with Alexina Groome. 

His past was green and prophylactic. He was moral both by inheritanceand necessity, and his parents, people of fair intelligence, if ratherineffective, stern principles, and good old average ideals, had taken theirresponsibilities toward their two children very seriously. People whotalked with young Dwight might not find him resourceful in conversation butthey were deeply impressed with his manners and principles. The youngermen, with the exception of Bob Cheever, who respected his capacity forwork, did not take to him; principally, no doubt, he reflected with somebitterness, because he was not "their sort. "

He never admitted to himself that he was a snob, for something deep andstill unfaced in his consciousness, bade him see as little fault in himselfas possible, forbade him to admit the contingency of a failure, impelledhim to call such weaknesses as the fortunate condemned by some one of thoseinterchangeable terms with which the lexicons are so generous. 

But if he would not face the word snob he told himself proudly that he wasambitious; and why should he not aspire to the best society? Was he notentitled to it by birth? His family may not have been prominent to excessin Utica, but it was indisputably "old. " However, he assured himself thatthe chief reason for his determination to mingle with the social electof San Francisco was not so much a tribute to his ancestors, or even theinsistence of youth for the decent pleasures of that brief period, butbecause of the opportunities to make those friends indispensable toevery young man forced to cut his own way through life. Even if his goodconscience had compelled him to admit that he was a snob he would havereminded it there was no harm in snobbery anyway. It was the most amiableof the vices. But he thought too well of himself for any such admission, and his mind had not been trained to fish, even, in shallow waters. 

Nor did he admit that if the lovely Miss Groome had been a stenographerhe would not have looked at her. He would indeed have turned his faceresolutely in the other direction if she had happened to sit in hisemployer's office. Fate forbade him a marriage of that sort, and dalliancewith an inferior was forbidden both by his morals and his social integrity. 

But that Alexina Groome should be beautiful, as exaltedly born as onlya San Franciscan of the old stock might be, with a determinate income, however modest, with a background of friendly males, as substantialfinancially as socially, who would be sure to give a new member of thefamily a leg-up (he liked the atmosphere and flavor of the lighter Englishnovels), and, above all, responsive, seemed to him a direct reward for thecircumspect life he had lived and his fidelity to his chosen upward path. 

III

He was free to fall in love as profoundly as was in him, and during thatearly hour of the agitated night, with that pit of hell roaring below tothe steady undertone of a thousand tramping feet, he felt, despite the factthat all business was moribund for the present and his savings were in thehot vaults of a dynamited bank, that he was a supremely fortunate youngman. 

Moreover, this disaster furnished a steady topic for conversation. He wasaware that he contributed little froth and less substance to a dinnertable, that, in short, he did not keep up his end. Although he assuredhimself that small talk was beneath a man of serious purpose, and that noone could acquire it anyhow in society unless addicted to sport, stillthere had been times when he was painfully aware that a dinner partner orsome bright charming creature whose invitation to call he had accepted, looked politely bored or chattered desperately to cover the silences intowhich he abruptly relapsed; when, "for the life of him he had not been ableto think of a thing to say. "

Then, briefly, he had felt a bitter rebellion at fate for having denied himthe gift of a lively and supple mind, as well as those numberless worldlybenefits lavished on men far less deserving than he. 

He felt dull and depressed after such revelations and sometimes consideredattending evening lectures at the University of California with his sister. But for this form of mental exertion he had no taste, keenly as he appliedhimself to his work during the hours of business; and he assured himselfthat such knowledge would do him no good anyway. It did not seem to beprevalent in society. If he had been a brilliant hand at bridge or poker, the inner fortifications of society would have gone down before him, buthis courage did not run to card gambling with wealthy idlers who set theirown pace. On the stock market he could step warily and no one the wiser. It would have horrified him to be called a piker, for his instincts werereally lavish, and the economical habit an achievement in which he took aresentful pride. 

IV

On this evening he had talked almost incessantly to Alexina, and she, in the vocabulary of her years and set, had thought him franticallyinteresting as he described the immediate command of the city assumed byGeneral Funston, the efforts of the Committee of Fifty, formed early thatmorning by leading citizens, to help preserve order and to give assistanceto the refugees; of rich young men, and middle-aged citizens who had notspent an afternoon away from their club window for ten years, carryingdynamite in their cars through the very flames; of wild and terribleepisodes he had witnessed or heard of during the day. 

His brain was hot from the mental and physical atmosphere of the perishingcity, the unique excitement of the day: when he had felt as if snatchedfrom his quiet pasture by the roots; and by the extraordinary good fortunethat had delivered this perfect girl and her formidable parent almost intohis hands. Under his sternly controlled exterior his spirits sang wildlythat his luck had turned, and dazzling visions of swift success andfulfillment of all ambitions snapped on and off in his stimulated brain. 

Alexina thought him not only immoderately fascinating in his appeal to herown imperious youth, but the most interesting life partner that a romanticmaiden with secret intellectual promptings could demand. Her brilliant longeyes melted and flashed, her soft unformed mouth wore a constant alluringsmile. 

A declaration trembled on his tongue, but he felt that he would be takingan unfair advantage and restrained himself. Besides, he wished to win Mrs. Groome completely to his side, to say nothing of the still more alarmingbecause more worldly Mrs. Abbott. _She_ was a snob, if you like!

V

At nine o'clock, after he had given the inmates of the house andoutbuildings stern orders not to light a candle or lamp under anycircumstances--such was the emergency law--he bade Alexina a gallantgood-night, and betook himself to the lawn within the grove of sighingeucalyptus trees, to pace up and down, his rifle in his arm, his eyesalert, and quite aware of the admiring young princess at the casementabove. 

He did his work very thoroughly, visiting outhouses at intervals andsharply inspecting the weary occupants, as well as the prostrate formsunder the trees. They were all far too tired and apprehensive to dream ofbreaking into the house that had given them hospitality, even had they beenvillains, which they were not. 

But they did not resent his inspection; rather they felt a sense ofsecurity in this watching manly figure with the gun, for they were ratherafraid of villains themselves: it was reported that many looters hadbeen stood against hissing walls and shot by the stern orders of GeneralPunston. They asked their more immediate protector questions as to theprogress of the fire, which he answered curtly, as befitted his office. 

CHAPTER VI

I

MRS. ABBOTT entered Alexina's room and caught her hanging out of thewindow. She had motored up to the city during the afternoon, and, aftera vain attempt to persuade her mother to go down at once to Alta, hadconcluded to remain over night. The spectacle was the most horrifyinglyinteresting she had ever witnessed in her temperate life, and herself-denying Aunt Clara was in charge of the children. Her husband haddriven himself to town as soon as he heard of the fire and been sworn in amember of the Committee of Fifty. 

"Darling, " she said firmly to the sister who was little older thanher first-born, "I want to have a talk with you. Come into papa's olddressing-room. I had a cot put there, and as there is no room for another Iam quite alone. "

Alexina followed with lagging feet. She had always given her elder sisterthe same surface obedience that she gave her mother. It "saved trouble. "But life had changed so since morning that she was in no mood to keepup the rôle of "little sister, " sweet and malleable and innocent as aBallinger-Groome at the age of eighteen should be. 

II

She dropped on the floor and embraced her knees with her arms. Mrs. Abbottseated herself in as dignified an attitude as was possible on the edge ofthe cot. Even the rocking-chairs had been taken down to the dining-room. 

"Well?" queried Alexina, pretending to stifle a yawn. "What is it? I am toosleepy to think. "

"Sleepy? You looked sleepy with your eyes like saucers watching that youngman. "

"Everybody that can is watching the fire--"

"Don't quibble, Alexina. You are naturally a truthful child. Do you mean totell me you were not watching Mr. Dwight?"

"Well, if I say yes, it is not because I care a hang about living up to myreputation, but because I don't care whether you know it or not. "

"That is very naughty--"

"Stop talking to me as if I were a child. "

"You are excited, darling, and no wonder. "

Maria Abbott was in the process of raising a family and she did it withtact and firmness. Nature had done much to assist her in her severaldifficult rôles. She was very tall straight and slender, with a haughtylittle head, as perfect in shape as Alexina's, set well back on hershoulders, and what had been known in her Grandmother Ballinger's day as acameo-profile. Her abundant fair hair added to the high calm of her mienand it was always arranged in the prevailing fashion. On the street sheinvariably wore the tailored suit, and her tailor was the best in New York. She thought blouses in public indecent, and wore shirtwaists of linen orsilk with high collars, made by the same master-hand. There was nothingmasculine in her appearance, but she prided herself upon being the bestgroomed woman even in that small circle of her city that dressed as well asthe fashionable women of New York. At balls and receptions she wore gownsof an austere but expensive simplicity, and as the simple jewels of herinheritance looked pathetic beside the blazing necklaces and sunbursts(there were only two or three tiaras in San Francisco) of those new peoplewhom she both deplored and envied, she wore none; and she was assured thatthe lack added to the distinction of her appearance. 

But although she felt it almost a religious duty to be smart, determinedas she was that the plutocracy should never, while she was alive, push thearistocracy through, the wall and out of sight, she was a strict conformerto the old tradition that had looked upon all arts to enhance and preserveyouth as the converse of respectable. Her once delicate pink and white skinwas wrinkled and weather-beaten, her nose had never known powder; but evenin the glare of the fire her skin looked cool and pale, for the heat hadnot crimsoned her. Her blood was rather thin and she prided herselfupon the fact. She may have lost her early beauty, but she looked theindubitable aristocrat, the lady born, as her more naïve grandmothers wouldhave phrased it. 

It sufficed. 

III

By those that did not have the privilege of her intimate acquaintance shewas called "stuck-up, " "a snob, " a mid-victorian who ought to dress likeher more consistent mother, "rather a fool, if the truth were known, nodoubt. "

In reality she was a tender-hearted and anxious mother, daughter, andsister, and an impeccable wife, if a somewhat monotonous one. At all eventsher husband never found fault with her in public or private. He had hisreasons. To the friends of her youth and to all members of her own oldset, she was intensely loyal; and although she had a cold contempt for theinstitution of divorce, if one of that select band strayed into it, nomatter at which end, her loyalty rose triumphant above her social code, andshe was not afraid to express it publicly. 

Toward Alexina she felt less a sister than a second mother, and gave herfreely of her abundant maternal reservoir. That "little sister" had attimes sulked under this proud determination to assist in the bringing-upof the last of the Ballinger-Groomes, did not discourage her. She might besoft in her affections but she never swerved from her duty as she saw it. Alexina was a darling wayward child, who only needed a firm hand to guideher along that proud secluded old avenue of the city's elect, until she hadambled safely to established respectability and power. 

She had been alarmed at one time at certain symptoms of cleverness shenoticed in the child, and at certain enthusiastic remarks in the letters ofBallinger Groome, with whose family Alexina had spent her vacations duringher two years in New York at school. But there had been no evidence ofanything but a young girl's natural love of pleasure since her début insociety, and she was quite unaware of Alexina's wicked divagations. Shehad spent the winter in Santa Barbara, for the benefit of her oldest, boy, whose lungs were delicate, and, like her mother, never deigned to read thesociety columns of the newspapers. Her reason, however, was her own. Inspite of her blood, her indisputable position, her style, she cut but asmall figure in those columns. She was not rich enough to vie with thosewho entertained constantly, and was merely set down as one of many guests. The fact induced a slight bitterness. 

IV

She began tactfully. "I like this young Mr. Dwight very much, and shall askhim down, as mother desires it. But I hope, darling, that you will followmy example and not marry until you have had four years of society, in otherwords have seen something of the world--"

"California is not the world. "

"Society, in other words human nature, is everywhere much alike. As youknow, I spent a year in England when I was a young lady, and was presentedat court--by Lady Barnstable, who was Lee Tarlton, one of us. It wasmerely San Francisco on a large scale, with titles, and greater and olderhouses and parks, and more jewels, and more arrogance, and everything muchgrander, of course. And they talked politics a great deal, which boredme as I am sure they would bore you. The beauty of our society is itssimplicity and lack of arrogance--consciousness of birth or of wealth. Even the more recent members of society, who owe their position to theirfortunes, have a simplicity and kindness quite unknown in New York. Easternpeople always remark it. And yet, owing to their constant visits to theEast and to Europe, they know all of the world there is to know. "

"So do the young men, I suppose! I never heard of their doing muchtraveling--"

"I should call them remarkably sophisticated young men. But the point is, darling, that if you wait as long as I did you will discover that the menwho attract a girl in her first season would bore her to extinction in herfourth. "

"You mean after I've had all the bloom rubbed off, and men are forgettingto ask me to dance. Then I'll be much more likely to take what I can get. Iwant to marry with all the bloom on and all my illusions fresh. "

"But should you like to have them rubbed off by your husband? You've heardthe old adage: 'marry in haste and repent--'"

"I've been brought up on adages. They are called bromides now. As forillusions, everybody says they don't last anyway. I'd rather have themdispelled after a long wonderful honeymoon by a husband than by a lot offlirtations in a conservatory and in dark corners--"

"Good heavens! Do you suppose that I flirted in a conservatory and in darkcorners?"

"I'll bet you didn't, but lots do. And in the haute noblesse, the ancientaristocracy! I've seen 'em. "

"It isn't possible that you--"

"Oh, no, I love to dance too much. But I'm not easily shocked. I 'll tellyou that right here. And I 'll tell you what I confessed to mother thismorning. "

V

When she had finished Mrs. Abbott sat for a few moments petrified; butshe was thirty-eight, not sixty-five, and there was neither dismay norsoftening in her narrowed light blue eyes. 

"But that is abominable! Abominable!"

And Alexina, who was prepared for a scolding, shrank a little, for it wasthe first time that her doting sister had spoken to her with severity. 

"I don't care, " she said stubbornly, and she set her soft lips until theylooked stern and hard. 

"But you must care. You are a Groome. "

"Oh, yes, and a Ballinger, and a Geary, and all the rest of it. But I'malso going to annex another name of my own choosing. I'll marry whom I damnplease, and that is the end of it. "

"Alexina Groome!" Mrs. Abbott arose in her wrath. "Cannot you see foryourself what association with all these common people has done to you?It's the influence--"

"Of two years in New York principally. The girls there are as hard asnails--try to imitate the English. Ours are not a patch, not even Aileen, although she does her best. But I hadn't finished--I even powder my face. "Alexina grinned up at her still rudderless sister. "After mother is asleepand I am ready to slip out. "

"I thought you were safe in New York under the eyes of Ballinger and Geary, or rather of Mattie and Charlotte. They are such earnest good women, sointerested in charities--"

"Deadly. But you don't know the girls, "

"And I have told mother again and again that she should not permit you toassociate with Aileen Lawton. "

"She can't help herself. Aileen is one of us. Besides, mother is devoted tothe Judge. "

"But powder! None of us has ever put anything but clean cold water on herface. "

"You'd look a long sight better if you did. Cold cream, too. Youwouldn't have any wrinkles at your age, if you weren't so damnrespectable-aristocratic, you call it. It's just middle class. And as outof date as speech without slang. As for me, I'd paint my lips as Aileendoes, only I don't like the taste, and they're too red, anyhow. It's muchsmarter to make up than not to. Times change. You don't wear hoopskirtsbecause our magnificent Grandmother Ballinger did. You dress as smartly asthe Burlingame crowd. Why does your soul turn green at make-up? All thesepeople you look down upon because our families were rich and important inthe fifties are more up-to-date than you are, although I will admit thatnone of them has the woman-of-the-world air of the smartest New York women--not that terribly respectable inner set in New York--Aunt Mattie's andAunt Charlotte's--_that_ just revels in looking mid-Victorian. .. . The newerpeople I've met here--their manners are just as good as ours, if notbetter, for, as you said just now, they don't put on airs. You do, darling. You don't know it, but you would put an English duchess to the blush, whenyou suddenly remember who you are--"

Mrs. Abbott had resumed her seat on the cot. "If you have finishedcriticizing your elder sister, I should like to ask you a few questions. Doyou smoke and drink cocktails?"

"No, I don't. But I should if I liked them, and if they didn't make me feelqueer. "

"You--you--" Mrs. Abbot's clear crisp voice sank to an agonized whisper. For the first time she was really terrified. "Do you gamble?"

"Why, of course not. I have too much fun to think of anything so stupid. "

"Does Aileen Lawton gamble?"

"She just doesn't, and don't you insinuate such a thing. "

"She has bad blood in her. Her mother--"

"I thought her mother was your best friend. "

"She was. But she went to pieces, poor dear, and Judge Lawton wisely senther East. I can't tell you why. There are things you don't understand. "

"Oh, don't I? Don't you fool yourself. "

Mrs. Abbott leaned back on the cot and pressed it hard with either hand. 

"Alexina, I have never been as disturbed as I am at this moment. WhenSally and I were your age, we were beautifully innocent. If I thought thatJoan--"

"Oh, Joan'll get away from you. She's only fourteen now, but when she's myage--well, I guess you and your old crowd are the last of the Mohicans. Idoubt if there'll even be any chaperons left. Joan may not smoke nor drink. Who cares for 'vices, ' anyhow? But you haven't got a moat and drawbridgeround Rincona, and she'll just get out and mix. She'll float with thestream--and all streams lead to Burlingame. "

"I have no fear about Joan, " said Mrs. Abbott, with dignity. "Four yearsare a long time. I shall sow seeds, and she is a born Ballinger--I amdreadfully afraid that my dear father is coming out in you. Even the boysare Ballingers--"

VI

"Tell me about father?" coaxed Alexina, who was repentant, now thatthe excitement of the day had reached its climax in the baiting of heradmirable sister and was rapidly subsiding. "Mother let fall something thismorning; and once Aileen. .. She began, but shut up like a clam. Was he sovery dreadful?"

"Well, since you know so much, he was what is called fast. Married men ofhis position often were in his day--quite openly. Yesterday, I should havehesitated--"

"Fire away. Don't mind me. Yes, I know what fast is. Lots of men areto-day. Even members of the A. A. "

"A. A. ?"

"Ancient Aristocracy. The kind England and France would like to have. "

"I'm ashamed of you. Have you no pride of blood? The best blood of theSouth, to say nothing of--"

"I'm tickled to death. I just dote on being a Groome, plus Ballinger, plus. And I'm not guying, neither. I'd hate like the mischief to be second rate, no matter what I won later. It must be awful to have to try to get toplaces that should be yours by divine right, as it were. But all that's noreason for being a moss-back, a back number, for not having any fun--tobe glued to the ancestral rock like a lot of old limpets. .. . And it shouldpreserve us from being snobs, " she added. 

"Snobs?"

"The 'I will maintain' sort, as Aileen puts it. "

"Don't quote that dreadful child to me. I haven't an atom of snobbery in mycomposition. I reserve the right to know whom I please, and to exclude frommy house people to whom I cannot accustom myself. Why I know quite a numberof people at Burlingame. I dined there informally last night. "

"Yes, because it has the fascination for you that wine has for theclergyman's son. " Alexina once more yielded to temptation. "But the onlypeople you really know at Burlingame except Mrs. Hunter are those of theold set, what you would call the pick of the bunch, if you were one of us. They went there to live because they were tired of being moss-backs. Whydon't you follow their example and go the whole hog? They--and theirgirls--have a ripping time. "

"At least they have not picked up your vocabulary. I seldom see the youngpeople. And I have never been to the Club. I am told the women drink andsmoke quite openly on the verandah. "

"You may bet your sweet life they do. They are honest, and quite as sure oftheir position as you are. But tell me about father. How did mother come tomarry him? If he was such a naughty person I should think she would haveexercised the sound Ballinger instincts and thrown him down. "

"Mother met him in Washington. Grandfather Ballinger was senator at thetime--"

"From Virginia or California?"

"It is shocking that you do not know more of the family history. FromCalifornia, of course. He had great gifts and political aspirations, and realized that there would be more opportunity in the new state--particularly in such a famous one--than in his own where all the menin public life seemed to have taken root--I remember his using thatexpression. So, he came here with his bride, the beauty of Richmond--"

"Oh, Lord, I know all about her. Remember the flavor in my mother's milk--"

"Well, you'd look like her if you had brown eyes and a white skin, and ifyour mouth were smaller. And until you learn to stand up straight you'llnever have anything like her elegance of carriage. However. .. . Of coursethey had plenty of money--for those days. They had come to Virginia in thedays of Queen Elizabeth and received a large grant of land--"

"Don't fancy I haven't heard _that_!"

"Grandfather had inherited the plantation--"

"Sold his slaves, I suppose, to come to California and realize hisambitions. Funny, how ideals change!"

"His abilities were recognized as soon as lie arrived in the new community, and our wonderful grandmother became at once one of that small band ofsocial leaders that founded San Francisco society: Mrs. Hunt McLane, theHathaways, Mrs. Don Pedro Earle, the Montgomerys, the Gearys, the Talbots, the Belmonts, Mrs. Abbott, Tom's grandmother--"

"Never mind about them. I have them dished up occasionally by mother, although she prefers to descant upon the immortal eighties, when she was aleader herself and 'money wasn't everything. ' We never had so much of itanyhow. I know Grandfather Ballinger built this ramshackle old house--"

Mrs. Abbott sat forward and drew herself up. She felt as if she weretalking to a stranger, as, indeed, she was. 

"This house and its traditions are sacred--"

"I know it. Yon were telling me how mother came to marry a bad fast man. "

"He was not fast when she met him. It was at a ball in Washington. He was ayoung congressman--he was wounded in his right arm during the first year ofthe war and returned at once to California; of course he had been one ofthe first to enlist. He was of a fine old family and by no means poor. Ofcourse in Washington he was asked to the best houses. At that time he wasvery ambitious and absorbed in politics and the advancement of California. Afterward he renounced Washington for reasons I never clearly understood;although he told me once that California was the only place for a manto live; and--well--I am afraid he could do more as he pleased out herewithout criticism--from men, at least. The standards--for men--were verylow in those days. But when he met mother--"

"Was mother ever very pretty?"

"She was handsome, " replied Mrs. Abbott guardedly. "Of course she had thefreshness and roundness of youth. I am told she had a lovely color and thebrightest eyes. And she had a beautiful figure. She had several proposals, but she chose father. "

"And had the devil's own time with him. She let out that much thismorning. "

"I am growing accustomed to your language. " Once more Mrs. Abbott wasdetermined to be amiable and tactful. She realized that the child's brainwas seething with the excitements of the day, but was aghast at therevelations it had recklessly tossed out, and admitted that the problem of"handling her" could no longer be disposed of with home-made generalities. 

"Yes, mother did not have a bed of roses. Father was mayor at one time andheld various other public offices, and no one, at least, ever accused himof civic corruptness. Quite the contrary. The city owes more than onereform to his determination and ability. 

"He even risked his life fighting the bosses and their political gangs, forhe was shot at twice. But he was very popular in his own class; what mencall a good fellow, and at that time there was quite a brilliant group ofdisreputable women here; one could not help hearing things, for the marriedwomen here have always been great gossips. Well--you may as well knowit--it may have the same effect on you that it did on Ballinger and Geary, who are the most abstemious of men--he drank and gambled and had too muchto do with those unspeakable women. .. . 

"Nevertheless, he made a great deal of money for a long time, and if hehadn't gambled (not only in gambling houses and in private but in stocks), he would have left a large fortune. As it is, poor darling, you will onlyhave this house and about six thousand a year. Father was quite well offwhen Sally and I married and Ballinger and Geary went to New York aftermarrying the Lyman girls, who were such belles out here when they paid us avisit in the nineties. They had money of their own and father gave the boysa hundred thousand each. He gave the same to Sally and me when we married. But when you came along, or rather when you were ten, and he died--well, hehad run through nearly everything, and had lost his grip. Mother got hershare of the community property, and of course she had this house and hershare of the Ballinger estate--not very much. "

VII

"Why didn't mother keep father at home and make him behave himself?"

"Mother did everything a good woman could do. "

"Maybe she was too good. "

"You abominable child. A woman can't be too good. "

"Perhaps not. But I fancy she can make a man think so. When he hasdifferent tastes. "

"Women are as they are born. My mother would not have condescended to lowerherself to the level of those creatures who fascinated my father. "

"Well, I wouldn't, neither. I'd just light out and leave him. Why didn'tmother get a divorce?"

"A divorce? Why, she has never received any one in her house who has beendivorced. Neither have I except in one or two cases where very dear friendshad been forced by circumstances into the divorce court. I didn't approveeven then. People should wash their dirty linen at home. "

"Time moves, as I remarked just now. Nothing would stop me; if, forinstance, I had been persuaded into marrying a member of the A. A. And hewas in the way of ruining my young life. You should be thankful if I diddecide to marry Mr. Dwight--mind, I don't say I care the tip of my littlefinger for him. I barely know him. But if I did you would have to admitthat I was following the best Ballinger instincts, for he doesn't drink, or dissipate in any way; and everybody says he works hard and is as steadyas--I was going to say as a judge, but I've been told that all judges, inthis town at least, are not as steady as you think. Anyhow, he is. Hisfamily is as old as ours, even if it did have reverses or something. Andyou can't deny that he is a gentleman, every inch of him. "

"I do not deny that he has a very good appearance indeed. But--well, hewas brought up in San Francisco and no one ever heard of his parents. Headmitted to me at the table that his father was only a clerk in a broker'soffice. He is not one of us and that is the end of it. "

"Why not make him one? Quite easy. And you ought to rejoice in what poweryou have left. "

She rose and stretched and yawned in a most unladylike fashion. 

"I'm going to make a cup of coffee for our sentinel, and have a little chatwith him, chaperoned by the great bonfire. Don't think you can stop me, foryou can't. Heavens, what a noise that dynamite does make! We shall have toshout. It will be more than proper. Good night, darling. "

CHAPTER VII

I

Gora Dwight with a quick turn of a strong and supple wrist flung a foldingchair up through the trap door of the roof. She followed with a pitcher ofwater, opened the chair, and sat down. 

It was the second day of the fire, which was now raging in the valleysnorth of Market Street and up the hills. It was still some distance fromall but the lower end of Van Ness Avenue, the wide street that divides theeastern and western sections of the city, as Market Street divides thenorthern and southern, and her own home on Geary Street was beyond Franklinand safe for the present. It was expected that the fire would be haltedby dynamiting the blocks east of the avenue, but as it had already leaptacross not far from Market Street and was running out toward the Mission, Gora pinned her faith in nothing less than a change of wind. 

Life has many disparate schools. The one attended by Miss Gora Dwight hadtaught her to hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and be thankfulif she escaped (to use the homely phrase; one rarely found leisure fororiginality in this particular school) by the skin of her teeth. 

Gora fully expected to lose the house she sat on, and had packed what fewvaluables she possessed in two large bags: the fine underclothes she hadmade at odd moments, and a handsome set of toilet articles her brother hadgiven her on the Christmas before last. He had had a raise of salary andher experiment with lodgers had proved even more successful than she haddared to hope. On the following Christmas he had given her a large bookwith a fancy binding (which she had exchanged for something she couldread). After satisfying the requirements of a wardrobe suitable for theworld of fashion, supplemented by the usual toll of flowers and bon-bons, he had little surplus for domestic presents. 

Gora's craving for drama was far deeper and more significant than youngAlexina Groome's, and she determined to watch until the last moment theterrific spectacle of the burning city. The wind had carried the smokeupward for a mile or more and pillars of fire supported it at suchirregular intervals that it looked like a vast infernal temple in whichdemons were waging war, and undermining the roof in their senseless fury. 

In some places whole blocks of houses were blazing; here and there highbuildings burned in solitary grandeur, the flames leaping from every windowor boiling from the roof. Sometimes one of these buildings would disappearin a shower of sparks and an awful roar, or a row of humbler houses waslifted bodily from the ground to burst into a thousand particles of flyingwood, and disappear. 

The heat was overpowering (she bathed her face constantly from the pitcher)and the roar of the flames, the constant explosions of dynamite, the loudvicious crackling of wood, the rending and splitting of masonry, the hoarseimpact of walls as they met the earth, was the scene's wild orchestralaccompaniment and, despite underlying apprehension and horror, gave Goraone of the few pleasurable sensations of her life. 

But she moved her chair after a moment and fixed her gaze, no longer raptbut ironic, on the flaming hillcrests, the long line of California Street, nucleus of the wealth and fashion of San Francisco. The Western Additionwas fashionable and growing more so, but it had been too far away for thepioneers of the fifties and sixties, the bonanza kings of the seventies, the railroad magnates of the eighties, and they had built their huge andhideous mansions upon the hill that rose almost perpendicularly above thesection where they made and lost their millions. Some wag or toady hadnamed it Nob Hill and the inhabitants had complacently accepted the title, although they refrained from putting it on their cards. And now it was inflames. 

II

Gora recalled the day when she had walked slowly past those mansions, staring at each in turn as she assimilated the disheartening andinfuriating fact that she and the children that inhabited them belonged todifferent worlds. 

Her family at that time lived in a cottage at the wrong end of TaylorStreet Hill, and, Mrs. Dwight having received a small legacy from a sisterrecently deceased which had convinced her, if not her less mercurialhusband, that their luck had finally turned, had sent Gora, then a rangygirl of thirteen, fond of books and study, to a large private school in thefashionable district. 

Gora, after all these years, ground her teeth as she had a sudden blightingvision of the day a week later, when, puzzled and resentful, she had walkedup the steep hill with several of the girls whose homes were on Californiaand Taylor Streets, and two of whom, like herself, were munching an apple. 

They had hardly noticed her sufficiently to ignore her, either then orduring the previous week, so absorbed were they in their own close commoninterests. She listened to allusions which she barely could comprehend, butit was evident that one was to give a party on Friday night and the otherswere expected as a matter of course. Gora assumed that Jim and Sam and Rexand Bob were brothers or beaux. Last names appeared to be no more necessarythan labels to inform the outsider of the social status of these favoredmaidens, too happy and contented to be snobs but quite callous to thefeelings of strange little girls. 

They drifted one by one into their opulent homes, bidding one another acareless or a sentimental good-by, and Gora, throwing her head as far backon her shoulders as it would go without dislocation, stalked down to theunfashionable end of Taylor Street and up to the solitude of her bedroomunder the eaves of the cottage. 

On the following day she had lingered in the school yard until the othergirls were out of sight, then climbing the almost perpendicular hill sorapidly that she arrived on the crest with little breath and a pain in herside, she had sauntered deliberately up and down before the imposing homesof her schoolmates, staring at them with angry and puzzled eyes, her youngsoul in tumult. It was the old inarticulate cry of class, of the unchosenwho seeks the reason and can find none. 

III

As she had a tendency not only to brood but to work out her own problems itwas several days before she demanded an explanation of her mother. 

Mrs. Dwight, a prematurely gray and wrinkled woman, who had oncebeen handsome with good features and bright coloring, and who wore adeliberately cheerful expression that Gora often wanted to wipe off, wassitting in the dining-room making a skirt for her daughter; which, Gorareflected bitterly, was sure to be too long on one side if not in front. 

Mrs. Dwight's smile faded as she looked at the somber face and huddledfigure in the worn leather arm-chair in which Mr. Dwight spent his silentevenings. 

"Why, my dear, you surely knew long before this that some people are richand others poor--to say nothing of the betwixts and betweens. " She was anexact woman in small matters. "That's all there is to it. I thought it agood idea to send you to a private school where you might make friendsamong girls of your own class. "

"Own class? They treat me like dirt. How am I of their class when they livein palaces and I in a hovel?"

"I have reproved you many times for exaggerated speech. What I meant wasthat you are as well-born as any of them (better than many) only we havebeen unfortunate. Your father tried hard enough, but he just doesn't seemto have the money-making faculty like so many men. Now, we've had a littleluck I'm really hopeful. I've just had a nice letter from your Aunt ElizaGoring--I named you for her, but I couldn't inflict you with Eliza. Youknow she is many years older than I am and has no children. She was outhere once just before you were born. We--we were very hard up indeed. Itwas she who furnished this cottage for us and paid a year's rent. Soonafter, your father got his present position and we have managed toget along. She always sends me a little cheque at Christmas and I amsure--well, there are some things we don't say. .. . But this legacy from yourAunt Jane is the only real stroke of luck we ever had, and I can't helpfeeling hopeful. I do believe better times are coming. .. . It used to seemterribly hard and unjust that so many people all about us had so much andwe nothing, and that in this comparatively small city we knew practicallyno one. But I have got over being bitter and envious. You do when you arebusy every minute. And then we have the blessing of health, and Mortimer isthe best boy in the world, and you are a very good child when you are notin a bad temper. I think you will be handsome, too, although you are prettyhopeless at present; but of course you will never have anything likeMortimer's looks. He is the living image of the painting of yourGreat-great-great-grandfather Dwight that used to hang in the dining-roomin Utica, and who was in the first Congress. Now, do try and make friendswith the nicer of the children. "

But Gora's was not a conciliating nor a compromising nature. Her ideaof "squaring things" was to become the best scholar in her classes andhumiliate several young ladies of her own age who had held the firstposition with an ease that had bred laxity. Greatly to the satisfactionof the teachers an angry emulation ensued with the gratifying result thatalthough the girls could not pass Gora, their weekly marks were higher, andfor the rest of the term they did less giggling even after school hours, and more studying. 

But Gora would not return for a second term. She had made no friends amongthe girls, although, no doubt, having won their respect, they would, withthe democracy of childhood, have admitted her to intimacy by degrees, particularly if she had proved to be socially malleable. 

But for some obscure reason it made Gora happier to hate them all, and whenshe had passed her examinations victoriously, and taken every prize, exceptfor tidiness and deportment, she said good-by with some regret to theteachers, who had admired and encouraged her but did not pretend to loveher, and announced as soon as she arrived at home that she should enter theHigh School at the beginning of the following term. 

IV

Her parents were secretly relieved. Even Mrs. Dwight's vision of futureprosperity had faded. She had been justified in believing that her sisterEliza would make a will in favor of her family, but unfortunately Mrs. Goring had amused herself with speculation in her old age, and had leftbarely enough to pay her funeral expenses. 

Mrs. Dwight broached the subject of their immediate future to her husbandthat evening. She had some time since made up her mind, in case the schoolexperiment was not a success, to furnish a larger house with what remainedof the legacy, and take boarders. 

"I wouldn't do it if Gora had made the friends I hoped for her, " she said, turning the heel of the first of her son's winter socks, "and there's nosuch thing as a social come-down for us; for that matter, there is morethan one lady, once wealthy, who is keeping a boarding-house in this town. Gora will have to work anyhow, and as for Mortimer--" she glanced fondly ather manly young son, who was amiably playing checkers in the parlor withhis sister, "he is sure to make his fortune. "

"I don't know, " said Mr. Dwight heavily. "I don't know. "

"Why, what do you mean?" asked his wife sharply. 

Mrs. Dwight belonged to that type of American women whose passions in youthare weak and anæmic, not to say exceedingly shame-faced, but which inmature years become strong and selfish and jealous, either for a lover or ason. Mrs. Dwight, being a perfectly respectable woman, had centered all theaccumulated forces of her being on the son whom she idealized after thefashion of her type; and as she had corrected his obvious faults when hewas a boy, it was quite true that he was kind, amiable, honest, honorable, patriotic, industrious, clean, polite, and moral; if hardly as handsome asApollo or as brilliant and gifted as she permitted herself to believe. 

"What do you mean?" she repeated, although she lowered her voice. It wasrarely that it assumed an edge when addressing her husband. She had neverreproached him for being a failure, for she had recognized his limitationsearly and accepted her lot. But something in his tone shook her maternalcomplacence and roused her to instant defense. 

Mr. Dwight took his pipe from his mouth and also cast a glance toward theparlor, but the absorbed players were beyond the range of his rather weakvoice. 

"I mean this, " he said with nothing of his usual vague hesitancy of speech. "I'm not so sure that Morty is beyond clerk size. "

"You--you--John Dwight--your son--" The thin layer of pale flesh onMrs. Dwight's face seemed to collapse upon its harsh framework with theterrified wrath that shook her. Her mouth fell apart, and hot smartingtears welled slowly to her eyes, faded with long years of stitching; notonly for her own family but for many others when money had been more thancommonly scarce. "Mortimer can do anything. Anything. "

"Can he?" Why doesn't he show it then? He went to work at sixteen and isnow twenty-two. He is drawing just fifty dollars a month. He's well likedin the firm, too. "

"Why don't they raise his salary?"

"Because that's all he's worth to them. He's a good steady honest clerk, nothing more. "

"He's very young--"

"If a man has initiative, ability, any sort of constructive power in hisbrain he shows it by the time he is twenty-two--if he has been in thatforcing house for four or five years. That is the whole history of thiscountry. And employers are always on the look-out for those qualitiesand only too anxious to find them and push a young man on and up. Manya president of a great business started life as a clerk, or even officeboy--"

"That is what I have always known would happen to Morty. I am sure, sure, that you are doing him a cruel injustice. "

"I hope I am. But I am a failure myself and I know what a man needs in theway of natural equipment to make a success of his life. "

"But he is so energetic and industrious and honorable and likable and--"

"I was all that. "

"Then--" Mrs. Dwight's voice trailed off; it sounded flat and old. "What doyou both lack?"

"Brains. "

V

Mrs. Dwight had repeated this conversation to Gora shortly before herdeath, and the girl in her reminiscent mood recalled it as she stared withsomber eyes and ironic lips at the havoc the fire was playing with thoselofty mansions which had stood to her all these intervening years assymbols of the unpardonable injustice of class. 

She recalled another of the few occasions when Mrs. Dwight, who believedin acceptance and contentment, had been persuaded to discuss theidiosyncrasies of her adopted city. 

"It isn't that money is the standard here as it is in New York. Of coursethere is a very wealthy set these late years and they set a pace that makesit difficult for the older families, like the Groomes for instance--I metMrs. Groome once at a summer resort where I was housekeeper that year, andI thought her very typical and interesting. She was so kind to me withoutseeing me at all. .. . But those fine old families, who are all of good oldEastern or Southern stock--if they manage to keep in society are still themost influential element in it. .. . Family. .. . Having lived in California longenough to be one of that old set. .. . To be, without question, one of them. That is all that matters. I've come in contact with a good many of themfirst and last in my poor efforts to help your father, and I believe theSan Franciscans to be the most loyal and disinterested people in theworld-to one another. 

"But if you come in from the outside you must bring money, or tremendousfamily prestige, or the right kind of social personality with the bestkind of letters. We just crept in and were glad to be permitted to make aliving. Why should they have taken any notice of us? They don't go huntingabout for obscure people of possibly gentle blood. That doesn't happenanywhere in the world. You must be reasonable, my dear child. That is life, 'The World. '"

But Gora was not gifted with that form of reasonableness. She had wished inher darker moments that she had been born outright in the working-class;then, no doubt, she would have trudged contentedly every morning (exceptwhen on strike) to the factory or shop, or been some one's cook. She was anexcellent cook. What galled her was the fact of virtually belonging to thesame class as these people who were still unaware of the existence of herfamily, although it had lived for over thirty years in a city numberingto-day only half a million inhabitants. 

She was almost fanatically democratic and could see no reason fordifferences of degree in the aspiring classes. To her mind the only line ofcleavage between the classes was that which divided people of education, refinement of mind manners and habits, certain inherited traditions, andthe mental effort no matter how small to win a place in this difficultworld, from commonness, ignorance, indifference to dirt, coarse pleasures. And habits, and manual labor. She respected Labor as the solid foundationstones upon which civilization upheld itself, and believed it to have beenbiologically chosen; if she had been born in its class she would have hadthe ambition to work her way out of it, but without resentment. 

There her recognition of class stopped. That wealth or family prominenceeven in a great city or an old community should create an exclusive andfavored society seemed to her illogical and outrageous. A woman was a ladyor she wasn't. A man was a gentleman or he wasn't. That should be thebeginning and the end of the social code. .. . When she had been youngershe had lamented her mean position because it excluded her from thelight-hearted and brilliant pleasures of youth; but as she grew olderthis natural craving had given place to a far deeper and more corrosiveresentment. 

She had no patience with her brother's ingenuous snobbery. A good-naturedfriend had introduced him to one or two houses where there were youngpeople and much dancing and he had been "taken up. " Nothing would havefilled Gora with such murderous rage as to be taken up. She wanted herposition conceded as a natural right. 

Had it been in her power she would have forced her conception of democracyupon the entire United States. But as this was quite impossible she longedpassionately for some power, personal and irresistible, that would compelthe attention of the elect in the city of her birth and ultimately bringthem to her feet. And here she had a ray of hope. 

VI

Meanwhile it was some satisfaction to watch them being burned out of houseand home. 

Then she gave a short impatient sigh that was almost a groan, as shewondered if her own home would go. The family had moved into it eight yearsago; and after Mr. Dwight's death his widow had barely made a living forherself and her daughter out of the uncertain boarders. Mortimer had paidhis share, but she had encouraged him to dress well and no one knew thevalue of "front" better than he. After her death, three years ago, Gora hadturned out the boarders and the last slatternly wasteful cook and let herrooms to business women who made their morning coffee over the gas jet. The new arrangement paid very well and left her time for lectures at theUniversity of California, and for other studies. A Jap came in daily to putthe rooms in order and she cooked for herself and her brother. So unknownwas she that even Aileen Lawton was unaware that the "boarding-house downon Geary Street" was a lodging house kept by Mortimer Dwight's sister. Fortunately Gora was spared one more quivering arrow in her pride. 

CHAPTER VIII

I

There was a tremendous burst of dynamite that rocked the house. Then sheheard her brother's voice:

"Gora! Gora! Where are you?"

She let herself through the trap door and ran down to the first floor. 

Her brother was standing in the lower hall surrounded by several of theirlodgers, competent-looking women, quite calm and business like, but dressedas for a journey and carrying suitcases and bags. 

"You are all ordered out, " he was saying. "A change of the wind to thesouth would sweep the fire right up this hill, and it may cross Van NessAvenue again at any time. So everybody is ordered out to the western hills, or the Presidio, or across the Bay, if they can make it. "

He had no private manners and greeted his sister with the same gallantsmile and little air of deference which always carried him a certaindistance in public. "You had better take out a mattress and blanket, " hesaid. "I wish I could do it for you--for all of you--but I am under ordersand must patrol where I am sent. When I finish giving the orders down hereI must go back to the Western Addition. "

"Don't worry about us, " said Gora drily. "We are all quite as capable asmen when it comes to looking out for ourselves in a catastrophe. I hearthat several wives led their weeping stricken husbands out of townyesterday morning. Are you sure the fire will cross Van Ness Avenueto-night?"

"It may be held back by the dynamiting, but one can be sure of nothing. Ofcourse the wind may shift to the west any minute. That would save this partof the city. "

"Well, don't let us keep you from your civic duties. You look very well inthose hunting boots. Lucky you went on that expedition last summer with Mr. Cheever. "

Mortimer frowned slightly and turned to the door. The brother and sisterrarely talked on any but the most impersonal subjects, but more than oncehe had had an uneasy sense that she knew him better than he knew himself. His consciousness had never faced anything so absurd, but there were timeswhen he felt an abrupt desire to escape her enigmatic presence and this wasone of them. 

II

The lodgers were permitted by the patrol to cook their luncheon on thestove that had been set up in the street, the orders being that they shouldleave within an hour. After their smoky meal they departed, carryingmattresses and blankets. 

Gora had no intention of following them unless the flames were actuallyroaring up the block between Van Ness Avenue and Franklin Street. She feltquite positive that she could outrun any fire. 

The last of the lodgers, at her request, shut the front door and made afeint of locking it, an unnecessary precaution in any case as all thewindows were open; and as the sentries had been ordered to "shoot to kill, "and had obeyed orders, looting had ceased. 

CHAPTER IX

I

Gora went up to the large attic which, soon, after her mother's death, shehad furnished for her personal use. The walls were hung with a thin bluishgreen material and there were several pieces of good furniture that she hadpicked up at auctions. One side of the room was covered with book shelveswhich Mortimer had made for her on rainy winter nights and they were filledwith the books she had found in second-hand shops. A number of them borethe autographs of men once prosilient in the city's history but long sincegone down to disaster. There were a few prints that she had found in thesame way, but no oils or water colors or ornaments. She despised thesecond-rate, and the best of these was rarely to be bought for a song evenat auction. 

She sighed as she reflected that if obliged to flee to the hills there waspractically nothing she could save beyond the contents of her bags; but atleast she could remain with her treasures until the last minute, and shepinned the curtains across the small windows and lit several candles. 

Between the blasts of dynamite the street was very quiet. She could hearthe measured tread of the sentry as he passed, a member of the Citizens'Patrol, like her brother. Suddenly she heard a shot, and extinguishing thecandles hastily she peered out of a window from behind the curtains. Thesentry was pounding on a door opposite with the butt of his rifle. It wasthe home of an eccentric old bachelor who possessed a fine collection ofceramics and a cellar of vintage wine. 

The door opened with obvious reluctance and the head of Mr. Andrew Bennettappeared. 

"What you doin' here?" shouted the sentry. "Haven't all youse been toldthree hours ago to light out for the hills? Git out--"

"But the fire hasn't crossed Van Ness Avenue. I prefer--"

"Your opinion ain't asked. Git out. "

"I call that abominable tyranny. "

"Git out or I'll shoot. We ain't standin' no nonsense. "

Gora recognized the voice as that of a young man, clerk in a butcher shopin Polk Street, and appreciated the intense satisfaction he took in hisbrief period of authority. 

Mr. Bennett emerged in a moment with two large bags and walked haughtily upthe street at the point of the bayonet. Gora stood expectantly behind hercurtain, and some ten minutes later saw him sneak round the eastern end ofhis block, dart back as the sentry turned suddenly, and when the footstepsonce more receded run up the street and into his house. She laughedsympathetically and hoped he would not be caught a second time. 

II

Suddenly another man, carrying a woman in his arms, turned the same corner. He was staggering as if he had borne a heavy burden a long distance. 

Gora ran down to the first floor and glanced out of the window of the frontroom. The sentry had crossed the far end of the street and was holdingconverse with another member of the patrol. As the refugee staggered pastthe house she opened the front door and called softly. 

"Come up quickly. Don't let them see you. "

The man stumbled up the steps and into the house. 

"You can put her on the sofa in this room. " Gora led the way into what hadonce been the front parlor and was now the chamber of her star lodger. "Isshe hurt?"

The man did not answer. He followed her and laid down his burden. Goraflashed her electric torch on the face of the girl and drew back in horror. 

"Dead?"

"Yes, she is dead. " The young man, who looked a mere boy in spite of hisunshaven chin and haggard eyes, threw himself into a chair and dropping hisface on his arms burst into heavy sobs. 

Gora stared, fascinated, at the sharp white face of the girl, the rope offair hair wound round her neck like something malign and muscular that hadstrangled her, the half-open eyes, whose white maleficent gleam deprivedthe poor corpse of its last right, the aloofness and the majesty of death. She may have been an innocent and lovely young creature when alive, butdead, and lacking the usual amiable beneficencies of the undertaker, shelooked like a macabre wax work of corrupt and evil youth. 

And she was horribly stiff. 

III

Gora went into the kitchen and made him a cup of coffee over a spirit lamp. He drank it gratefully, then followed her up to the attic as she fearedtheir voices might be overheard from the lower room. There he took the easychair and the cigarette she offered him and told his story. 

The young girl was his sister and they were English. She had been visitinga relative in Santa Barbara when a sudden illness revealed the fact thatshe had a serious heart affection. He had come out to take her homeand they had been staying at the Palace Hotel waiting for suitableaccommodations before crossing the continent. 

His sister--Marian--had been terrified into unconsciousness by theearthquake and he had carried her down the stairs and out into MarketStreet, where she had revived. She had even seemed to be better than usual, for the people in their extraordinary costumes, particularly the operasingers, had amused her, and she had returned to the court of the hoteland listened with interest to the various "experiences. " Finally they hadclimbed the four flights of stairs to their rooms and he had helped her todress--her maid had disappeared. They had remained until the afternoon whenthe uncontrolled fires in the region behind the hotel alarmed them, andwith what belongings they could carry they had gone up to the St. FrancisHotel, where they engaged rooms and left their portmanteaux, intending toclimb to the top of the hill, if Marian were able, and watch the fire. 

Half way up the hill she had fainted and he had carried her into a housewhose door stood open. There was no one in the house, and after a futileattempt to revive her, he had run back to the hotel to find a doctor. Butamong the few people that had the courage to remain so close to the firethere was no doctor. The hotel clerk gave him an address but told himnot to be too sure of finding his man at home as all the physicians wereprobably attending the injured, helping to clear the threatened hospitals, or at work among the refugees, any number of women having embraced theinopportune occasion to become mothers. 

The doctor whose address was given him not only was out but his house wasdeserted; and, distracted, he returned to his sister. 

He knew at once that she was dead. 

He sat beside her for hours, too stunned to think. .. . It was some timeduring the night that the roar of the fire seemed to grow louder, the smokein the street denser. Then it occurred to him that the inhabitants ofthis house as well as of the doctor's, which was close by, would not haveabandoned their homes if they had not believed that some time during thenight they would be in the path of the flames. And he had heard that thepipes of the one water system had been broken by the earthquake. 

He had caught up the body of his sister and walked westward until, wornout, he had entered the basement of another empty house, and there he hadfallen asleep. When he awakened he was under the impression for a momentthat he was in the crater of a volcano in eruption. Dynamite was going offin all directions, he could hear the loud crackling of flames behind hisrefuge; and as he took the body in his arms once more and ran out, the firewas sweeping up the hill not a block below. 

In spite of the smoke he inferred that the way was clear to the west, andhe had run on and on, once narrowly escaping a dynamiting area where hesaw men like dark shadows prowling and then rushing off madly in anautomobile. .. Dodging the fire, losing his way, once finding himselfconfronting a wall of flames, finally crossing a wide avenue. .. Stumblingon. .. And on. .. . 

IV

Gora decided that blunt callousness would help him more than sympathy. Hehad recovered his self-control, but his eyes were still wide with pain andhorror. 

"Cremation is a clean honest finish for any one, " she remarked, lightinganother cigarette and offering him her match. "I should have left her ifshe had been my sister in that first house. .. . "

"I might have done it--in London. But. .. Perhaps I was not quite myself. .. . Icouldn't leave her to be burned alone in a strange country. Besides, thehorror of it would have killed my mother. Marian was the youngest. I feltbound to do my best. .. . Perhaps I didn't think at all. .. . If this house isthreatened I shall take her out to the Presidio, where I happen to know aman--Colonel Norris. Thanks to your hospitality I can make it. "

"But naturally you cannot go very fast. .. And these sentries. .. I am notsure. .. . I don't see how you escaped others. .. The smoke and excitement, Isuppose. .. . I think if you are determined to take her it would be better ifI helped you to carry her out to the cemetery. We can put her on a narrowwire mattress and cover her, so that it will look as if we were rescuing aninvalid. Out there you can put her in one of the stone vaults. Some of thedoors are sure to have been broken by the earthquake. "

The young man, who had given his name as Richard Gathbroke, gratefullyrested in her brother's room while she kept watch on the roof. It was nightbut the very atmosphere seemed ablaze and the dynamiting as well as theapproaching wall of fire looked very close. Finally when sparks fell on theroof she descended hastily and awakened her guest, making him welcome toher brother's linen as well as to a basin of precious water. When he joinedher in the kitchen he had even shaved himself and she saw that he lookedboth older and younger than Americans of his age; which, he had told her, was twenty-three. His fair well-modeled face was now composed and his hazeleyes were brilliant and steady. He had a tall trim military body, and verystraight bright brown hair; a rather conventional figure of a well-bredEnglishman, Gora assumed; intelligent, and both more naif and moreworldly-wise than young Americans of his class: but whose potentialitieshad hardly been apprehended even by himself. 

They ate as substantial a breakfast as could be prepared hastily over aspirit lamp, filled their pockets with stale bread, cake, and small tinsof food, and then carried a narrow wire mattress from one of the smallerbedrooms to the front room on the first floor. 

CHAPTER X

I

The patrol had been relieved by another, an older man, and sober. Hemerely reproved them for disobeying orders, glanced sympathetically at thepresumed invalid, and directed them to one of the temporary hospitals someblocks farther west. 

Gora, like all imaginative people, had a horror of the corpse, and avertedher eyes from the head of the dead girl outlined under the veil she hadthrown over it, Gathbroke was obliged to walk backward, and as both wereextremely uncomfortable, there was no attempt at conversation until theyreached the gates of the old cemetery the great pioneers had called LoneMountain and their more commonplace descendants rechristened Laurel Hill. 

The glare of the distant fire illuminated the silent city where a thousandrefugees slept as heavily as the dead, and as they ascended the steep paththey examined anxiously the vaults on either side. Finally Gora exclaimed:

"There! On the right. "

The iron doors of a once eminent resident's last dwelling had been halftwisted from their rusty hinges. Gathbroke threw his weight on them andthey fell at his feet. He and Gora carried in the body and lifted it to anempty shelf. 

"Good!" Gora gave a long sigh of relief. "Nothing can happen to her now. Even the entrance faces away from the fire and there is nothing but grassin the cemetery to burn, anyhow. " She held her electric torch to theinscription above the entrance. "Better write down the name--Randolph. There's one of the tragedies of the sixties for you! An Englishman thehero, by the way. Nina Randolph is a handful of dust in there somewhere. Heigho! What's the difference, anyway? Even if she'd been happy she'd bedead by this time--or too old to have a past. "

Gathbroke replaced the gates, for he feared prowling dogs, and they walkeddown to the street and sat on the grass, leaning against the wall of thecemetery, as dissociated as possible from the rows of uneasy sleepers. 

II

They slept a little between blasts of dynamite, the snoring of men andwomen and cries of children; finally at Gora's suggestion climbed to thesteep bare summit of Calvary to observe the progress of the fire. 

The unlighted portion of the city beneath them looked like a dead planet. Beyond was a tossing sea of flame whose far-reaching violent glare seemedto project it illimitably. 

"Nothing can stop it!" gasped Gora; and that terrific red mass of energyand momentum did look as if its only curb would be the Pacific Ocean. 

They talked until morning. He was very frank about himself, finding nodoubt a profound comfort in human companionship after those long hours ofghastly communion down in that flaming jungle. 

He was a younger son and in the army, not badly off, as his mother made hima goodish allowance. She had come of a large manufacturing family in theNorth and had brought a fortune to the empty treasury of the young peer shehad--happily for both--fallen in love with. 

He had wanted to go into business--politics later perhaps--after he leftEton, feeling that he had inherited some of the energy of his maternalgrandfather, but his mother had insisted upon the army and as he reallydidn't care so very much, he had succumbed. 

"But I'm not sure I shan't regret it. It isn't as if there were anyprospect of a real war. I'd like a fighting career well enough, but notpicayune affairs out in India or Africa. I can't help thinking I have atalent for business. Sounds beastly conceited, " he added hastily. It wasevident that he was a modest youth. "But after all one of us should inheritsomething of the sort. Perhaps, later, who knows? At least I can thankheaven that I wasn't born in my brother's place. He likes politics, and hisfate is the House of Lords. A man might as well go and embalm himself atonce. Do you know Gwynne? Elton Gwynne? John Gwynne he calls himself outhere. "

"I've heard of him. He's been written up a good deal. I don't know any oneof that sort. "

"Really? Well, don't you see? he inherited a peerage; grandfather died andhis cousin shot himself to cover up a scandal. Gwynne was in the full tideof his career in the House of Commons and simply couldn't stand for it. He cut the whole business and came out here where he and his mother hada large estate--Lady Victoria's mother or grandmother was aSpanish-Californian. Of course he chucked the title. He's a sort of cousinof mine and I looked him up, and dined with him the other night. He wasborn in the United States, by a fluke as it were, and has made up his mindto be an American for the rest of his life and carve out a politicalcareer in this country. I'd have done the same thing, by Jove! First-classsolution. .. Although it's a pretty hard wrench to give up your own country. But when a man is too active to stagnate--there you are. .. . I wish I hadknown where to find him to-day, but he lives on his ranch and I'veonly seen him once since. Lady Victoria took me to a ball night beforelast--Good God! Was it only that?. .. And we were to have met again for lunchto-day. "

"It is very easy and picturesque to renounce when you possess just abouteverything in life! If I attempted to renounce any of my privileges, forinstance. I should simply move down and out. "

III

He turned his head and regarded her squarely for the first time. Heretoforeshe had been simply a friend in need, a jolly good sport, incidentally afemale. If she had been beautiful he should have noted that fact at once, for he could not imagine the circumstances in which beauty would not exertan immediate and powerful influence, however transitory. 

Miss Dwight was not beautiful, but he concluded during that frank starethat her face was interesting; disturbingly so, although he was unable atthe moment to find the reason. It was possible that in favorable conditionsshe would be handsome. 

She had a mass of dark brown hair that seemed to sink heavily over her lowforehead until it almost met the heavy black eyebrows. She had removed herhat and the thick loose coils made her look topheavy; for the face, if wideacross the high cheek-bones and sharply accentuated with a salient jaw, wasnot large. The eyes were a light cold gray, oval and far apart. Her nosewas short and strong and had the same cohibitive expression as the straightsharply-cut mouth--when not ironic or smiling. Her teeth were beautiful. 

She had put on her best tailored suit and he saw that her "figger" was goodalthough too short and full for his taste. He liked the long and statelyslenderness that his own centuries had bred. But her hands and well-shodfeet were narrow if not small, and he decided that she just escapedpossessing what modern slang so aptly expressed as "class, " Possibly it wasthe defiance in her square chin, the almost angry poise of her head, thatbetrayed her as an unwilling outsider. 

"Bad luck!" he asked sympathetically. 

She gave him a brief outline of her family history, overemphasizingas Americans will--those that lay any claim to descent--the previousimportance of the Dwights and the Mortimers in Utica, N. Y. Incidentally, she gave him a flashlight picture of the social conditions in SanFrancisco. 

He was intensely interested. "Really! I should have said there would be thecomplete democracy in California if anywhere. Of course no Englishman of mygeneration expects to find San Franciscans in cowboy costume; but I mustsay I was astonished at the luxury and fashion not only at those SouthernCalifornia hotels, where, to be sure, most of the guests are from yourolder Eastern states, but at that ball Lady Victoria took me to. It wasmagnificent in all its details, originality combined with the most perfecttaste. Of course there were not as many jewels as one would see at a greatLondon function, but the toilettes could not have been surpassed. And asfor the women--stunning! Such beauty and style and breeding. I confess Ididn't expect quite all that. Miss Bascom, Miss Thorndyke, and an exquisiteyoung thing, Miss Groome--"

"Oh, those are the haute noblesse. " Gora's tipper lip curled satirically. "No doubt they lay claim that their roots mingle with your own. "

"Well, we'd be proud of 'em. "

"That was the Hofer ball, wasn't it! Do you mean to say that Alexina Groomewas there? Mrs. Groome, who is the most imposing relic of the immortaleighties, is supposed to know no one of twentieth-century vintage. "

"I am sure of it. I danced with her twice and would have jolly well likedto monopolize her, but she was too plainly bowled over by a fellow--yourname, by Jove--Dwight. Good-looking chap, clean-cut, fine shoulders, dancedlike a god--if gods do dance. I'm an awful duffer at it, by the way. "

"Mortimer? Is it possible? And he--was he bowled over?"

"Ra--ther! A case, I should say. "

"How unfortunate. Of course he hasn't the ghost of a chance. Mrs. Groomewon't have a young man inside her doors whose family doesn't belong rootand branch to her old set. Fine prospect for a poor clerk!"

"Jove! I've a mind to stay and try my luck. Oh!" He dropped his face in hishands. "I'm forgetting!"

"Well, forget again. " Gora's voice expressed more sympathy than she felt. She deeply resented his immediate acceptance of her social alienage, evenrelegating her personal appearance to another class than that of thedelicate flora he had seen blooming for the night against the most artfulbackground of the season. 

However. .. He was the first man she had ever met in her limited experiencewho seemed to combine the three magnetisms. .. . Who could tell. .. . 

"I should be delighted if you would cut my brother out before it goes anyfurther, " she said untruthfully. "It will save him a heartache. .. . Wherecould you meet her now? Society is disrupted here. But of course Mr. Gwynnevisits down the peninsula. He could take you to any one of those exclusiveabodes where you would be likely to meet the little Alexina. She is onlyeighteen, by the way. "

"That is rather young, " he said dubiously. "I don't fancy her conversationwould be very interesting, and, after all, that is what it comes down to, isn't it? I've been disappointed so often. " He sighed and looked quitethirty-five. "Still, she has personality. Five or six years hence she maybe a wonder. .. . I don't think I'd care about educating and developing agirl--I like a pal right away. .. . What an ass I am, rotting like this. Tourbrother has as much chance as I have. Younger sons with no prospect ofsuccession are of exactly no account with the American mamma. I've met afew of them. "

"Oh, I fancy birth would be enough for Mrs. Groome. She's quite dotty onthe subject, and the people out here are simpler than Easterners, anyhow. Simpler and more ingenuous. "

"How is it you know so much about it, all, if you are not, as yousay--pardon me--a part of it?"

"I wonder!" She gave a short hard little laugh. "I don't know that I couldexplain, except that it all has seemed to me from birth a part of my bloodand bones and gristle. An accident, a lucky strike on my father's part whenhe first came out here, and they would know me as well to-day as I knowthem. And then. .. Of course. .. It is a small community. We live on thedoorsteps of the rich and important, as it were. It would be hard for usnot to know. It just comes to us. We are magnets. I suppose all this seemsto you--born on the inside--quite ignominious. "

"Well, my mother would have remained on the outside--that is to say a quietlittle provincial--if her father hadn't happened to make a fortune with hisiron works. I can understand well enough, but, if you don't mind my sayingso, I think it rather a pity. "

"Pity?"

"I mean thinking so much about it, don't you know? I fancy it's the resultof living in a small city where there are only a few hundred people betweenyou and the top instead of a few hundred thousand. I express, myself sobadly, but what I mean is--as I make it out--it is, with you, a case ofso near and yet so far. In a great city like London now (great ingenerations--centuries--as well as in numbers) you'd just accept the barefact and go about your business. Not a ghost of a show, don't you see? Hereyou've just missed it, and, the middle class always flowing into the upperclass, you feel that you should get your chance any minute. Ought to havehad it long ago. .. . I can't imagine, for instance, that if my mother hadmarried the son of my grandfather's partner that I should have wasted muchtime wondering why I wasn't asked to the Elizabethan Hail on the hill. Ofcourse I don't mean there isn't envy enough in the old countries, but it'smore passive. .. Without hope. .. . "

He felt awkward and officious but he was sorry for her and would haveliked to discharge his debt by helping her toward a new point of view, ifpossible. 

She replied: "That's easy to say, and besides you are a man. My brother, who is only a clerk in a wholesale house, has been taken up and goeseverywhere. They don't know that I even exist. "

"Well, that's their loss, " he said gallantly. "Can't you make 'em sit tip, some way? Women make fortunes sometimes, these days, And they're in abouteverything except the Army and Navy. Business? Or haven't you a talent ofsome sort? You have--pardon me again, but we have been uncommonly personalto-night--a strong and individual face. .. And personality; no doubt ofthat. "

Gora would far rather he had told her she was pretty and irresistible, butshe thrilled to his praise, nevertheless. It was the first compliment shehad ever received from any man but the commonplace and unimportant friendsher brother had brought home occasionally before he had been introduced tosociety; he took good care to bring home none of his new friends. 

Her heart leapt toward this exalted young Englishman, who might havestepped direct from one of the novels of his land and class. .. Even thestern and anxious moderns who had made England's middle-class the fashion, occasionally drew a well-bred and attractive man from life. .. . She turned tohim with a smile that banished the somber ironic expression of her face, illuminating it as if the drooping spirit within had suddenly lit a torchand held it behind those strange pale eyes. 

"I'll tell you what I've never told any one--but my teacher; I've takenlessons with him for a year. He is an instructor in the technique of theshort story, and has turned out quite a few successful magazine writers. Hebelieves that I have talent. I have been studying over at the University tothe same end--English, biology, psychology, sociology. I'm determined notto start as a raw amateur. Oh! Perhaps I have made a mistake in tellingyou. You may be one of those men that are repelled by intellectual women!"

"Not a bit of it. Don't belong to that class of duffers anyway. I don'tlike masculine women, or hard women--run from a lot of our girls that areso hard a diamond wouldn't cut 'em. But I've got an elder sister--she'sthirty now--who's the cleverest woman I ever met, although she doesn'tpretend to do anything. She won't bother with any but clever andexceptional people--has something of a salon. My parents hate it--she livesalone in a flat in London--but they can't help it. My grandfather Doubletonliked her a lot and left her two thousand a year. I wish you knew her. Sheis charming and feminine, as much so as any of those I met at the ball; andso are many of the women that go to her flat--"

"Don't you think I am feminine?" asked Gora irrisistibly. He had a wayof making her feel, quite abruptly, as if she had run a needle under herfingernail. 

Once more he turned to her his detached but keen young eyes. 

"Well. .. Not exactly in the sense I mean. You look too much thefighter. .. But that may be purely the result of circumstances, " he addedhastily: the strange eyes under their heavy down-drawn browns were loweringat him. "You are not masculine, no, not a bit. "

Once more Miss Dwight curled her upper lip. "I wonder if you would havesaid the first part of that if you had met me at the Hofer ball and I hadworn a gown of flame-colored chiffon and satin, and my hair marcelled likeevery other woman present--except those embalmed relics of the seventies, who, I have heard, rise from the grave whenever a great ball is given, and appear in a built-up red-brown wig. .. . And a string of pearls round mythroat? My neck and arms are quite good; although I've never possessed anevening gown, I know I'd look quite well in one. .. My best. "

He laughed. "It does make a difference. I wish you had been there. I amsure you are as good a dancer as you are a pal. But still. .. I think Ishould have recognized the fighter, even if you had been born in theCalifornia equivalent for the purple. I fancy you would have found somecause or other to get your teeth into once in a while. Tell me, don'tyou rather like the idea of taking Life by the throat and forcing it todeliver?"

"I wonder?. .. Perhaps. .. But that does not mitigate my resentment that I amon the outside of everything when I belong on the in. I should never havebeen forced to strive after what is mine by natural right. "

"Well, don't let it make a socialist of you. That is such a cheap revengeon society. .. . Confession of failure; and nothing in it. "

IV

He looked at his watch: "Eight o'clock. I'll be getting on to the Presidio. Why don't you come with me?"

Gora's feminine instincts arose from a less perverted source than hersocial. She shook her head with a smile. 

"I don't want to go any farther from my house. I shall slip down my firstchance; and I have plenty to eat. Perhaps you will come to see me beforeyou go if my house is spared. "

"Rather. What is the number? And if the house goes I'll find you somehow. "

He took her hand in both his and shook it warmly. "You are the best pal inthe world--"

"Now don't make me a nice little speech. I'm only too glad. Go out to thePresidio and get a hot breakfast and attend--to--to your affairs. I am sureeverything will be all right, although you may not be able to get away assoon as you hope. "

"I don't like leaving you alone here--"

"Alone?" She waved her hand at the hundreds of recumbent forms in thecemeteries and on the lower slopes of Calvary. "I probably shall never beso well protected again. Please go. "

He shook her hand once more, ran down the hill, turned and waved his cap, and trudged off in the direction of the Presidio. 

V

She slept in her own house that night, for dynamiting by miners summonedfrom Grass Valley by General Funston, and a change of wind, had savedthe western portion of the city. For the first time in her life Goraexperienced a sense of profound gratitude, almost of happiness. She feltthat only a little more would make her quite happy. Her lodgers, even herabsorbed brother, noticed that her manner, her expression, had perceptiblysoftened. She herself noticed it most of all. 

CHAPTER XI

I

Gathbroke met Alexina Groome again a week later. 

On Saturday, when the fire was over, and she could retreat decently andin good order, Mrs. Groome, to her young daughter's secret anguish, hadconsented to rest her nerves for a fortnight at Rincona, Mrs. Abbott's homein Alta. 

As Gora had predicted, Gathbroke found that it would have been hardly moredifficult to move his sister's body, now at an undertaker's in FillmoreStreet, out of the state in war-time than in the wake of a city's disaster, which was scattering its population to every point of the railroad compass. He had refused the space in the baggage car offered to him by the company;it should: be a private car or nothing; and for that, in spite of all theinfluence Gwynne and his powerful friends could bring to bear, he mustwait. 

Meanwhile Gwynne had asked him to stay with himself and his mother, LadyVictoria Gwynne, at the house of his fiancée, Isabel Otis, on Russian Hill;a massive cliff rising above one of the highest of the city's northernhills, whose old houses, clinging to its steep sides had escaped the firethat roared about its base. To-day it was a green and lofty oasis in themidst of miles of smoking ruins. 

Gathbroke was as nervous as only a young Englishman within his immemorialarmor can be. Gwynne, who had gone through the same nerve-racking crisis, although from different causes, understood what he suffered and pressed himinto service in the distribution of government rations, and garments tothe different refugee camps. But Gathbroke had the active imagination ofintelligent youth, and he never forgot to blame himself for lingering inNew York with some interesting chaps he had met on the _Majestic_, andafterward in Southern California, seduced by its soft climate and violentcolor. Unquestionably, if he had stayed on his job, as these expressiveAmericans put it, his sister would have been in New York, possibly on theAtlantic Ocean when San Francisco shook herself to ruin. 

"But not necessarily alive, " said Lady Victoria callously, removing hercigar, her heavy eyes that looked like empty volcanos, staring down overthe smoldering waste. "People with heart disease don't invariably wait foran earthquake to jolt them out of life. Assume that her time had come andthink of something else or you'll become a silly ass of a neurotic. "

Gwynne, more sympathetic, continued to find him what distraction he could, and one day drove him down the Peninsula with a message from the Committeeof Fifty to Tom Abbott; who had caught a heavy cold during those three dayswhen he had driven a car filled with dynamite and had had scarcely an hourfor rest. He was now at home in bed. 

II

The Abbott's place, Rincona, stood on a foothill behind the other estatesof Alta and surrounded by a park of two hundred acres set thick withmagnificent oaks. Gathbroke had never seen finer ones in England or France. Gwynne before entering the avenue drove to an elevation above the house andstopped the car for a moment. 

The great San Mateo valley looked like a close forest of ancient oaksbroken inartistically by the roofs of houses shorn of their chimneys. Beyond, on the eastern side of a shallow southern arm of the Bay of SanFrancisco, was the long range of the Contra Costa mountains, its wavingindented slopes incredibly graceful in outline and lovely in color. Gwynnehad pointed out their ever changing tints and shades as they drove throughthe valley; at the moment they were heliotrope deepening to purple in thehollows. 

Behind the foothills above Rincona rose the lofty mountains which inMaria Abbott's youth had seemed to tower above the valley a solid wall ofredwoods; but long since plundered and defaced for the passing needs ofman. 

"Great country--what?" said Gwynne, starting the car. "You couldn't pry meaway from it--that is, unless I have the luck to represent it in Washingtonhalf the year. You'll be coming back yourself some day. "

"I? Never. I hate the sight of its grinning blue sky after the red horrorof those three days. I haven't seen a cloud as big as my hand, and incommon decency it should howl and stream for months. "

"Well, forget it for a day. Perhaps you will be placed next the fairAlexina at luncheon--"

"Alexina. .. ?"

"Groome. You must have met her at the Hofer ball. "

"She--what--possible--"

Gwynne looked at his stuttering and flushed young cousin and burst intolaughter. 

"As bad as that, was it? Well, she's not bespoken as far as I know. Wade inand win. You have my blessing. She is almost as beautiful as Isabel--"

"She's quite as beautiful as Miss Otis. "

"Oh, very well. No doubt I'd think so myself if I hadn't happened to meetIsabel first, and if I were not too old for her anyway. "

Gwynne could think of no better remedy for demoralized nerves than aflirtation with a resourceful California girl, and if Dick annexed a livingcompanion for his trying journey to England so much the better. 

Gathbroke's excitement subsided quickly. He was in no condition forsustained enthusiasm. He felt as if quite ten years had passed since hehad half fallen in love with Alexina Groome in a ball room that was nowa charred heap in the sodden wreck of a city he barely could conjure inmemory. 

Besides, he had half fallen in love so often. And she was too young. He hadreally been more drawn to that strange Miss Dwight; upon whom, however, hehad not yet called. 

He felt thankful that the girl _was_ too young for his critical taste. Hewanted nothing more at present in the way of emotions. 

CHAPTER XII

I

Rincona had been named in honor of Rincon Hill, where Tom Abbott'sgrandmother had reigned in the sixties; a day, when in order to call on heramiable rival, Mrs. Ballinger, her stout carriage horses were obliged toplow through miles of sand hills, and to make innumerable détours to avoidthe steep masses of rock, over which in her grandson's day cable car andtrolley glided so lightly until that morning of April eighteen, nineteenhundred and six. 

When her husband, in common with other distinguished citizens, bought anestate in the San Mateo Valley, she named it Rincona, to the secret wrathof other eminent ladies who had not thought of it in time. 

The house had as little pretensions to architectural beauty as othersof its era, but it was a large compact structure of some thirty rooms, exclusive of the servants' quarters, and with as many outbuildings as aDanish, farm. Long French windows opened upon a wide piazza, whose pillarshad disappeared long since under a luxuriant growth of rose vines andwistaria. At its base was a bed of Parma violets, whose fragrance awesterly breeze wafted to the end of the avenue a quarter of a mile away. All about the house, breaking the smooth lawns, were beds and trees offlowers, at this time of the year a glowing exotic mass of color; but inthe park that made up the greater part of the estate exclusive of thefarms, the grass under the superb oaks was merely clipped, the weedsand undergrowth removed. The oaks had been evenly shorn of their lowerbranches, which gave them a formal and somewhat arrogant expression, as ofcardinals and kings lifting their skirts. 

Alexina hated the enormous rooms with their high frescoed ceilings andheavy Victorian furniture; but Maria Abbott loved and revered the oldhouse, emblem that it was of a secure proud family that had defied thatdetestable (and disturbing) old phrase: "Three generations from shirtsleeves to shirt sleeves. " The Abbotts, like the Ballingers and Groomesand Gearys and many others of that ilk, had not come to California in thefifties and sixties as adventurers, but with all that was needed to givethem immediate prestige in the new community; and, among those that stillretained their estates in the San Mateo Valley, at least, there was aslittle prospect of their reversion to shirt sleeves as of their conversionto the red shirt of socialism. Their wealth might be moderate but it wassolid and steadfast. 

II

The entertaining of the Abbotts, Yorbas, Hathaways, Montgomerys, Brannans, Trennahans, and others of what Alexina irreverently called the A. A. , hadalways been ostentatiously simple, albeit a butler and a staff of maids hadcontributed to their excessive comfort. In the eighties, evening toilettesduring the summer were considered immoral; but by degrees, as time tooledin its irresistible modernities, they gradually fell into the habit ofwearing out their winter party gowns at the evening diversions of thecountry season. Burlingame, that borough of concentrated opulence foundedin the early nineties as a fashionable colony, began its career witha certain amount of simplicity; but its millions increased to tens ofmillions; and what in heaven's name, as Mrs. Clement Hunter, a leader andan individual, once remarked, is the use of having money if you don't dressand entertain as you would dream of dressing and entertaining if you didn'thave a cent?

Mrs. Hunter, who had formed an incongruous and somewhat hostile alliancewith Mrs. Abbott, knew that her valuable friend, like others of that "smalland early" band, resented the fact that their standards no longer countedoutside of their own set. Mrs. Abbott had turned a haughty shoulder to Mrs. Hunter for a time, for she remembered her as, in their school days, thesocially obscure Lidie McKann; now, however, her husband turning all hetouched to gold, she had, incredibly, become one of the most importantwomen in San Francisco and Burlingame. 

When Maria Abbott finally succumbed she assured herself that curiosity tosee the more ambushed glitter of that meretricious faubourg had nothingto do with it; it was easy to persuade herself that she hoped, being anindisputably smart woman herself, gradually to impose her simpler and moreappropriate standards upon these people who sorely threatened the continueddominance of the old régime. 

Mrs. Hunter soon disabused her of any such notion, and during the earlydays of their acquaintance, after Mrs. Abbott came to one of her luncheonsattired in a pique skirt and severe shirtwaist, impeccably cut and worn, but entirely out of place in an Italian palace, where forty fashionablewomen, some of whom had motored sixty miles to attend the function, weredressed as they would be at a Newport luncheon, Mrs. Hunter attended thenext solemn affair at Rincona so overdressed and made up that the outragedAltarinos (as Alexina irreverently called them) were reduced to a horrifiedsilence that was almost hysterical. 

But one morning Mrs. Abbott caught Mrs. Hunter digging in her privatevegetable garden behind the palace, and wearing a garment that her secondgardener's wife would have scorned, her unblemished face beaming under abattered straw hat. Both women had the humor to laugh, and their intimacydated from that moment, Mrs. Hunter confessing that stuff on her face madeher sick; but adding that she adored dress and thought that any rich womanwas a fool who didn't. 

After that there was a compromise on both sides. Mrs. Hunter lunched ordined at Rincona in her simplest frocks and Mrs. Abbott wore her best whenhonoring Mrs. Hunter and others at Burlingame. She even went so far as tohave some extremely smart silk voiles (the fashionable material of themoment) and linens made, and when asked to a wedding, a garden party, ora great function given to some visitor of distinction, complimented theoccasion to the limit of her resources. 

III

Mrs. Hunter, in white duck, a sailor hat perched above her angular somewhatmasculine face, was sitting on the Abbott verandah as the two Englishmendrove up. She waved her cigarette and cried gayly in her hearty resonantvoice:

"Two men! What luck! And in time for lunch. I've hardly seen a man sincethe first day of the fire. Leave your car anywhere and come in out of thesun. I'll call Maria, and, incidentally, mention whiskey and soda. "

"The whiskey and soda is all right, " said Gwynne mopping his brow; Nature, having wreaked her worst on California, seemed determined to atone byunseasonably brilliant weather, and the day under the blazing blue vaultwas very hot. 

Mrs. Abbott appeared in a few moments, smiling, cool, in immaculate white, the collar of her shirtwaist high and unwilted. Her weather-beaten facelooked years older than Mrs. Hunter's, who, although plain by comparisonwith the once beautiful Maria Groome, had treated her clean healthy skinwith marked respect. 

But as the butler had preceded her with whiskey and soda and ice, Mrs. Abbott might already have achieved the mahogany tints of her mother and shewould have been regarded as enthusiastically by two hot and dusty men. 

"Of course you will stay to luncheon, " she said as naturally as she hadsaid it these many years, and as two hospitable generations had said it onthat verandah before her. She turned to young Gathbroke with a smile, forMrs. Hunter, who was in her confidence, had detained her for a moment witha few sharp incisive words. "I have a very bored little sister, who will beglad to sit next to a young man once more. "

And although Gathbroke almost frowned at this fresh reminder of the callowyears of the girl whose sheer loveliness had haunted his imagination, he went off with a not disagreeable titillation of the nerves, at Mrs. Abbott's suggestion, to find her in the park and bring her back to luncheonin half an hour. 

CHAPTER XIII

I

He was light of step and made no sound on the heavy turf; he saw herseveral minutes before she was aware of his presence and stood staring ather, feeling much as he had done during the progress of the earthquake. 

She was standing under one of the great oaks whose lower limbs had beentrimmed so evenly some seven feet above the ground that they made a compactsymmetrical roof above the dark head of the girl, who, being alone, hadabandoned the limp curve of fashion and was standing very erect, drawn upto her full five feet seven. Alexina had no intention of being afflictedwith rounded shoulders when the present mode had passed. 

But her face expressed no guile as she stood there in her simple whitefrock with a bunch of periwinkles in her belt, her delicate profile turnedto Gathbroke as she gazed at the irregular majesty of the Coast Range, darkblue under a pale blue haze. He had retained the impression of starry eyesand vivid coloring and eager happy youth, a body of perfect slendernessand grace, whose magnetism was not that of youth alone but personal andindividual. 

Now he saw that although her fine little profile was not too regular, andas individual as her magnetism, the shape of her head was classic. It wasprobable that she was not unaware of the fact, for its perfect lines andcurves were fully revealed by the severe flatness of the dusky thicklyplanted hair, which was brushed back to the nape of her neck and then drawnup a few inches and flared outward. The little head was held high on thelong white stem of the throat; and the pose, with the dropping eyelids, gave her, in that deep shade, the illusion of maturity. Gathbroke realizedthat he saw her for the moment as she would look ten years hence. Even thefull curved red lips were closed firmly and once the nostrils quiveredslightly. 

The narrow black eyebrows following the subtle curve of her eyelids, thelow full brow with its waving line of soft black hair, seemed to brood overthe lower part of the face with its still indeterminate curves, over thewholly immature figure of a very young girl. 

Gathbroke surrendered then and there. This radiation of mystery, ofcomplexity, this secret subtle visit of maturity to youth, the hoveringspirit of the future woman, was unique in his experience and went straightto his head. He forgot his sister, dismissed the thought of Dwight with agesture of contempt. He might be modest and rather diffident in manner, owing to racial shyness, but he had a fine sustaining substructure of sheermasculine arrogance. 

II

As he walked forward swiftly Alexina turned; and immediately was the youngthing of eighteen and of the early twentieth century. Her spine droopedinto an indolent curve, her soft red lips fell apart, her black-gray eyesopened wide as she held out her hand to the young Englishman. 

"How nice! I never really expected to see you again. I understood LadyVictoria to say you were merely passing through. "

Alexina had not cast him a thought since the night of the ball but she washospitable and feminine. 

"I was detained. "

She noted with intense curiosity that his bright color paled and hissparkling hazel eyes darkened with a sudden look of horror; but the spasmof memory passed quickly, and once more he was staring at her with frankcapitulation. 

Alexina's head went up a trifle. She was still new to conquest, andalthough she had met more than one pair of admiring eyes in the course ofthe past season, and received as many compliments as the vainest girl couldwish, few men had had the courage to storm the stern fortress on BallingerHill, or to sit more than once in a drawing-room so darkly reminiscent offuneral ceremonies that a fellow's nerves began to jump all over him. 

Nor had her fancy been even lightly captured until Mortimer Dwight, thatperfect hero of maiden dreams, had swept her off her dancing feet on themost memorable night of her life. 

She had quite made up her mind to marry him. The indignant silent hostilityof the family (even Mrs. Ballinger, her moment of weakness passed, havingbeen swung to the horrified Maria's point of view) had been all that wasnecessary to convince the young Alexina that fate had sent her the completeromance. She hoped the opposition would drive her to an elopement; littledreaming of the horror with which Mr. Dwight would greet the heterodoxalternative. 

Mrs. Abbott had had a valid excuse for not asking him down: provisionswere scarce, and, so Tom said, he was doing useful work in town. But OliveBascom, whose country home was in San Mateo, had invited him for the nextweek end, and he had accepted. Alexina was to be one of the small houseparty, and there were many romantic walks behind San Mateo. A moon was alsodue. 

III

Still Gathbroke might have entered the race with an even chance, formaidens of eighteen are merely the blind tools of Nature, had not thefamily made the mistake of displaying too warm an approval of the eligibleyoung Englishman. Mrs. Groome, Mrs. Abbott, Aunt Clara, reënforced even bythe more worldly Mrs. Hunter, who, however, had no children of her own, treated him throughout the luncheon with an almost intimate cordiality anda lively personal interest; whereas, if Mrs. Abbott had been driven to keepher word and invite Mortimer Dwight to her historic board she would havedepressed him with the cool pleasant detachment she reserved for those whomshe knew slightly and cared for not at all; Mrs. Groome, automaticallygracious, would have retired within the formidable fortress of an exteriorbuilt in the still more exclusive eighties; Aunt Clara would have satpetrified with horror at the desecration; and Mrs. Hunter, free from theobligations of hospitality, would have been brusque, frankly supercilious, made him as uncomfortable as possible. 

All this Alexina angrily resented, not knowing that their amiability wasin part inspired by sympathy, Gwynne having told them the story of hiscousin's tragic experience; although they did in truth regard him as apossibly heaven-sent solution of a problem that was causing them all, evenMrs. Hunter, acute anxiety. 

Young Gathbroke was handsomer than Dwight. He was younger, and hiscircumstances were far more romantic, if romance Alexina must have. It wasplain that he was fascinated by the dear silly child, who, in her turn, would no doubt promptly forget the ineligible Dwight if the Englishmanproved to be serious and paid her persistent court. 

Nevertheless Gathbroke, before the luncheon was half over, felt that he wasmaking no progress with Alexina. Subtly it was conveyed to him on one ofthose unseen currents that travel directly to the sensitive mind, thatthese amiable people knew his story; and, no doubt, in all its harrowingdetails. Simultaneously those details flashed into his own consciousnesswith a horrible distinctness, depressing his spirits and extinguishing anatural gayety and light chaff that had come back for a moment. 

Moreover, to use his own expression, he was besottedly in love, and knewthat he betrayed himself every time his eyes met those of the girl, who, he felt with bitterness and alarm, long before the salad, was making adesperate attempt to entertain a very dull young man. 

Once or twice a mocking glance flashed through those starry ingenuousorbs, but was banished by the simple art of elevating the wicked iris andrevealing a line of saintly white. Alexina was quite determined to add aBritish scalp to her small collection, and for the young man's possibletorment she cared not at all. With young arrogance she rather despised himfor his surrender before battle, or at all events for hauling down his flagpublicly; and her mind traveled with feminine satisfaction to the calmsmiling dominance, combined with utter devotion, of the man who had wonher as easily as she had conquered Richard Gathbroke. That the youngEnglishman's nature was hot and tempestuous, with depths that even he hadnot sounded, and her ideal knight's more effective mien but the expressionof a possibly meager and somewhat puritanical nature; that Dwight's heartwas a well-trained organ which would never commit an indiscretion, and thatyoung Gathbroke would have sold the world for her if she had been a flowergirl, or the downfall of her fortunes had sent her clerking, she was fartoo inexperienced to guess; and it is doubtful if the knowledge would haveaffected her had she possessed it. She was in the obstinate phase offirst youth, common enough in girls of her sheltered class, where theopportunities to study men and their behavior are few. Having persuadedherself that she was far more romantic than she really was, and that therewould be no possible happiness or indeed interest in life after youth, shehad conceived as her ideal mate the dominant male, the complete master, andeasily persuaded herself that she had found him in Mortimer Dwight. .. . Ifshe married Gathbroke he would be her slave (so little did she know him. ). Dwight would be her master. (So little did she know him, or herself. )

CHAPTER XIV

I

After luncheon, grinning amiably when Mrs. Abbott hinted that Englishmenliked to be out of doors, she led Gathbroke to the confines of the park, where they sat down under one of the oaks that reminded him of England; forwhich he was in truth desperately homesick, and never more so than at thismoment. 

Everything combined to make him realize uneasily his youth. In Englanda man of twenty-three was a man-of-the-world if he had had the properopportunities; but this girl who had infatuated him, and even the far moresympathetic Miss Dwight, made him feel that he was a mere boy; and so hadthis entire family, however unwittingly. 

II

He spoke of Miss Dwight suddenly, for Alexina, who had been dulyenlightened while the men were smoking with Tom, had tactfully conveyed hersympathy, her eyes almost round with fascinated horror and curiosity. 

He set his teeth and gave a rapid but graphic account of the whole dreadfulepisode, willing to interest her at any price; and Alexina, sittingopposite on the ground, her long spine curved, her long arms embracing herknees, listened with a breathless interest, spurring him to potent words, even to stressing of detail. 

"My goodness gracious me!" she ejaculated when he paused. "I should havegone raving mad. You are a perfect wonder. I never heard of anything sogor--perfectly thrilling. And that girl, what did you say her name was?"

Gathbroke, who had purposely withheld it, said explosively:

"Dwight. "

"Dwight?"

"I think she is a sister of a friend of yours. " And he was made asmiserable as he could wish by a crimson tide that swept straight from herheart pump up to her widow's peak. 

"Dwight? Sister? I didn't know he had one. I saw him several times duringthe fire and he didn't mention her. "

"I suspect he was too absorbed. " Gathbroke muttered the words, but man'sinstinct of loyalty to his own sex is strong. "A city doesn't burn everyday, you know. "

"Still. .. What is she like? Like him?"

"I do not remember him at all. .. She? Oh, she has a tremendous amount ofdark hair that looks as if falling off the top of her head and down herface. Uncommonly heavy eyebrows, and very light gray--Ah, I have it! I havebeen groping for the word ever since--sinister eyes. .. . That is the effectin that dark face. She has a curious character, I should think. Not veryfrank. She--well, she rather struck me as having been born for drama;tragic drama, I am afraid. "

"Not a bit like her brother. How old is she?"

"Twenty-two, she told me. "

"What--what does she do? They are not a bit well off. "

He hesitated a moment. "Well--as I recall it, she is studying something orother at the University of California. "

"And of course she boards down there with her brother, who takes care ofher while she is studying to be a teacher or something. " Alexina havingarranged it to her satisfaction dismissed the subject. She had no mind tobetray herself to this good-looking young Englishman who had been sentto her providentially on a very dull day. He would, no doubt, have beenfrantically interesting if he had not been so idiotic as to fall head overears the first shot. 

Still. .. Alexina examined him covertly as he transferred his gaze for amoment to the mountains across the distant bay, swimming now in a paleblue mist with a wide banner of pale pink above them. .. . If she had met himfirst, or had never met the other at all. .. Who knew?

III

Alexina, for all her passion for romance, had a remarkably level head. Shewas quite aware that there had been a certain amount of deliberation in herown headlong plunge, convinced as she was that high romance belonged toyouth alone, and fearful lest it pass her by; aware also that a part ofDwight's halo, aside from his looks and manners and chivalrous charm, consisted in his being a martyr to an unjust fate, and, as such, under theban of her august family. It was all quite too perfect. .. . But if Gathbrokehad come first his qualifications might have proved quite as puissant, andno doubt Tom Abbott, who retained his school-history hatred of the entireEnglish race, would have provided the opposition and perhaps influenced thefamily. 

She swept her intoxicating lashes along the faint bloom high on her olivecheeks and then raised her eyes suddenly to the tormented ones opposite. She also smiled softly, alluringly, as little fascinating wretches will whoknow nothing of the passions of men. 

"I think you should follow Mr. Gwynne's example and stay here with us. " Hethought of silver chimes and contrasted her voice with Gora Dwight's angrycontralto: he always thought of Gora in phrases. "So many Englishmen liveout here and adore it. "

"I'm perfectly satisfied with my own country, thank you. "

Alexina, who was feeling intensely American at the moment, curled her lip. "Oh, of course. We have had plenty of those, too. Scarcely any of thembecomes naturalized. Just use and enjoy the country and give as little inreturn as possible. "

"Really? I fancy they must give rather a lot in return or they would hardlybe tolerated. No native has worked harder than Elton these last days. I understand most of them are in business or ranching and have marriedCalifornia girls. "

"Oh, they have redeeming points. " And then having satisfied her curiosityas to how hazel eyes looked when angry she gave him a dazzling smile. "Welove them like brothers, and that is a proof that we are not snobbish, for most of them are not of your or Mr. Gwynne's class--just middle-classbusiness people at home. "

"Well, you are a business nation, so why not? I have met hardly any butbusiness men out here and I feel quite at home with them. My mother'sfamily are in trade and I enjoy myself immensely when I visit them. "

"Oh!" His halo slipped. .. . Still, what did it matter? "I suppose you toldme that to let me know you didn't need to come out here in search of anheiress. But many of our most charming girls are not. Just now it seems tome that more young men in California have money than girls. .. But they areso uninteresting. "

She looked pathetic, her mouth drooped; then she smiled at him confidingly. 

He knew quite as well as if he had not been hard hit that she was flirtingwith him, but as long as she gave him his chance to win her she might doher transparent little best to make a fool of him. 

"Have you ever been in love?" asked Alexina softly. 

"Oh, about half-way several times, but always drew back in time. .. Knew itwasn't the real thing. .. Youth fools itself, you know, for the sake of thesensation--or the race. Have you?"

"Oh--" Alexina lifted her thin flexible shoulders airily and this time hercolor did not flow. "How is one to tell. .. A girl in her first season. .. Whenall men look so much alike? It is fun to flirt with them, when you havebeen shut up in boarding-school and hardly had a glimpse of life even invacation. My New York relatives are terribly old-fashioned. It's greatfun to give one man all the dances and watch the dado of dowagers lookdisapproving. " And once more she gave him the quick smile of understandingthat springs so spontaneously between youth and youth. 

"Well. .. You might have given all those dances to me the other night, instead of to that fellow Dwight. "

"Oh, but you see, I had already promised them to him. Lady Victoria alwayscomes so late. "

"That's true enough. " His spirits rose a trifle. 

"When do you go--back to England, I mean? Not for a good long time, I hope. We have awfully good times down here. Janet Maynard and Olive Bascom liveat San Mateo in the summer, and Aileen Lawton at Burlingame. They are mychums and we'd give you a ripping time. We'd like to have you take away thepleasantest possible memory of California instead of such a terrible one. Idon't mean anything very gay of course. You mustn't think I'm heartless. "And she showed the lower pearl of her eyes and looked like a madonna. 

"I'm afraid I must go soon. I've had an extension of leave already, andHofer told me just before we left to-day that he thought he could let mehave his private car inside of a week. They've been using it. "

IV

There was not a dwelling in sight. The quiet of that old park with itsbrooding oaks was primeval. Behind her was the pink and blue glory of skyand mountain. Her eyes were like stars. 

He burst out boyishly: "If I only had more time! If only I could have metyou even when I first came to San Francisco. .. Before. .. Before. .. I'd--I'dlike to marry you. It's fearfully soon to say such a thing. I feel like afool. But I'm not the first man to fall madly in love at first sight. .. Andyou. .. You. .. If I tell you now instead of waiting it's because there's solittle time. Would you. .. Do you think you could marry me?"

"Oh! Ah!" (She almost said Ow. ) After all it was her first proposal. Shewas thrilled in spite of the fact that she was in love with another man, for she felt close to something elemental, hazily understood. .. Somethingin her own unsounded depths rushed to meet it. 

But he was too young, and too "easy, " and she didn't like his gray flannelshirt; which, laundry being out of the question, he had bought in FillmoreStreet almost opposite the undertaker's. 

"Suppose we correspond for a year? That is, if you must really go so soon. "

"I must. I want you to go with me. "

His eyes had turned almost black and he had set his jaw in a way she didn'tlike at all. In nerving himself to go through the ordeal he had worked uphis fermenting mind into a positively brutal mood. 

"Oh--mercy! I couldn't do that. My people are the most conventional in theworld. "

The situation was getting beyond her. She had not intended to make himpropose for at least a week and then he would have been abject and shemajestic. She sprang to her feet with a swift sidewise movement that madeher limp young body melt into a series of curves; and, standing at bay asit were, looked at him with a little frown. 

He rose as quickly and she liked the set of his jaw bones less and less. 

"Are you refusing me outright?" he demanded. "That would be only fair, youknow, if I have no chance. "

"Well. .. . I think so. That is--"

"Do you love another man?"

Coquetry flashed back. Nevertheless, she told the exact truth little as shesuspected it. 

"I love myself, and youth, and life, and liberty. What is a man incomparison with all that?"

"This. " And before she could make another leap he had her in his arms; andunder the fire of his lips and eyes she lay inert, intoxicated, her firstflash of young passion completely responsive to his. 

But only for a moment. 

She wrenched herself away, her face livid, her eyes black with fury. Shebeat his chest with her fists. 

"You! You! How I hate you! To think I should have given that to you. .. Tothink that another man should have been the first to kiss me. .. I'm in lovewith another man, I tell you. Why don't you go? I hate myself and I neverwant to lay eyes on you again. Go! Go! Go!"

CHAPTER XV

I

During the retreat from Mons and again in those black days of March, nineteen-eighteen, Gathbroke's tormented mind snapped from the present andflashed on its screen so startling a resurrection of himself during thoselast dreadful days in San Francisco that for the moment he was unconsciousof the world crashing about him. 

He saw himself in long days and nights of anguish and despair, ofembittered love and baffled passion: youth enjoying one of its divineprerogatives and the fullness thereof!

Pacing the floor of his room on Russian Hill, tramping over the mountainsacross the Bay, doggedly awaiting that sole alleviation of mental sufferingin its early stages, a change of scene. 

Finally the Hofer car was placed at his disposal and he started on his fourdays' journey to New York; and this brief chapter, that his friendsthought so gruesome, was the least of his afflictions. The memory of histwenty-four hours or more of close physical association with his sister'scorpse made any subsequent adventure with the dead seem tame. And at leasthe was leaving behind him a State which seemed to have magnetized himacross six thousand miles to experience the horror and misery she hadin pickle for him. He reveled in the audible rush of the train that wascarrying him farther every moment from the girl who had cut down into thecore of his heart and left her indelible image on a remarkably good memory. 

II

He had asked himself one day--it was his last in California and he hadtaken his courage in his teeth and was on his way to call on Gora Dwight atlast, picking his steps through, the still smoking ruins down to Van NessAvenue--whether it would be possible for any man to suffer twice in alifetime as he had suffered since that hideous moment at Rincona, coming asit did on top of an uncommon and terrible experience that had racked hisnerves and soul as it might not have done had he been seasoned by war oreven a few years older. At all events it had left him with no reserves evenin his pride to fight his failure and his loss. 

In that shrieking hell of August twenty-sixth, or again when lyingabandoned and gassed in a way-side hut during that ominous retreat of theFifth Army, when he had a sudden close vision of himself, trousers tuckedinto a pair of Gwynne's hunting boots, swearing now and again as he steppedon a hot brick; and heard his groping ego whisper the question through hisprostrate mind, he was tempted to answer aloud, to shout "No" above theshrieking of shells and the groans of men fallen about him. 

He might no longer love Alexina Groome after twelve or even eight years ofcomplete severance; and, indeed, save in flashing moments like these he hadseldom thought of her after the first two or three years; but at least shehad taken the edge from his power to suffer. 

He had lost his mother soon after his return with the body of her youngestchild, his father had died three years later, and he had accepted thesegriefs with the composure of maturity. Although he had had some agreeableadventures (not that he had had much time for either women or society)he had taken devilish good care not to get in too deep--even if he stillpossessed the power to love at all, which he doubted. 

He remembered also, what he had almost forgotten, that during that walk ithad come to him with the sharpness of surprise that the image of the girlwho clung to his mind with the tentacles of a devil-fish, was as he hadseen her standing under the oak tree while unaware of his presence: older, a more dignified and thoughtful figure, a woman old enough to be his matein something more than youthful passion, the ideal woman of vague sweetdreams; not as the thoughtless little coquette who had tempted him to ruinhis chances by acting like a cave brute. 

Given a fortnight longer, during which he remained master of himselfinstead of a young fool with a smashed temperament, and the unfledged womanin her, whose subtle projection he had witnessed during that moment of hiscapitulation, would have recognized him as her mate; as for the moment shehad in his arms. 

Not the least of his ordeals during those last days was the inevitable callon Gora Dwight. He felt like a cad, after what she had been to him at theend of an appalling experience, to have let, nearly three weeks go by withno apparent recognition of her existence. But he had been unable to finda messenger, there was no post; and then, after his ill-starred visit toRincona, he had forgotten her until his final visit to the undertaker; whenshe had seemed to stand, an indignant and reproachful figure, at the headof the casket. 

III

He had a note in his pocket and hoped she would be out. But she opened thedoor herself, and her dark face, thinner than he recalled it, flushed andthen turned pale. But she said calmly as she extended her hand: "Come in. I wondered what had become of you. " "I'm sorry. But--perhaps--you canunderstand--it was not easy for me to come here!"

"Of course. Come up to my diggings. "

He followed her up to the attic studio, where as before he took the easychair and accepted one of her cigarettes; which he professed to be gratefulfor as his were exhausted and every decent brand in town had gone up insmoke. 

Gora was deeply disappointed that she had received no warning of his call, for she possessed an extremely becoming and richly embroidered silk Chinesecostume, as red as the flames that had devoured Chinatown a few days aftershe had bought it at a bankrupt sale. She had put it on every afternoon fora week, hoping and expecting that he would call; and now that she had onher second-best tailored suit, and a darned if immaculate shirtwaist, he had chosen to turn, up!. .. But at least the lapels of the jacket hadrecently been faced with red, and it curved closely over her beautifulbust. Moreover, she had just finished rearranging the masses of her richbrown hair when the bell rang. 

And she had him for a time, perhaps for an hour! She set out the tea thingsas an intimation of the refreshment he would get at the proper time. .. . 

She too had suffered during this past interminable fortnight, but Gora wasfar more mature than the young Englishman, upon whom life until the lastfew weeks had smiled so persistently. She was too complex, she had sufferedin too many ways, from too many causes, not all of them elevating, to becapable upon so short a notice, even after a night of unique companionship, of such whole-souled agony and despair. In her imagination, her sense ofdrama, her vanity, in the fading of vague dazzling hopes of a future towhich he held the key, and perhaps a little in her stormy heart, she hadfelt a degree of harsh disappointment, but she had already half-recovered;and as she sat looking at his ravaged face she wondered that the death of asister, no matter how harrowing the conditions, could make such a wreck ofany man. 

He told her of his difficulties in finding some one to remove the body fromthe vault to the undertaker's, of the delay in obtaining a private car, gave her some idea of his disorganized life since they had parted, but madeno mention of Alexina Groome or Rincona. Then he politely asked her if shehad any new plans for the future. Nobody seemed to look forward to the sameold life. 

Gora shrugged her shoulders with a movement expressive of irritation. "Mybrother, who is engaged to Alexina Groome, insists that I give up thislodging house. "

"Oh, so they are engaged?" Gathbroke lit another cigarette, and his handdid not tremble; he felt as if his nerves had been immersed in ice waterand frozen. 

"Yes--marvelously. The family, as might be expected, is furious. But thegirl is mad about him and of age. She is just a foolish child and should belocked up. My brother is not in the least what she imagines him. She wroteme a letter. Good heaven! One would think she had captured the prince ofa fairy tale, or the hero of an old romantic novel. There should be alaw prohibiting girls from marrying before they are twenty-two atleast. .. . However, the thing is done. And my brother is terribly afraidthey'll find out that I keep a lodging house. He's given them to understandwe both board here. They are prime snobs and so is he. I never dreamed itwas in him until he began to go about in society, but then you neverknow what is in anybody. Otherwise, he is harmless enough, and a goodindustrious boy, but he'll never make the money to keep up with that set, and she won't have much. It's a stupid affair all round. .. . "

"I've refused to budge until he finds me a job. He certainly cannot supportme, even if I were willing to be supported by any one. As far as I amconcerned they could know I kept a lodging house and welcome. It is honestand it gives me a good living; and, what I value more, many hours offreedom. But Mortimer is not only positively terrified they'll find it out, but he is as obstinate over it as--well, as that kind of man always is. He's looking about, and I fancy my fate is stenography or bookkeeping: Itook a course at a business college shortly before my mother died. I don'tknow that he'd like that much better; he hinted that I might be a librarianin a small town. But I'll be hanged if I fall for that. "

Gathbroke smiled. "Not that. You don't belong to the country town. But Ifancy you'll have to give up the lodging house. Elton Gwynne took me downthe Peninsula one day, and--well--I don't fancy they would stand for it. Aristocracies are aristocracies the world over. They may talk democracy, and really modify themselves a bit, but there are certain things they'dchoke on if they tried to swallow them, and they won't even try. Bettergive it up before they find it out and tackle you. I don't fancy you'dstand for that. It would be devilish disagreeable. You've got to know andbe more or less intimate with them all--"

"I'll not be patronized by them. I don't know that I'll go near them. Foryears I've resented that I was not one of them, but I don't fancy taggingin after my brother, treated with pleasant courteous resignation, invitedonce a year to a family dinner, and quite forgotten on smart occasions. "

"Quite so. I like your spunk. Have you thought of being a nurse? All workis hard and I should think that would be interesting. Must meet a jolly lotof people. You should see the becoming uniforms the London nurses wear. Prettiest women on the street, by Jove. "

Her heart sank but she replied evenly: "Not a bad idea. I've quite enoughsaved to take the course comfortably--"

He had a flash of memory. "And that would give you time to win yourreputation as a writer. Then the nursing would be merely one moreresource. "

"It was nice of you to remember that. I'll consider the nursingproposition, and when you have your next war I'll go over and nurse you. That part of it--a war nurse--would be mighty interesting. "

The words were spoken idly, merely to avert a pause, and forgotten as soonas uttered. But as a matter of fact the next time they met was when helooked up from his cot in the hospital after he had been retrieved from thehut by two of his devoted Tommies, and saw the odd pale eyes of Gora Dwightclose above his own. 

BOOK II

CHAPTER I

I

Gora closed the door of Mrs. Groome's room as the clock struck two, the oldBallinger clock that had seemed to toll the hours on a deep note of solemnacquiescence for the past six weeks. 

She crossed the hall and entered Alexina's room without knocking. Mortimer, during the past fortnight, had moved from the room adjoining his wife's toone at the back of the house, lest it should be necessary to call Alexinain the night. He worked very hard. 

Alexina still occupied her old room in the front of the house where thecreaking eucalyptus trees sometimes brushed the window pane. It had beenrefurnished and fitted in various elusive shades of pink by Mrs. Abbott asher wedding present. There was a dim point of light above a gas jet andGora saw that Alexina was asleep. The pillows were on the floor. She waslying flat, her arms thrown out, the dusky fine mass of her hair spreadover the low head board. Her clear olive cheeks were pale with sleep andher eyelashes looked like two little black clouds. 

Gora watched her for a moment. Why awaken the poor child? She was sleepingas peacefully as if that tall old clock of her forefathers had not tolledout the last of another generation of Ballingers. Her soft red lips werehalf parted. 

It was now three years since her marriage but she still looked like a veryyoung girl. Gora always felt vaguely sorry for her although she seemedhappy enough. At all events it was quite obvious that she did littlethinking except when she remembered to wish for a baby. 

Gora wore the white uniform of a nurse, and a little cap with wings on thecoronet of her heavy hair. It was a becoming costume and made her eyes intheir dark setting look less pale and cold. 

She had a secret contempt for most of the old conventions but she hadgiven her word to awaken Alexina the moment any change occurred, and shereluctantly shook her sister-in-law's shoulder. 

II

Alexina sprang out of bed on the instant. 

"Mother?" she cried. "Is she worse?"

Gora nodded. 

Alexina made a dart for the door, but Gora threw a strong arm about her. Those arms had held more than one violent man in his bed. "Better wait, "she said softly. 

Alexina's body grew rigid as she slowly drew back on Gora's arm and staredup at her. In a moment she asked in a hard steady voice: "Is my motherdead?"

"Yes. It was very sudden. I had no time to telephone for the doctor; tocall you. She was sleeping. I was sitting beside her. Suddenly I knew thatshe had stopped breathing--"

"Would you mind telephoning to Maria and Sally? Maria will never forgiveherself--but mother seemed so much better--"

"I will telephone at once. Shall I call Mortimer?"

"No. Why disturb him?"

Gora, watching Alexina, saw a curious remoteness enter the depths of hereyes, and her own narrowed with something of her old angry resentment. In this hour of profound sorrow, when the human heart is quite honest, Alexina, however her conscious mind might be averted from the fact, regarded Mortimer Dwight as an outsider, an agreeable alien who had nopermanent place in the immense permanency of the Ballinger-Groomes. Shewanted only her own family, her own inherent sort. Sally had hastened toCalifornia as soon as her mother's illness had been pronounced dangerous, and had stayed in the house until a week ago when she had been ordered bythe doctor to Santa Barbara to get rid of a heavy cold on her chest. Shehad telegraphed the day before that she was threatened with pneumonia, andMaria, assured that her mother was in no immediate danger, had gone down tospend two days with her. 

Possibly Alexina caught a flash from the mind of this strange andinteresting sister-in-law, for she added hastily:

"You know how hard Mortimer works, poor dear. And I do not feel in theleast like crying. I shall write telegrams to Ballinger and Geary: mybrothers, you know. " (Gora ground her teeth. ) "It was too sad they couldnot get here, but Ballinger is in South America and Geary on a diet. Imust also write a cablegram to an old friend of mine who has married aFrenchman, Olive de Morsigny. She was always so fond of mother. Would youalso mind telephoning to Rincona about seven?"

"I'll do all the telephoning. Go back to bed as soon as possible. It isonly a little after two. " As Gora turned to leave the room Alexina put herhand on her arm and summoned a faint sweet smile. 

"I cannot tell you how grateful I am, Gora dear, how grateful we all are. You have been simply wonderful--"

"I am a good nurse if I do say it myself, " said Gora lightly. "But you mustremember there are others quite as good; and that I--". 

"I know you would do your duty as devotedly by any stranger. " Alexinainterrupted her with sweet insistence. "But it has been wonderful to beable to have you, all the same. It has also given me the chance to know youat last, and I shall never quite let you go again. "

Gora, to her secret anger, had never accustomed herself to the unswervinggraciousness of these people, and all that it implied, but her sharp mindhad long since warned her that as she had neither the position nor thetraining to emulate it, at least she must not betray a sense of socialinferiority by open resentment. 

Her voice was deep and naturally abrupt but she achieved a fair imitationof Alexina's sweet cordiality. "It has meant quite as much to me, Alexina, I can assure you. And now that I am on my own and shall have a day or twobetween cases I know where I shall spend them. I am only too thankful thatI graduated in time to take care of dear Mrs. Groome. Write your telegramsand I will give them to the doctor when he comes. I must telephone to himat once. "

III

After she had gone Alexina wrote not only her telegrams and cablegrams, butthe "letters to follow. " It was nearly four o'clock when she finished. OldDr. Maitland had not yet come and she put her bulletins on the table in thehall. 

She heard Gora moving about her mother's room and retreated into her own. She did not want to go to her mother yet nor did she care particularlyto see Gora again, although she had certainly been very nice and a greatcomfort to them all. 

Alexina was quite unaware that her attitude to her sister-in-law was one ofunconsicous condescension, of a well-bred determination never to wound thepride of a social inferior. She found Gora an "interesting personality" andquite extraordinarily efficient. 

It had been the greatest relief to all the family when that very capableMiss Dwight--Gora, that is; one must remember--had been brought by Dr. Maitland to take charge of the case after Mrs. Groome's cardiac troublebecame acute and she demanded constant attention. 

Gora had slept in Mrs. Groome's bedroom for six weeks, relieved for severalhours of the afternoon by a member of the family or one of Mrs. Groome'smany anxious friends. It was her first case and it interested herprofoundly. Moreover, her personal devotion placed her for the moment on acertain basis of equality with a family whose mental processes were quitetransparent to her contemptuous mind. She was excessively annoyed withherself for still caring, but the roots were too deep, and there had beennothing in her life during the past three years to diminish her fiercesense of democracy as she interpreted it. 

Alexina had never given a thought to her sister-in-law's psychology, although the sensitive plates of her brain received an impression now andagain of a violent inner life behind that business-like exterior. But shehad seen little of her until lately, and during the past six weeks her mindhad been too concentrated upon her mother's sufferings and possible dangerto have any disposition for analysis. 

She certainly did not feel the least need of her now. She wished, indeed, that she had asked Aileen to remain in the house last night. Aileen washer own age, they had been intimate since childhood, often without theslightest regard for each other's feelings, and was more like a sister thaneven dear Sally and Maria. 

Suddenly she determined to go to her. She had her own latch key and woulddisturb no one but Aileen. She dressed herself warmly and slipped downstairs and out of the house. 

CHAPTER II

I

The city below--the new solid city--was obliterated under a heavy fog, pierced here and there by steeples and towers that looked like jagged darkrocks in that white and tranquil sea. 

On Angel Island and on the north shore of the bay the deep sad bells weretolling their warning to moving craft; and from out at sea, beyond theGolden Gate, the fog horn sent forth its long lugubrious groans. The bellssounded muffled, so dense was the fog, and there was no other sound in thesleeping city. 

Alexina wrapped her long cloak more closely about her and pulled the hoodover her head. 

As she walked slowly down the steep avenue it came to her with something ofa shock that she had not thought of her husband since she had expressed toGora her reluctance to disturb him. 

She was doing the least conventional thing possible in leaving the house atfour o'clock in the morning to seek the sympathy of a girl friend when anyother young wife she knew (unless getting a divorce) would have flown toher husband and wept out her sorrow in his arms. 

And she had been married only three years, and found Mortimer quite asirreproachable as ever, always kind, thoughtful, and considerate. Heassuredly would have said just the right things to her and not haveresented in the least being deprived of a few hours of rest. 

On the contrary, he would no doubt resent being ignored, for not only washe devoted to his lovely young wife but such behavior was unorthodox, andhe disliked the unorthodox exceedingly. 

Well, she didn't want him and that was the end of it. He didn't fill thepresent bill. She had never regretted her marriage, for he had quitemeasured up to the best feats of her maiden imagination. He made lovecharmingly, he was manly chivalrous and honorable, and his eagerspontaneity of manner when he arrived home at six o'clock every eveningnever varied; to whatever level of flatness he might drop immediatelyafterward. When they entered a ballroom or a restaurant she knew that theymade a "stunning couple" and that people commented upon their good looks, their harmonious slenderness and inches, and contrasts in nature'scoloring. 

II

Alexina, almost unconsciously, sat down on a bench under the trees. Hermind sought the pleasant past as a brief respite from the present; she knewthat that part of her mind called heart was frozen by the suddenness of hermother's death, and that her emotions would be fluid a few hours hence. 

They had had a simply heavenly time together until her mother's illness. As a clerk in the family was unthinkable Mrs. Groome had lent him theinsurance on one of her burned buildings and he had started a modestexporting and importing house, that being the only business of which he hadany knowledge. Judge Lawton and Tom Abbott had suggested that he open aninsurance office, or start himself in any business where little capitalbesides office furniture was needed; as Mrs. Groome's advisors they wereaverse to launching any of her moderate fortune on a doubtful venture. ButDwight had insisted that he was more likely to succeed in a business heunderstood than in one of which he knew nothing, and Mrs. Groome had agreedwith him. Judge Lawton and Abbott paid over the insurance money with theworst grace possible. 

And then Mortimer had a piece of the most astounding good luck. His auntEliza Goring had left stock in a mine which had run out of pay ore soonafter her investment, and shut down. It had recently been recapitalizedand a new vein discovered. Mrs. Goring's executor had sold her stock forsomething under twenty thousand dollars, delivering the proceeds, asdirected in her will, to two of her amazed heirs, Mortimer and Gora Dwight. 

Gora had been opposed to her brother leaving the firm of Cheever Harrisonand Cheever, where, beyond question, he would be head of a department intime and safely anchored for life; but he had taken the step, and shereasoned that he must have a considerable knowledge of a business withwhich he had been associated for fourteen years, she knew his energy andpowers of application, and she resented the attitude of "the family. "Appreciating what his triumph would mean to him she had consented toinvest her inheritance in his business and enable him to make immediaterestitution to Mrs. Groome. As a matter of fact his "stock did go up"with the family, particularly as he seemed to be doing well and had thereputation of working harder than any young man on the street. As he hadanticipated, a good deal of business was thrown his way. 

He had accepted as a matter of course Mrs. Groome's invitation to live withher, paying, as he insisted upon it, a stipulated sum toward the currentexpenses. He thought her offer quite natural; not only would she be lonelywithout the child of her old age, but she must desire that Alexina continueto live in the conditions to which she was accustomed; the sum Mrs. Groomeconsented to accept would not have kept them in a fashionable family hotel, much less an apartment with several servants. 

Moreover, housing room was scarce; they might have been obliged to liveacross the Bay; and, in his opinion, the duty of parents to their offspringnever ceased. 

Alexina at that time thought every sentiment he expressed "simply great, "and had continued to feed from her mother's hand even in the matter of pinmoney. Mortimer felt it to be right, so he told her, to put his surplusprofits back in his business; all he could spare he needed for "front, " tosay nothing of pleasant little dinners at restaurants to their hospitableyoung friends; who thought it no adequate return to be asked to dine onBallinger Hill. 

Moreover, he often gave her a far handsomer present than he should havedone, considering the "hard times;" or at least she would have preferredthat he give her the combined values in the form of a monthly allowance;she would have enjoyed the sensation of being in a measure supported by herhusband. 

However, she and her mother assured each other that he was bound to make afortune in time, and then she would have an allowance as large as that ofSibyl Thorndyke, who had married Frank Bascom. 

It had been like playing at marriage. Alexina put it into concretewords. Subconsciously she had always known it. She had had no cares, noresponsibilities. She had merely continued to play, to keep her imaginationon that plane sometimes called the fool's paradise. 

III

She realized abruptly that here was the secret of her longing for children. They would have been the real thing, given a serious translation to life. 

But she had enjoyed the gay life of her little world, nevertheless, andwith all the abandon of a youth which had just closed its first longchapter in that silent room on top of the hill. And no one could have askedfor a more delightful companion to play with than Morty, when his workinghours were over. 

Mortimer loved society. It had been simply delicious, poor darling, towatch his secret delight, under his perfect repose, the first time theyspent a week-end in Mrs. Hunter's magnificent "villa" at Burlingame. EvenAileen had treated his initiation as a matter of course; and they had spentthe afternoon at the club, where he drank whiskey and soda on equal termswith many millionaires. 

IV

It was doubtful if he enjoyed similarly his first visit to Rincona duringtheir engagement: after all the powwow was over and the family had grimlysurrendered to avoid the scandal of an elopement. 

Alexina recalled that dreadful day. They had all sat on the verandah onthe shady side of the house: her mother, Aunt Clara Groome, Maria, SusanBelling and Grace Montgomery, Tom Abbott's sisters, whose homes were inAlta, and Coralie Geary, born Brannan, of Fair Oaks (now Atherton) who hadmarried a nephew of Mrs. Groome. All these were as one united family. Theymet every day, wandering in and out at all hours, and although they hadmany healthy disagreements they agreed on all the fine old fundamentals, and they stood by one another through thick and thin. 

The hair of all looked freshly washed. Their complexions had perishedasking no quarter. Mrs. Montgomery and Mrs. Geary were as slim and smart asMrs. Abbott, but the others were expanding rapidly, and Aunt Clara, who wasonly a year older than Mrs. Groome, was shamelessly fat, and her facewas so weather-beaten that the freckled skin hung as loosely as her oldwrapper. 

All wore white, the simplest white, and all sewed quietly for the newrefugee babies; all except Alexina who talked feverishly to cover the awfulpauses, and young Joan, who had crawled under the table and stuffed aninfant's flannel petticoat into her mouth to muffle her giggles. 

Tom had escaped to the golf links. Mortimer sat in the midst of theIrregular circle and smoked three cigars. He smiled when he spoke, whichwas seldom, and appeared appreciative of the determined efforts to be"nice" of these ladies who had called him Mortimer as soon as he arrived, and who made him fed more like a poor relation whose feelings must bespared, every moment. 

Finally Alexina, who was on the verge of hysteria, dragged Joan from underthe table, and the two carried him off to the tennis court. 

In subsequent visits, now covering a period of three years, their graciouscivil "kind" attitude had never varied, save only when their conscienceshurt them for disliking him more than usual, and then they were not onlyheroic but fairly effusive in their efforts to be nice. 

Nevertheless, it was quite patent to Alexina that he enjoyed smoking hisafter-dinner cigar on that old verandah whose sweet-scented vines had beenplanted in the historic sixties; or under the ancient oaks of the parkwhere he dreamed aloud to her of sitting under similar oaks of England, theguest of Lady Barnstable or Lady Arrowmount, belles of the eighties whofaithfully exchanged letters once a year with Maria Abbott and CoralieGeary. 

From the family there was always the refuge of the tennis court and heplayed an excellent game. He also seemed to enjoy those dinners given themin certain other old Peninsula mansions, and if they were dull he wasduller. 

V

Alexina had admitted to herself some time since (never to that wretch, Aileen Lawton) that he _was_ rather dull, poor darling. 

For a long time the aftermath of the earthquake and fire had suppliedtopics for conversation. For quite two years there had been an acutelypainful interest in the Graft Prosecution, which, beginning with an attemptmerely to bring to justice the political boss, his henchman the mayor, andhis ignorant obedient board of supervisors, had unthinkably resolved itselfinto a declaration of war, with State's Prison as its goal, upon some ofthe most prominent capitalists in San Francisco. 

The prosecution had been started by a small group of eminent citizens, bentupon cleaning up their city, notorious for graft, misgovernment, and thebasest abuses of political power. They had assumed as a matter of coursethat those of their own class, who for years had expressed in privatetheir bitter resentment against paying out small fortunes to the board ofsupervisors every time they wanted a franchise, would be only too glad toexpose the malefactors. 

But it immediately transpired that they had no intention whatever ofadmitting to the world that they had been guilty of corruption and bribery. They might have been "held up, " forced to "come through, " or renounce theirgreat enterprises; helpless, in other words; but the law had technicalterms for their part in the shameful transactions, and so had the public. 

All solemnly vowed that they had neither been approached by the cityadministration for bribe money, nor paid a cent for franchises, some ofwhich the prosecution knew had cost them no less than two hundred thousanddollars. Therefore did the prosecutors change their tactics. Supervisors, by various means, were induced to confess, and the Grand Jury indicted notonly the boss and the mayor, but a large number of eminent citizens. 

Society was riven in twain. Life-long friends cut one another, and now andagain they burst into hysteria as they did it. Mrs. Ferdinand Thornton, ata dinner party, left the room as Mrs. Hofer entered it, and Mrs. Hofer gavea magnificent exhibition of Celtic temperament. 

The editor who supported the prosecution with the full strength of hishistoric sheet was kidnapped. The prosecuting attorney was shot in thecourt room by a former convict who afterward was found dead in his cell. There were moments when it looked as if excited mobs would reinstitute thelynch law of the fifties. 

Nothing came of it all but such a prolonged exposure of general vilenessthat it was possible to effect a certain number of reforms later by popularvote. The system remained inviolate, even during the mayorship of a fineold citizen too estimable to build up a rival machine; and the men of theprosecution, after many bitter harassed months, when they walked and sleptwith their lives in their hands, resigned themselves to the fact that noSan Francisco jury would ever convict a man who had the money to bribe it. 

All this had given Mortimer abundant material for conversation and he hadentertained Mrs. Groome and Alexina night after night with a report of theday's events and the gossip of the street. Mrs. Groome had been intenselyinterested, for this upheaval reminded her of personal episodes in the lifeof her husband and father, the latter having been a member of the vigilancecommittees of the fifties. 

She had been so delighted with the efforts of the prosecuting group tobring the boss and the mayor to justice that she had permitted Alexina toinvite the Hofers to dinner; but when men of her own proud circle wereaccused of crimes against society and threatened with San Quentin, nothingcould convince her of their guilt; and she asked Alexina to follow theexample of Maria and cut that Mrs. Hofer. 

Alexina had never been interested in the details of the prosecution; thelarge moments of the drama and the social convulsions were enough for her. She refused to cut Mrs. Hofer, although she ceased to call on her, as hermother and her husband made such a point of it; but she gave little thoughtto the sorrows of that ambitious young matron. She had other fish to fry. 

Two great hotels whose interiors had been swept by the fire were renovatedand furnished and their restaurants and ballrooms eagerly patronized. TheAssembly balls were resumed. There were dinners and dances in the WesternAddition, where many of the finest homes in the city had been built duringthe past ten or twenty years; and entertaining Down the Peninsula had notpaused for more than two months after the disaster. 

Nevertheless, she had exulted in the fact that the husband of her choicewas able to please and entertain her mother-no easy feat. Moreover, as timewent on and interest in the Graft Prosecution wore thin, it was evidentthat Mortimer had established himself firmly in his mother-in-law's graces. He was not only the perfect husband but the son of her old age. 

She had lost Ballinger and Geary in her comparative youth, and Tom wasrarely in the house when she visited Rincona. But Mortimer was as devotedto her in the little ways so appreciated by women of any age as he was tohis wife, and he was noiseless in the house and as prompt as the clock. During her illness his devotion touched even Mrs. Abbott, although Mrs. Groome was the only member of the family he ever won over. 

VI

Poor Morty. In a way he was a failure, after all. The men of her set didnot seem to care any more for him than they did before her marriage, although they were always polite and amiable; and the promise of those oldfamily friends to throw business in his way seemed to be forgotten as timewent on. 

No doubt they had thought he was able to stand on his own feet after awhile, but he had often looked depressed during the panic of nineteen-sevenand the long period of business drought that had followed. Still, he hadmanaged to hold his own, and his constitutional optimism was unshaken. He_knew_ that when times changed he would soon be a rich man, and Alexinashared his faith. Not that she had ever cared particularly for greatwealth, but he talked so much about it that he had excited her imagination;after all money was the thing these days, no doubt of that, and she hadheard "poor talk" all her life and was tired of it. 

Moreover, nothing could be more positive than that if Morty's father hadmade a fortune in his own day, and the son inherited and administered itwith the canny vigilance which distinguished the sons of rich men to-dayfrom the mad spendthrifts of a former generation, he would be as logicallyintimate with those young capitalists who were the renewed pillars of SanFrancisco society, as she was with the most aloof and important of her ownsex. 

She had heard Judge Lawton and other men say that if a man were still aclerk at thirty he was hopeless. The ruts were packed with the mediocrewhose destiny was the routine work of the world, whatever might be theirsecret opinions of their unrecognized abilities and their resentmentagainst a system that anchored them. 

The young man of brains and initiative, of energy, ambition, visionand balance, provided he were honorable as well, and temperate in hispleasures, was the man the eager world was always waiting for. 

Alexina knew that the United States was almost as prolific in this finebreed of young men as she still was in opportunities for the exceptional ofevery class. 

And it was possible that Mortimer was not one of them. 

Once more she put a fact into bald words. She knew that her butterfly youthhad come to an end with her mother's death, and for a year she should bevery much alone, to say nothing of her new burden of responsibilities. Thinking during that period was inevitable. She might as well begin now. 

Mortimer had some of those gifts. He worked like a dog, he was ambitiousand temperate and he was the soul of honor. But although his brain wasclear enough, the blindest love would, perceive in time that it lackedoriginality. 

Did it also lack initiative, resource, that peculiar alertness and quickpouncing quality of which she had heard? She wished she knew, but she hadnever discussed her husband with any one. Certainly he had stood still. Or was that merely the fault of the hard times? She had heard other mencomplain as bitterly. 

"Fate handed you a lemon, old girl. "

Alexina could almost hear Aileen's mocking voice. She even gave a startledglance down the quiet avenue. Well, she would never discuss him with Aileenor any one else. 

Did she love him any longer? Had she ever loved him? What was love? She hadbeen quite happy with him in her own little way. What did girls of eighteenknow of love? Deliberately in her youthful arrogance and unlicensedimagination she had manufactured a fool's paradise; and, a hero beingindispensable, had dragged him in after her. 

Perhaps she still loved him. She had read and seen enough to know thatlove changed its character as the years went on. She respected his manyadmirable qualities and she would never forget his devotion to her mother. 

She certainly liked him. And the family attitude roused her obstinatechampionship as much as ever. At least she would always remain his goodfriend, helping him as far as lay in her power. She had deliberatelyselected her life partner and she would keep her part of the contract. He filled his to the letter, or as far as in him lay. If he were not themasterful superman of her dreams, at least he was quite obstinate enough tohave his own way in many things, in spite of his unswerving devotion toher charming self. He was whitely angry when she received Bob Cheever oneafternoon when she was alone, and had forbidden her ever to receive a manin the daytime again. If men wanted to call on a married woman they coulddo so in the evening. She no longer danced more than twice with any man ata party, and he refused to read her favorite books, new or old, and chilledany attempt to discuss them in his presence. 

VII

Well, after all, what did it matter? She had dreamed her dream and he wasbetter than most. She sprang to her feet and ran down the hill and acrossthe street to the house of Judge Lawton. 

CHAPTER III

I

Gora waited until her brother had finished his bath and returned to hisroom. When she was admitted he had a brush in either hand polishing hispale brown immaculately cut hair. He turned to her, startled, his goodAmerican gray eyes showing no trace of sleep. He always awoke with alertmind and refreshed body. 

"What is it? Not--"

Gora nodded. "At two this morning. Alexina wouldn't let me call you--"

His wide masculine eyebrows met. It was correct to be angry and he was. "Inever heard of such a thing--"

"She was not a bit overcome and wrote letters to her brothers and friendsfor at least two hours. It really wouldn't have been worth while to disturbyou--I must say I was astonished; thought she'd go to pieces--but you neverknow. "

"I'll go to her at once. "

"I'd dress first. Aileen Lawton is with her. "

Gora knew that Alexina had gone out at four in the morning and returnedhalf an hour since, but the cat in her was of the tiger variety and neverdescended to small game. 

"Oh, of course!" Mortimer gave a groan of resignation as he hunted out apair of black socks. "I like Aileen well enough, but she has altogether toomuch influence over Alexina. She'd have more than myself if I didn't keep aclose watch. "

"I have an idea that no one will have much influence over Alexina as timegoes on. She hasn't that jaw and chin for nothing. They mean things in somepeople. "

He gave her a quick suspicious glance, but her pale gray eyes were fixed onthe windmill beyond the window, that odd old landmark in a now fashionablequarter of San Francisco. 

"I shall always control her, " he said, setting his large finely cut lips. "I wish her to remain a child as long as possible, for she is quiteperfect as she is. She is bright and all that, but of course she has nointellect--"

Gora forgot her message of death and laughed outright. 

"Men--American men, anyhow--are really the funniest things in the world. Even intellectual men are absurd in their patronizing attitude toward thecleverest of women; but when it conies to mere masculine arrogance. .. Don'tyou really respect any woman's brains?"

"I never denied that some women were clever and all that, but the best ofthem cannot compare with men. You must admit that. "

"I admit nothing of the sort, but I know your type too well to waste anytime in argument--"

"My type?"

She longed to reply: "The smaller a man's brain the more enveloping hismere male arrogance. Instinct of self-defense like the turtle's shell orthe porcupine's quills or the mephitic weasel's extravasations. " But shenever quarreled with Morty, and to have shared with him her opinion of hisendowments would have been to deprive herself of a good deal of secretamusement. 

"Oh, you're all alike, " she said lightly, and added: "Don't be too surethat Alexina hasn't intellect-the real thing. When she emerges from thisbeatific dream of youth she has almost hugged to death for fear it mightescape her, and begins to think--"

"I'll do her thinking. "

"All right, dear. You have my best wishes. But keep on the job. .. . I'llclear out; you want to dress--"

"Wait a moment. " He sat down to draw on his socks. "I'm really cut up overMrs. Groome's death. She was my only friend in this damn family, and Icoveted her money so little that I wish she could have lived on for twentyyears. "

"I wondered how you liked them as time went on. "

He brought his teeth together and thrust out his jaw. "I hate the wholepack of superior patronizing condescending snobs, and it is all I can do tokeep it from Alexina, who thinks her tribe perfection. But, by God!"--hebrought down his fist on his knee--"I'll beat them at their own game yet. Isimply live to make a million and build a house at Burlingame. They reallyrespect money as much as they think they don't; I've got oil to that. WhenI'm a rich roan they'll think of me as their equal and forget I was everanything' else. "

"Well, don't speculate, " said Gora uneasily. "Remember that luck was leftout of our family. "

"My luck changed with that legacy. I am certain of it. I have only to waituntil this period of dry rot passes--"

"But you're not speculating?"

He looked at her with eyes as cold as her own. 

"I answer questions about my private affairs to no one. "

"They are my affairs to the extent of half your capital. "

"You have received your interest regularly, have you not?"

"Yes. "

"Then you have nothing to worry about. I understand business, as well asthe man's opportunities, and you do not. "

"I did not ask out of curiosity, but because I shall be glad when you aredoing well enough to let me have my eight thousand--"

"What do you want of it? Where could you get more interest?"

"Nowhere, possibly. But some day I shall want to take a vacation, a fling. I shall want to go to New York and Europe. "

"And you would throw away your capital!"

"Why not? I have other capital in my profession; and, although you willfind this difficult to grasp, in my head. I have practiced fiction writingfor years. It is just ten months since I tried to get anything published, and I have recently had three stories accepted by New York magazines: oneof the old group and two of the best of the popular magazines. "

He looked at her with cold distaste, which deepened in a moment to alarm. "I hope you will not use your own name. These people who think themselvesso much above us anyhow, look upon authors and artists and all that asabout on a level with the working class--"

"I shall use my own name and ram it down their throats. They worshipsuccess like all the rest of the world. Their fancied distaste for peopleengaged in any of the art careers--with whom they practically never comein contact, by the way--is partly an instinctive distrust of anything theycannot do themselves and partly because they have an Elizabethan idea thatall artists are common and have offensive manners. "

"I don't like the idea of your using your own name. Ladies mayunfortunately be obliged to earn their own living--and that you shall neverdo when I am rich--but they have no business putting their names up beforethe public like men. "

Gora looked at his rigid indomitable face; the face of the Pilgrim fathers, of the revolutionary statesmen, which he had inherited intact from old JohnDwight who had sat in the first congress; the American classic face that ispassing but still crops out as unexpectedly as the last drop from a longforgotten "tar brush, " or the sly recurrent Biblical profile. 

"We will make a bargain, " she said calmly. "I will ask you no morequestions about your business for a year--when, if convenient, I shouldlike my money--and you will kindly ignore the literary career I mean tohave. It won't do you the least good in the world to formulate opinionsabout anything I choose to do. Now, better concentrate on Alexina. You'vegot your hands full there. See you at breakfast. " And she shut the door onan indignant worried and disgusted brother. 

CHAPTER IV

I

When Mortimer, after tapping on his wife's door, was bidden to enter hefound her sitting with Aileen over a breakfast tray, the belated tearsrunning down into her coffee. Aileen, promising to return after she hadgiven her father his breakfast, made a hasty retreat; and Dwight took hiswife in his arms and soothed the grief which grew almost hysterical in itsreaction from the insensibility of the morning. 

"You won't leave me for a moment?" she sobbed, in this mood finding hissympathy exquisite and necessary. "You'll stay home--until--until--"

"Of course. I'll telephone Wicksam after breakfast. He can run the officefor a day or two. By the way Maria will be here this evening; Sally isbetter. Joan and Tom and the rest will be here in about an hour. Tom and Iwill attend to everything. You are not to bother, not to think. "

"Oh, you are too wonderful--always so strong--so strong--how I love it. ButI'll never get over this--poor old mommy!"

But the paroxysm passed, and just as Mortimer was on the verge of morningstarvation and too polite to mention it, she grew calm by degrees and senthim down to breakfast. The emotional phase of her grief was over. 

CHAPTER V

I

It was three months later that Aileen, once more sitting in Alexina'sbedroom, after her return from Santa Barbara, where she had gone with herfather for the summer, said abruptly: "Dad is terribly cut up, dear oldthing. He'd known your mother since they were both children, in the dayswhen there were wooden sidewalks on Montgomery Street, and Laurel Hill wascalled Lone Mountain, and they had picnics in it. Odd they both shouldhave had young daughters. Another link--what? as the English say. Well--anyhow--he told me to tell you that he was just as fond of yourfather as of your mother, and that you must try to imagine that he is yourfather from this time forth, and come to him when you are in doubt aboutanything. "

Alexina looked her straight in the eyes. "I have sometimes thought uncledaddy didn't like Mortimer. "

"On the contrary, he rather likes him. He respects a capacity for hardwork, and persistence, and a reputation for uncompromising honesty. But ofcourse Mortimer is young--in business, that is; and father thinks--but youhad better talk with him. "

"No. Why should I? But I don't mind you. At least I could not discussMortimer with any one else. I am furious with Tom Abbott. He wants me toput my money in trust, with himself and uncle daddy as trustees--ignoringMortimer, whom he pretends to like. He says Maria's fortune has been keptintact, that he has never touched a cent of it, but that men in businessare likely to get into tight places and use their wife's money. Nothingwould induce Mortimer to touch my money, but he would feel pretty badly cutup if I let any one else look after my affairs. Of course I wouldn't evendiscuss the matter with Tom. And if Morty does need money at any time I'lllend it to him. Why not? What else would any one expect me to do?"

"Of course Tom Abbott went to work the wrong way, the blundering idiot. No one doubts Mortimer's good faith, but the times are awful, money hasparesis; and when you are obliged to take any of your own out of thestocking in order to keep business going, it is easily lost. Dad hopes youwill hang on like grim death to your inheritance. You see--the times are soabnormal, Mortimer hasn't had time to prove his abilities yet; he's justbeen able to hold on; and if things don't mend and he should lose out, why--if you still have your own little fortune, at least you'll not be anyworse off than, you are now. Don't you see?"

"Yes, I see. But Mortimer has told me of other panics and bad times. Theyalways pass, and better times come again. And if he has been able to holdon, that at least shows ability, for others have gone under. Of course weshall live here and run the house--as mother did. I couldn't bear to liveanywhere else, and Morty adores it too. "

"Oh, rather. I couldn't imagine you anywhere else. "

"Geary and Ballinger sent me ten thousand dollars for a wedding present andMorty bought some bonds for me, but I'm going to sell a few and refurnishthe lower rooms. I love the old house but I like cheerful modern things. The poor old parlors and dining-room do look like sarcophagi. "

"Good. I'll help. We'll have no end of fun. "

II

There was a pause and then Alexina said: "Mortimer is so determined to be arich man and thinks of so little else and works so hard, that he is boundto be. Otherwise, such gifts would be meaningless. "

She made the statements with an unconscious rising inflection. Aileen didnot answer and turned her sharp revealing green eyes on the eucalyptusgrove which concealed Ballinger House from the vulgar gaze, andincidentally shut off a magnificent view. 

"I don't know whether I like Gora Dwight or not, " she remarked. 

"Neither do I. But I admire her. She is a wonder. "

"Oh, yes, I admire her, and I've a notion she's got something big in her, some sort of destiny. But those light eyes in that dark face give me thecreeps. It isn't that I don't trust her. I believe her to be insolentlyhonest and honorable--and just, if you like. But--perhaps it's only theaccident of her queer coloring--she gives me the impression that while shemight go to the stake for her pride, she'd murder you in cold blood if yougot in her way. "

"Poor Gora! You make her all the more interesting. "

"Did she ever tell you that she corresponds with that Englishman who wasout here at the time of the earthquake and fire and had that ghastlyadventure with his sister? We all met him at the Hofer ball--Gathbroke hisname was. "

Alexina was staring at her with an amazed frown. "Correspond--Gora?. .. Iremember now he told me she helped him to carry his sister's body out tothe old cemetery. Is he interested in her?"

"I shouldn't wonder. They've corresponded off and on ever since. Iwalked, home with her one afternoon before I went south--she interests mefrantically--and she invited me up to her quite artistic attic in GearyStreet, where she still lives, and gave me the most vivid description ofthat night. It made me crawl. She stared straight before her as she toldit. Her eyes were just like gray oval mirrors in which it seemed to me Isaw the whole thing pass. .. . 

"Then she showed me a photograph he had recently sent her--stunning thinghe is, all right, and looks years older than when he was here. She alsoalluded to things he had said in a letter or two. So my phenomenally quickwits inferred that they correspond. Perhaps they are engaged. Pretty gooddeal for her. "

III

Alexina, to her surprise, felt intensely angry, although she had thepresence of mind to cast up her eyes until the white showed below the largebrilliant iris and she looked like a saint in a niche. 

She had kept Gathbroke out of her thoughts for nearly four years, deliberately. For a time she had hated him. Mortimer's love-making hadseemed tame in comparison with that primitive outburst, and never had shefelt any such fiery response to the man she had loved and chosen as duringthose few moments when she had been in that impertinent, outrageous, loathsome young Englishman's arms. At first she had wondered and resented, loyally concluding that it was her own fault, or that of fate for endowingher with such a slender emotional equipment that she used it all up at onceon the wrong man. Finally, she found it wise not to think about it at alland to dismiss the intruder from her thoughts. 

Now she felt outraged in her sense of possession. .. . Unconsciously she hadenshrined him as the secret mate of her inmost secret self. .. A self shewas barely conscious of even yet. .. Lurking in her subconsciousness, thepersonal and peculiar blend of many and diverse ancestors. .. . Sometimesshe had glimpsed it. .. Wondered a little with a not unpleasant sense ofapprehension. .. . 

But for the most part Circumstance had decreed that she abide on theabundant surface of her nature and enjoy a highly enjoyable life as itcame. Now, she had experienced her first grief, which at the same time washer first set-back. She did not go out at all. She saw much of Mortimer andlittle of any one else. It was the summer season and all her friends werein the country or in Europe. 

She had given Mortimer her power of attorney (largely a gesture ofdefiance, this) and he had attended to all details connected with her newfortune. Between the inheritance tax, small legacies, and depreciations, she would have a little over six thousand dollars a year; which, however, with Mortimer's contribution, would run the old house, and keep herwardrobe up to mark after she went out of mourning. She knew nothing of thevalue of money, and was accustomed to having little to spend and everythingprovided. But her mind regarding finances was quite at rest. Even ifMortimer remained a victim of the hard times, they would be quitecomfortable. 

The cares of housekeeping were very light. She discussed the daily menuswith James, but he had run Ballinger House for years, little as Mrs. Groomehad suspected it. Mortimer, shortly after his mother-in-law's death, andwhile Alexina was passing a fortnight at Rincona, had given James ordersto collect all bills on the first of every month and hand them to him, together with a statement of the servants' wages. Mrs. Dwight was not to bebothered. 

Alexina, when she returned, had made no protest. The details ofhousekeeping did not appeal to her. But the arrangement left her withoutoccupation, and much time for thought. After a long walk morning andafternoon she had little to do but read. She was an early riser and hermind was active. 

IV

Dwight had not the least intention of using his wife's money, for he hadperfect confidence in his change of luck, and in his ability to do greatthings with his business as soon as the period of depression had passed. But he had no faith in any woman's ability to invest and take care ofmoney, he had fixed ideas in regard to a man being master in his own house, and he had asked Alexina for her power of attorney more to flaunt herconfidence in him and to annoy her damnable relatives than because theremight possibly be a moment when he should have need of immediate resources. Like many Americans he chose to keep his wife in ignorance of his businesslife, and it would have annoyed him excessively to go to her with anexplanation of temporary difficulties and ask for a loan. 

Moreover, he wished to keep Alexina young and superficial, ignorant ofmoney matters, indifferent to the sordid responsibilities of life. Not onlywas the present Alexina no embarrassment whatever to a man full of schemes, aside from the slow march of business, for getting rich, but she wasinfinitely alluring. 

He detested business women, intellectual women, women with careers; theytipped the even balance of the man's world; moreover, they had no acceptedplace in the higher social scheme. For women wage-earners he had noantipathy and much sympathy and consideration, although he underpaid themcheerfully when circumstances would permit. It was an abiding canker thathis sister was obliged to support herself; he was not ashamed of it, fornursing was an honorable (and altruistic) profession, and several youngwomen in his new circle bad taken it up; but he hated it as a man and abrother. As for her turning herself into an authoress, however, he onlyhoped he would make his million before she got herself talked about. 

As for Alexina she was the perfect flower of a system lie worshiped andnothing should mar or change her if his fond surveillance could prevent it. 

On the whole he was quite happy at this time, despite his passionate desirefor wealth and his natural resentment, at the attitude of the Abbotts andtheir intimate circle of old friends who were so like them that he alwaysincluded them in his mind when speaking of "the family. " Although he wasmaking barely enough to pay his sister the monthly interest on her money, the salaries of his employees, and, until recently, a monthly contributionto the household expenses, he had a comfortable and delightful home withnot a few of the minor luxuries, an undisputed position in the bestsociety, an honorable one in the business world, and a beautiful wife. Now that the conventions forced them to live the retired life, they couldeconomize without attracting attention; as he paid the bills Alexina wouldnot know whether he still contributed his share or not; (in time he meantto pay the whole and give his wife, with the grand gesture, her entireincome for pin money) and, with Alexina's cordial assent, he had sold theold carriage, and the horses, which were eating their heads off, dismissedthe coachman-gardener, and found a young Swede to take care of the gardenand outbuildings. 

Later, they would have their car like other people, but there was no needfor it at present, and it was neither the time nor the occasion to exhibita tendency to extravagance. In the matter of "front" he knew preciselywhere to leave off. 

In a certain small anxious bag-of-tricks way he was clever. But not cleverenough. He knew nothing of Alexina beneath her shining surface. If hehad he would have sought to crowd her mind with the details of the home, encouraged her to join in the frantic activities of some one of the women'sclubs he held in scorn, persuaded her to play golf daily at the fashionableclub of which they were members, even though she ran the risk of talking, unchaperoned by himself, with other men. 

He never would have left her to long hours of idleness, with only books forcompanions (and Alexina cared little for novels lacking in psychology, orin revelations of the many phases of life of which she was personally soignorant); and only his own companionship evening after evening. 

But he had known all the Alexina he was ever to know. Such flashingglimpses as he was destined to have later so bewildered him that he reactedobstinately to his original estimate of her, . .. Just a child under theinfluence of her family or some of those friends of hers who had alwayshated him. .. Erratic and irresponsible like all women. .. A man never couldunderstand women because there was nothing to understand. .. Merely a bundleof contradictions. .. . 

In some ways his mental equipment was an enviable one. 

VI

Some of all this Alexina guessed, and although she was nettled at timesthat he took no note of her maturing mind and character, she was, on thewhole, more amused. 

Indulgent by nature, and somewhat indolent, she had been more than willingthat Morty should enjoy his new authority, should even delude himself thathe was footing all the bills, poor dear; and she listened raptly to hisevening visions of their future life in Burlingame, alternated with visitsto New York and England, the while she puzzled over the intricacies of somecharacter portrayed by a master analyst. 

Sometimes he did not talk at all, utterly fagged by a strenuous day inwhich he had accomplished precisely nothing. But the more transparent andtruncated and dull he grew the more spontaneous the "niceness" and almosteffusive courtesy of his wife. Insensibly she was veering to the familyattitude, but he had tagged her once for all and never saw it. 

Until this moment, however, when Gathbroke had been jerked from his deepseclusion within her ivory tower by Aileen's unwelcome news, she had neverhad a moment of complete self-revelation. .. . She knew instantly that she hadnever loved her husband: he was not her mate and Gathbroke was. She had hadthree years of rippling content and light enjoyment with Mortimer, they hadnever quarreled seriously, and they had never taken their parts in onemoment of real drama. 

If she had married Gathbroke they would have quarreled furiously, theywould have thrown courtesy and behavior to the winds often enough, particularly while they were young, for neither would have been in theleast apprehensive of wounding the rank-pride of the other, and such mutualand passionate love as theirs naturally gave birth to a high state ofirritability; they would have loved and hated and made constant discoveriesabout each other. .. There would have been depths never to be fully exploredbut always luring them on. .. And the perfect companionship. .. The completefusion. .. . 

How Alexina knew all this after less than three hours' association withGathbroke, let any woman answer. She was not so foolish as to imagineherself the victim of a secret passion, or that she had ever loved the man, or ever would. She had merely had her chance for the great duodrama, andthrown it away for a callow dream. She had no passing wish, even in thatmoment of visualizing him interlocked with her own wraith in that sacredinner temple where even she had never intruded before, to meet him again. She had no intention of passing any of her abundant leisure in dreamingdreams of him and the perfect bliss. But he had been hers. .. Andutterly. .. He had loved her. .. He had wanted her. .. He had precipitatelybegged her to marry him. .. He had offered her the homage of completebrutality. 

Something of him would always be hers. 

And even though she renounced all rights in him because she must, she didnot in the least relish that any one so close to her as Gora Dwight shouldhave him. She might have heard of his marriage to a girl of his own landand class with only a passing spasm, but his continued and possibly tenderfriendship with her sister-in-law shook her out of the last of her jejunityand its illusions. .. . She was not exactly a dog in the manger. .. She was amaturing woman looking back with anger and dismay not only upon the fatalmistake of her youth, but upon the inexorable realities of her presentlife. .. . 

The reaction was a more intense feeling of loyalty to Mortimer than ever. She was entirely to blame. He not only had been innocent of consciousrivalry, even of pursuit--for she could quite easily have discouraged himin the earlier stages of his courtship--but he was dependent upon her inevery way: for his happiness, for the secure social position that meant somuch to him, for the greater number of his valuable connections, for evenhis comfort and ease of living. 

Something of this had passed through her stunned mind on the morning of hermother's death. Now it was all as sharply outlined as the etching at whichshe was raptly gazing, and she vowed anew that she would never desert him, never deny him the assistance of the true partner. She had signed a lifecontract with her eyes open and she would keep it to the letter. 

Only she hoped to heaven that Gathbroke was not serious about Gora. Shewished never to be reminded of his existence again. 

And, as Aileen talked of Santa Barbara, she wondered vaguely why therewas not a law forbidding girls to marry until they were well into theirtwenties. .. . Until they had had a certain amount of experience. .. . Knew theirown minds. .. . Maria had been right. .. . 

CHAPTER VI

I

The darkness had come early with the high rolling fog that shut out thestars. The fog horn and the bells were silent but the wind had a thinanxious note as if lost, and the long creaking eucalyptus trees angrilyrepelled it as if irritated beyond endurance by its eternal visitations. 

Alexina, who had been reading in her bedroom, realized that it must bequite half an hour since she had turned a page. She lifted her shouldersimpatiently. She was in no humor for reading. 

It was only eight o'clock. Far too early for bed. Mortimer had gone to LosAngeles on business. He had been gone a week, and she admitted to herselfwith the new frankness she had determined to cultivate--that she mightmeet, with the clearest possible vision, whatever three-cornered dealsLife might have in store for her--that she had not missed him at all. Hisabsence had been a heavenly interlude. She and Aileen had gone to themoving pictures unescorted every night (a performance of which he wouldhave disapproved profoundly), and they had lunched downtown every day untilAlexina had suddenly discovered that she had no more money in her purse;and, knowing nothing whatever even of minor finance, was under theimpression that having given Mortimer her power of attorney she would notbe able to draw from the bank. 

Aileen had gone down to Burlingame to visit Sibyl Bascom for a few days. Alexina had declined to go, although it was a quiet party; it would beembarrassing not to tip the servants. 

The wind gave a long angry shriek as it flew round the corner of the houseand fastened its teeth in its enemies, the eucalyptus trees; who shookit off with a loud furious rattle of their leaves and slapped the windowseverely for good measure. 

Alexina was used to San Francisco in all her many moods, but to-night, thewind and the high gray fog shutting out the stars, the silent house--silentthat is but for the mice playing innocently between the walls--her completesolitude, made her restless and a little nervous. 

What could she do?

She knew quite well that she had wanted to go to see Gora for a week. Shehad not indulged in any silly dreams about Gathbroke but she was curious tosee his photograph. She remembered that it had crossed her mind that Aprilday under the oak tree that if he had been older, if he had outgrown hishopelessly youthful curve of cheek, his fresh color, and the inability toconceal the asinine condition to which she had immediately reduced him, shemight have given him an equal chance with Morty. 

Aileen had said that he looked older. She had a quite natural curiosity todecide for herself if, had he been born several years earlier, he wouldhave proved the successful rival in that foundational period of theiryouth. .. . Or perhaps she was the reason of his rather sudden maturity. After all there was no great chasm between twenty-three and twenty-six andthree-quarters. She looked little if any older. Neither did Morty, nor anyone she knew. 

This idea thrilled her, and, grimly determined upon no compromise orevasion, she admitted it. 

Moreover, she wanted to sound out Gora. 

Somehow she had no real belief that he had transferred his affections toher dissimilar sister-in-law, but her interest in Gora was growing. Shewanted to know her better. 

Besides, although she had often invited her to tea on her free afternoons, and to dinner whenever possible, and had occasionally dropped in to see herwhile she was still in the hospital, she had never called on her in herhome. As Gora only slept there after a killing day's or night's work, visitors were anything but welcome; nevertheless she felt that she had beennegligent, rude--three years!--and as Gora was not on a case for a day ortwo, now was the time to atone. 

Moreover, she had never been out quite alone at night, except to run downthe avenue and across the street to Aileen's. It was a long way down toGeary Street, and Fillmore Street at night was "tough. " Mortimer would befurious. 

She hastily changed her dinner gown to a plain walking suit of black tweedand pinned on a close hat firmly, prepared to defy the wind and thoroughlyto enjoy her little adventure. Not since she had stolen out to go toforbidden parties with Aileen had she felt such a sense of altogetherreprehensible elation. 

CHAPTER VI

I

Fillmore Street, its low-browed shops dark, but with great arcs of whitelights spanning the streets that ran east and west, long shafts of yellowlight shining across the sidewalk from the restaurants, the candy storesand the nicolodeons--where the pianola tinkled plaintively--was throngedwith saunterers. Alexina darted quick curious glances at them as she walkedrapidly along. In front of every saloon was a group of young men almostfascinatingly common to Alexina's cloistered eyes, their hats tilted overtheir foreheads at an indescribable angle, rank black cigars in the cornersof their mouths, or cigarettes hanging from their loose lips, leering at"bunches" of girls that passed unattended, appraising them cynically, making strident or stage-whispered comments. 

A great many girls had cavaliers, and these walked with their heads tossed, unless drooping toward a padded, shoulder; and they wore perhaps a coat ortwo less of make-up than their still neglected sisters. These were vividlyearmined, although most of them were young enough to have relied on coldwater and a rough towel; their hair was arranged in enormous pompadours andtopped with "lingerie" or beflowered hats. Their blouses were "peek-a-boo"and cut low, their skirts high; slender or plump, they wore exaggeratedstraight front corsets, high heels and ventilated stockings. They practicedthe débutante slouch and their jaws worked automatically. 

Not all of them were "bad" by any means. Fillmore Street was a promenadeat night for girls who were confined by day: waitresses, shop girls of thehumbler sort, servants, clerks, or younger daughters of poor parents, whowould see nothing of life at all if they sat virtuously in the kitchenevery night. 

The best of them were not averse to being picked up and treated toice-cream-soda or the more delectable sundae. A few there were, and theywere not always to be distinguished by the kohl round their eyes, the deadwhite of their cheeks, the magenta of their lips, who, ignoring the "bums"and "cadets" lounging at the corners or before the saloons, directed intentlong glances at every passing man who looked as if he had the "roll" totreat them handsomely in the back parlor of a saloon, or possibly stakethem at a gaming table. The town, still in its brief period of insufferablevirtue, was "closed, " but the lid was not on as irremovably as the policeled the good mayor to believe; and these girls, who traveled not in"bunches" but in pairs, if they had not already begun a career ofprofitable vice, were anxious to start but did not exactly know how. Fillmore Street was not the hunting ground of rich men; but men with anight's money came there, and many "boobs" from the country. 

Alexina had heard of Fillmore Street from Aileen, who investigatedeverything, escorted by her uxorious parent, and had been informed thatmany of these girls were "decent enough"; "much more decent than I would bein the circumstances: work all day, coarse underclothes, no place to see abeau but the street. I'd go straight to the devil and play the only game Ihad for all it was worth. "

But to Alexina they all looked appalling, abandoned, the last cry in"badness. " She was not afraid. The street was too brilliant and the greatjuggernauts of trolley cars lumbered by every few moments. Moreover, shecould make herself look as cold and remote as the stars above the fog, andshe had drawn herself up to her full five feet seven, thrown her shouldersback, lifted her chin and lowered her eyelids the merest trifle. Shefancied that the patrician-beauty type would have little or no attractionfor the men who frequented Fillmore Street. Certainly the bluntest of thesemales could see that she was not painted, blackened, dyed, nor chewing gum. 

Moreover she was in mourning. 

But she had reckoned without her youth. 

II

"Say, kid, what you doin' all alone?"

A hand passed familiarly through her arm. 

Her brain turned somersaults, raced. Should she burst into tears? Turn uponhim with a frozen stare? Appeal for help?

Then she discovered that although astonished she was not at all terrified;nor very much insulted. Why should she be? A casual remark of thesophisticated Aileen flashed through her rallying mind: "When a man is evenhalf way drunk he doesn't know a lady from a trollop, and ten to one thelady's a trollop anyhow. "

She heartily wished that Aileen were in her predicament at the presentmoment. What on earth was she to do with the creature?

She had accelerated her steps without speaking or making any foolishattempts to shake him off; but she knew that her face was crimson, and onegirl tittered as they passed, while another, appreciating the situation, laughed aloud and cried after her: "Don't be frightened, kid. He's not aslaver. "

Irrepressible curiosity made her send him a swift glance from the corner ofher eye. He was a young man, thick set, with an aggressive nose set in around hard face. His small, hard, black eyes were steady, and so were hisfeet. He did not look in the least drunk. 

"I think you have made a mistake, " she said quietly, and with no pretenseat immense dignity (she could hear Aileen say: "Cut it out. Nothing doingin that line here"). "I, also, have made a mistake--in walking at night onthis street. Would you mind letting go my arm? I think I'll take a car. "

"No, I think you'll stay just where you are, " he said insolently. "Youdon't belong here all right, but you've come and you can stand theconsequences. You're just the sort that needs a jolt and I like the idea ofhanding it. "

Alexina gave him a coldly speculative glance. "I wonder why?"

"You would? Well, I'll tell you. Never been out alone at night before, I'llbet, like these other girls, that ain't got no place on earth to have anyfun but the streets. Never even rubbed against the common herd? Generallygo about in a machine, don't you?"

"It is quite true that I have never been out alone at night before. Icertainly shall not go again. "

"No, you don't have to! That's the point, all right. And if you weren'tsuch a beauty, damn you! I'd hate you this minute as I hate your wholeparasite class. "

"Oh, you are a socialist!" Alexina looked at him with frank curiosity. "Inever saw one before. "

He was obviously disconcerted. Then his face flushed with anger. "Yes, I'ma socialist all right, and you'll see more of us before you're many yearsolder. "

"You might tell me about it if you _will_ walk with me. I am a longway from my destination, and that would be far more interesting thanpersonalities. "

"I've got more personalities where those came from. It makes me sick to seethe difference between you and these poor kids--ready to sell their soulsfor pretty clothes and a little fun. There's nothing that has done so muchto inflame class hatred as the pampered delicate satin-skinned women ofyour class, who have expensive clothes and 'grooming' to take the place ofslathers of paint and cheap perfume. Raised in a hot house for the useof the man on top. It's the crowning offense of capitalism, and when thesystem goes, they'll all be like you, or you'll be more like them. You'llcome down about a thousand pegs, and the ones down below will be shoved upto meet you. "

Alexina stood still and faced him. 

"Are you poor?" she asked. 

"What a hell of a question. Have I been talkin' like a plutocrat?"

"Oh, there are, still, different grades. I was wondering if you would be soinconsistent as to earn a little money from me and two friends of mine. Wehave read socialism a bit, but, we don't understand it very well. I am inmourning and it would interest me immensely. "

He had dropped her arm and was staring at her. 

"You are not afraid of me, then?" His voice was sulky but his eyes wereless hostile. 

"Oh, not in the least. I fully appreciate that you merely wished tohumiliate me, not to be insulting, as some of these other men might havebeen. My name is Mrs. Mortimer Dwight. I live on Ballinger Hill--do youknow it? That old house in the eucalyptus grove?"

"I know it, all right. "

"Then you probably know, also, that I am not rich and never have been. Myhusband is a struggling young business man. "

"That cuts no ice. You train with that class, don't you? You're classyourself, reek with it. You had rich ancestors or you wouldn't be what youare now. "

"Well, we can discuss that point another time. One of my friends is adaughter of Judge Lawton--"

"Hand in glove with every rich grafter in 'Frisco. "

Alexina shuddered. "Please say San Francisco. I am positive you never hearda word against Judge Lawton's probity, nor that he ever rendered an unjustdecision. "

"He's a wise old guy, all right. But it would be wastin' time tryin' tomake you understand why I have no use for him. "

"Of course you would have no use for the husband of my other friend, Mrs. Frank Bascom. "

She fully expected that the young millionaire's name would be the final redrag and that her escort would roar his opinion of him for the benefit ofall Fillmore Street. But he surprised her by saying reluctantly:

"He's dead straight, all right. He's not a grafter. I've nothing againsthim personally, but he's part of a damnable system and I'd clean him outwith the rest. "

"Well, there you have three of us to your hand. Who knows but that youmight convert us? Why not give us the chance? If you will give me youraddress I will write to you as soon as my friends come back to town. "

"I don't know whether I want to do it or not. You may be makin' game of mefor all I know. "

"I am quite sincere. You interest me immensely. And we might teach yousomething too--what it means to have a sense of humor. I know enough ofsocialism to know that no socialist can have it. May I ask what youroccupation is?"

"I'm just a plain working-man--housebuilding line. "

"Then you could only come in the evening?"

"Not at all; I get off at five. You don't have your dinner until eight inyour set, I believe, " This with a sneer that curled his upper lip almost tothe septum of his nose. 

"Seven. My husband works until nearly six. He rarely has time for lunch andcomes home very hungry. "

Once more he looked puzzled and disconcerted, but his small steady eyes didnot waver. 

"My name's James Kirkpatrick. " He found the stub of a pencil in his pocketand wrote an address on the flap of an envelope. "I'll think it over. MaybeI'll do it. I dunno, though. "

"I do hope you will. I'm sure we can learn a good deal from each other. Now, would you mind putting me on the next car? Or don't the socialisttenets admit of gallantry to my sex?"

"Socialism admits the equality of the sexes, which is a long sight better, but I guess there's nothing to prevent me seeing you onto your car. "

He even lifted his hat as she turned to him from the high platform, andas he smiled a little she inferred that he was congratulating himself onhaving had the last word. 

CHAPTER VII

I

Gora, to whom she had telephoned before leaving home, was standing onthe steps of her house, looking anxiously up the street, as her youngsister-in-law left the car at the corner. 

Gora walked up to meet her guest. "Where on earth have you, been?" shedemanded. "I supposed of course that you'd take a taxi. You should not goout alone at night. Mortimer would be wild. He has the strictest ideas; andyou--"

"Haven't. Not, any more. I'm tired of being kept in a glass case--beinga parasite. " She laughed gayly at Gora's look of amazement. "I've had anadventure. Almost the first I ever had. "

She related it as they walked slowly down the street and up the steps andstairs to the attic. 

Gora looked very thoughtful as she listened. "Shall you tell Mortimer?"

"Oh, I don't know. Possibly not. Why agitate him? The thing is done. "

"But if you study with this man?"

"There is no necessity to explain where I met him. I look upon myself asMorty's partner, not as his subject. We have never disputed over anythingyet, but of course as time goes on I shall wish to do many things whetherhe happens to like it or not. Possibly without consulting him. "

"You've had time to think these past three months for the first time inyour life, " said Gora shrewdly. "Here we are. I hope you don't hate stairs. I do when I come home dog-tired, but somehow I can't give up the oldplace. .. . And I've lit the candles in your honor. "

II

"Oh, but it is pretty! Charming!"

Thought Gora: "I do hope she's not going to be gracious. I've never likedher so well before. "

But Alexina was too excited to have a firm grip on the Ballinger-Groometradition. She had had an adventure, an uncommon one, in a far fromrespectable night district; she had done something that would cause theimpeccable Mortimer the acutest anguish if he knew of it; and she hadcaught sight immediately of Gathbroke's picture framed and enthroned on themantelpiece. 

She walked about the room admiring the hangings and prints, the old Chineselanterns that held the candles. 

"I am going to refurnish our lower rooms, " she said. "If you have time dohelp me. Heavens! I wish I could work off some of that old furniture onyou. I like the Italian pieces well enough, but there are too many of them. That rather low Florentine cabinet in the back parlor would just fit inthis corner. .. . "

She gave a little girlish exclamation and ran forward. 

"Isn't that young Gathbroke, who was out here at the time of the earthquakeand fire. .. Or an older brother, perhaps?"

She had taken the photograph from the mantel and was examining it under oneof the lanterns. Her alert ear detected the deeper and less steady note inGora's always hoarse voice. 

"It is the same. Did you meet him?. .. Oh, I remember he told me he met youat the Hofer ball. He rather raved over you, in fact. "

"Did he? How sweet of him. I met him again, I remember. Mr. Gwynne broughthim down to Rincona one day. "

"Oh?"

And Alexina, knew that he had never mentioned that visit. 

"But he looks much much older. "

"He did before he left. That horrible experience of his seemed to prey onhim more and more. 

"Oh. "

He had not looked a day over twenty-three on that afternoon at Eincona, twoweeks after the fire. 

Alexina replaced the picture, then turned to her sister-in-law with acoaxing smile. "Are you engaged? It would be too romantic. Do tell me. "

"No, " said Gora, shortly. "We are not engaged. Good friends, that is all, and write occasionally. "

"Well, he must be very much interested--and you must be a very interestingcorrespondent, Gora dear! Is he? Interesting, I mean. What does he do, anyhow? I have a vague remembrance that he said something about the army. "

"He was in the army, the Grenadier Guards. But he has resigned and goneinto business with a cousin of his in Lancashire. He wrote me--oh, it mustbe nearly two years ago--that if there should be a war he would enlist as amatter of course, but as there was no prospect of any, and he was sickof idleness--his good middle-class energetic blood asserting itself, hesaid, --he was going to amuse himself with work, incidentally try to makea fortune. His mother left a good deal of money, but there are severalchildren and I guess the present earl needs most of it to keep up hisestates, to say nothing of his position. Fotten law, that--entail, I mean. "

Alexina came and sat down on the divan beside Gora, piling the cushionsbehind her. "Are you a socialist?"

"I am not. I believe in sticking to your own class, whether you have agrudge against it or not, or even if you think it far from perfection. "

She shot a quick challenging glance at her admittedly aristocraticsister-in-law, but Alexina had lifted the lower white of her eyes justabove their soft black fringe and looked more innocent than any new bornlamb. As she did not answer Gora continued:

"I remember that night I sat out with Gathbroke on Calvary he saidsomething about socialism. .. That it was a confession of failure. I may feelso furious with destiny sometimes that I could go out and wave a red flag, or even the darker red of anarchy, but what always sobers me is the thoughtthat if I had the good luck to inherit or make even a reasonable fortuneI'd have no more use for socialism than for a rattlesnake in my bed. Whyare you interested?"

"Only as in any subject that interests a few million people. I haven't theleast intention of being converted, but I don't want to be an ignoramus. Aileen and Sibyl and I did start Marx's _Das Kapital_--in German! We nearlydied of it. But I felt sure that this man, Kirkpatrick, had studied hissubject, if only because his language changed so completely when he talkedabout it. It was as if he were quoting, but intelligently. Of course thepoor man had little or no education to begin with. Somehow he struck me asa pathetic figure. Perhaps when every one is educated--and there must bemany thousands of naturally intelligent men in the working class whosebrains if trained would be mighty useful in Washington--well, all havinghad equal opportunities they would surely arrive at some way to improveconditions without struggling for anything so hopeless as socialism. Iknow enough to be sure that it is hopeless, because it antagonizes humannature. "

"Rather. The trend under all the talk is more and more towardindividualism, not self-effacing communism. As for myself I like the ideaof the fight--for public recognition, I mean; and I don't think I'd behappy at all if things were made too smooth for me; if, for instance, ina socialized state it were decided that I could devote all my time towriting, and that the state would take care of me, publish my work, anddistribute it exactly where it was sure to be appreciated. I haven't anyof the old California gambling blood in me, but I guess the hardy ghost ofthose old days still dominates the atmosphere, and I have not been one ofthose to escape. "

"It's in mine! Not that I care for gambling, really, like Aileen and Alice. But I've always been fascinated by the idea of taking long chances, and Ihave had inklings that I'll be rather more than less fascinated as I growolder. .. . When are your stories to be published? I am simply expiring toread them. "

"Are you?"

III

Alexina had thrust her slim index finger unerringly through Gora'sbristling armor and tickled her weakest spot. The fledgling author smiledinto the dazzling eyes opposite and a deep flush rose to her high cheekbones, "Rather!"

"Then. .. " Gora rose and took a magazine from the table beside her bed. Shespread it open on her lap, when she had resumed her seat, and handled it asAlexina had seen young mothers fondle their first-born. 

"It's here. Just out. "

"Oh!" Alexina. Gave a little shriek of genuine anticipation. "Read it tome. Quick. I can't wait. "

Gora led a lonely life outside of her work, a lonely inner life always. Shehad never had an intimate friend, and she suddenly reflected that there hadbeen a certain measure of sadness in her joy both when her manuscripts wereaccepted and to-day when for the first time she had gazed at herself inprint. .. . She had had no one to rejoice with her. .. . She felt an overwhelmingsense of gratitude to Alexina. 

But she gave this young wife of her brother whom she knew as little asAlexina knew her, another swift suspicious glance. .. . No, there was nothingof Alexina's usual high and careless courtesy in that eager almost excitedface. 

"I'd love to have your opinion. .. . I read very badly. .. . Make allowances. .. . "

"Oh, fire away. If I'd written a story and had it accepted by that magazineI'd read it from the housetops. "

Gora read the story well enough, and Alexina's mind did not wander even toGathbroke. It was written in a pure direct vigorous English. A little lessself-consciousness and it would have been distinguished. The story itselfwas built craftily; she had been coached by a clever instructor who was asuccessful writer of short stories himself; and it worked up to a climax ofgenuine drama. But this was merely the framework, the flexible techniquefor the real Gora. The story had not only an original point of view but itpulsed with the insurgent resentful passionate spirit of the writer. 

Alexina gave a little gasp as Gora finished. 

"Many people won't like that story, " she said. "It shocks and jars andgives one's smugness a pain in the middle. But those that do like itwill give you a great reputation, and after all there are a few thousandintelligent readers in the United States. How on earth did that magazinecome to accept it?"

Gora was staring at Alexina with an uncommonly soft expression in heropaque light eyes. She felt, indeed, as if her ego would leap through themand make a fool of her. 

"The editor wrote me something of what you have just said. He wantedsomething new--to give his conservative old subscribers a shock. Thoughtit would be good for them and for the magazine. You--you--have said what Ishould have wanted you to say if I could have thought it out. .. . I think Ishould have hated you if you had said, 'How charming!' or 'How franticallyinteresting!'"

"Well, it's the last if not the first. Aileen will say that and mean it. I'll telephone to the bookstore the first thing Monday morning and get acopy. Now I must go. It's late. "

IV

"Let me telephone for a taxi. "

Alexina laughed merrily. "You'll never believe it, but I've just thirtycents in my purse. I forgot to ask Morty for something before heleft. .. . You see, I happened to find quite a bit in mother's desk and soI've never thought to ask him for an allowance. But I shall at once. "

"An allowance? But you have your own money? Or is it because the estateisn't settled? What has Morty to do with that?"

"I believe we get the income from the estate until it is settled. But Igave my power of attorney to Morty. "

"Oh! But if there is money on deposit in the bank you can draw on it. "

"Could I? Well! I'll just draw a round hundred on Monday at ten A. M. "

"Why did you give your power of attorney to Morty?"

"Oh. .. Why. .. He asked me to. .. I know nothing about business, and henaturally would attend to my affairs. "

"But you are not going away. No one needs your power of attorney. And theexecutors are Judge Lawton and Mr. Abbott. You are here to sign such papersas they advise. .. . Don't he angry, please. I am not insinuating anythingagainst Morty. He's never bad a dishonest thought in his life. .. Has alwaysbeen, the squarest. .. But. .. "

"Well?"

Alexina's head was very high. It was quite bad enough for Tom Abbott andJudge Lawton. .. But for his sister. .. 

"It's this way, Alexina. People in this world, more particularly men, arejust about as honest as circumstances will permit them to be. Some arestronger than Life in one way or another, no doubt of it; but they make upfor it by being weaker in others. .. . I am talking particularly of the moneyquestion, the struggle for existence, which the vast majority of men areforced to make. .. . 

"Men fight Life from the hour they leave their homes, when they have any, to force success--in one way or another--out of her until the hour they areable to lay down the burden. .. . Some are too strong and too firm in theirideals ever to do wrong; they would prefer failure, and generally they arestrong enough to avoid it, even to succeed in their way against themost overwhelming odds. .. . Many are too clever not to find some way ofcompromising and circumventing. .. . Others just peg along and barely makeboth ends meet. .. . Others go under and down and out. 

"Morty, like millions of other young Americans, had good principles andhigh ideals inculcated from his earliest boyhood and took to them as a ducktakes to water. Nor is he weak. But although he is a hard and steady workerhe is also visionary. He speculated on the stock market before he wasmarried. Probably not now as the market is moribund. He is frantic to getrich. .. For more reasons than one. "

"But he never would do anything dishonorable. "

"No. Nothing he couldn't square with his conscience if it turned out allright. But the most honest man, when in a hole, finds little difficulty inarriving at the conclusion that what is, illogically, the possession of thewomen of his family, is his if he needs it. 

"Moreover, no doubt you have discovered that Morty is the sort of man wholooks upon women as man's natural inferiors, that if there is any questionof sacrifice the woman is not to be considered for a moment. .. Especiallywhere no public risk is involved. That sort of man only thinks he is toohonest to refrain from taking some unrelated woman's money, but as a matterof fact it is because she would send him to State's Prison as readily as aman would. One's own women are safe. 

"I lent Morty my small inheritance with my eyes open. But he knows a gooddeal of that particular business, and I did not dream the times were goingto be so bad. .. . I doubt if I ever see it again. .. . But you must not run therisk of losing yours. I want you to promise me that on Monday morning youwill go down to the City Hall and revoke your power of attorney. And asmuch for Morty's sake as for your own. He will lose your money if he keepsit in his hands, and then he will suffer agonies of remorse. He will beinfinitely more miserable than if he merely failed in business. That ishonorable. It would only hurt his pride. Then he could get a positionagain, and you would have your own income. "

"But do you mean to say that if I did revoke my power of attorney and heasked me later for money to save his business that I should not give it tohim?"

"Yes, I mean just that. Morty will never take any of the prizes in thebusiness world. He may hold on and make a living, that is all. He hasplenty to start with, and tells me he is doing fairly well, in spite of thetimes. But he would do better in the long run as a clerk. In time hemight get a large salary as a sort of general director of all the routinebusiness of some large house--"

Alexina curled her lip. "I do not want him to be a clerk. "

"No, of course you don't! But you'd like it still less if he cleaned youout. You--would have to sell or rent your old home and live on a hundredand fifty dollars a month in a flat in some out-of-the-way quarter. Youmight have to go to work yourself, "

"I shouldn't mind that so much, except that I'm afraid I'd not be good formuch. Perhaps it was snobbish of me to object lo Morty's being a clerk. But. .. Well, I'm not so sure that it is snobbish to prefer what you havealways been accustomed to--I mean if it is a higher standard. And after allI married him when he was only a clerk. "

"You are surprisingly little of a snob, all things considered; but you area hopeless aristocrat. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"I think the line between the aristocratic and the snobbish attitude ofmind is almost too fine to be put into words. But they are often confusedby the undiscriminating. Will you revoke that power of attorney on Monday?"

"Shouldn't I wait until Morty is home?. .. Tell him first? It seems rathertaking an advantage. .. And he will be very angry. "

"That doesn't matter. "

"What excuse shall I give him?"

"Any one of a dozen. You are bored and want to take care of yourmoney. .. Intend to learn something of business, as all women should, and will in time. .. . Ring in the feminist stuff. .. Wife's economicindependence. .. Woman's new position in the world. .. . That will make Morty soraving angry that he will forget about the other. Will you do it?"

"Yes, I will. I believe you are right. So were the others. .. There must besomething in it. "

She told Gora of the advice of Tom Abbott and Judge Lawton. Gora nodded. 

"They meant more than they said. And merely because they are men of theworld, not because they like and trust Morty any the less. "

Alexina did not hear her. She was staring hard at the floor. .. . A yearago. .. Three months ago. .. She couldn't have done this thing. She had beenstill under the illusion that she loved her husband, that her marriage wasa complete success. She would have sacrificed her last penny rather thanhurt his feelings. Now she only cared that she didn't care. .. . She hadadmitted to herself that she did not love her husband but that wasdifferent from committing an overt act that proved it. .. . She felt somethingcrumbling within her. .. . It was the last of the fairy edifice of herromance. .. Of her first, her real, youth. .. . What was to take its place?The future smugly secure on six thousand a year and an inviolate socialposition. .. A good dull husband. .. Not even the prospect of travel. .. . 

V

She sprang to her feet and turned away her head. 

"Why don't you come and live with us?" she asked abruptly. "Why should youkeep this on? There are so many vacant bedrooms up there. You could haveone for your study. I'd love to have you. You'd have the most completeindependence. Do. "

Gora shook her head. "I've always this to fall back on. "

"Fall back on?"

"Oh! I never meant to let that out. However. .. . Perhaps it is aswell. .. . Morty--you know his pride--everybody has his prime weakness andthat is his. Transpose it into snobbery if you like. .. . We did not boarddown here. I kept a lodging house for business women. It paid well, butMorty, when he became engaged to you, insisted that I give it up. He wasafraid you'd be outraged in your finest sensibilities! Well, I did. One ofmy lodgers resigned from her job and took it over. I entered the hospital, but kept on my room as I had to have one somewhere. Eight months later shemarried, and I took it back. I found I could run it as well as ever withthe aid of a treasure of a Chinaman she had discovered. But I never toldMorty. "

Alexina laughed. "Better not. But you could run it and live with us all thesame. "

"No. I have too little time. I'd waste it coming back and forth, for I mustbe here some time every day. .. . Besides. .. "

"Your own precious atmosphere?"

"You do understand!"

"Well, come to see me often. I shall need your advice. "

"You bet. And now, I'll see you to your car; stay with you until you aresafely transferred to the Fillmore car. And don't assert your independencein just this way again. All those loafers on Fillmore Street are notspiteful socialists. "

As Gora put on her hat at the distant mirror Alexina turned to Gathbroke'spicture with a scowl. She even clenched her hands into fists. 

"Oh. .. You. .. You. .. . Why weren't you. .. . Why didn't you. .. . "

CHAPTER VIII

I

Mortimer arrived on Tuesday evening, looking immaculate in spite of his dayon the train, and with that air of beaming gallantry that he could alwayssummon at will, even when all was not well with him. 

To-night, however, he was quite sincere. His visit to Los Angeles had beena success; he had actually put through a deal that had translated itselfinto a cheque for a thousand dollars. He had, through a mistaken order, been overstocked with a certain commodity from the Orient that the retailmerchants of San Francisco bought very sparingly; but he had found inLos Angeles a firm that did a large business with the swarming Japanesepopulation and was glad to take it over at a reasonable figure. 

II

It was after dinner; his taut trim body was relaxed in evening luxurybefore the wood fire of the back parlor, and he was half way through acigar when Alexina rose and extended one arm along the mantelpiece. Shelooked like a long black poplar with her round narrow flexible figure andher small head held with a lofty poise; as serene as a poplar in France ona balmy day. But she quaked inside. 

She glanced at her happy unsuspecting husband with an engaging smile. "I'mafraid you will be rather cross with me, " she said softly. "But I went downto the City Hall yesterday and revoked my power of attorney to you. "

"You did what?" The slow blood rose to Dwight's hair. He mechanically tookthe cigar from his mouth. It lost its flavor. He had a sensation of fallingthrough space. .. Out of somewhere. .. . 

Alexina repeated her statement. 

He recovered himself. "Tom Abbott has been at you again, I suppose. OrJudge Lawton. "

"Neither. Really, Morty, you must give me credit for a mind of my own. Idid it for several reasons. Sibyl was here Sunday. She motored up fromBurlingame with Aileen on purpose to talk to me. She has induced Mrs. Hunter and some other of the more intelligent women down there--those thatread the serious new books and go to lectures when there are any worthwhile--to join a class in economics. One of the professors at Stanford isgoing to teach us. Aileen has lost frightfully at poker lately and wants anew interest; she put Sibyl up to it--who was delighted with the suggestionas she hasn't been intellectual for quite a while now, and really has apractical streak; so that studying economics appealed to her. 

"I jumped at the idea. It was a God-send. I have had so little to do. Idon't care for poker and one can't read all the time. .. . But after they leftI reflected that I should cut a rather ridiculous figure studying economiesin the abstract if I didn't have sense and 'go' enough to manage my ownaffairs. Why, I was so ignorant I thought I couldn't draw any money fromthe bank because I had given you my power of attorney. Aileen has anallowance and the Judge makes her keep books. She usually comes out abouteven at poker in the course of the month, and if she doesn't she pawnssomething. I've been with her to pawn shops and it's the greatest fun. Idon't mind telling you, as I know you never betray a confidence. The Judgewould lock poor dear Aileen up on bread and water. 

"Sibyl manages those two great houses herself. Frank gives her somestupendous sum a year and she is proud of the fact that she never runs overit. You know how she entertains. 

"I should never dare admit to them--or to the professor if he asked myopinion on that sort of thing and it had to come out--that I was too lazyand too incompetent to manage my own little fortune. So I went down firstthing Monday morning and revoked my power of attorney. I simply couldn'twait. When the estate is settled and turned over to me I shall attend toeverything and not bother you, Morty dear. "

III

Morty dear looked at her with a long hard suspicious stare. Alexinathoughtfully turned up her eyes and changed promptly from a poplar into asaint. 

"I don't like it. I don't like it at all. "

Words were never his strong point and he could find none now adequate toexpress his feelings. 

"I may be old-fashioned--"

"You are, Morty. That is your only fault. You belong to the old school ofAmerican husbands--"

"There are plenty of old-fashioned people left in the world. "

"So there are, poor dears. It's going to be so hard for them--"

"Are you trying to be one of those infernal new women?"

"Well, you see, I just naturally am a child of my times, in spite of myold-fashioned family. I'd be much the same if I'd never taken any interestin all these wonderful modern movements. "

"It's those chums of yours--Aileen, Sibyl, Janet. I never did whollyapprove of them. "

"Neither did mother and Maria, but it never made any difference. "

"Do you mean to say that you intend to ignore me. .. Disobey me?"

"Oh, Morty, I never promised to obey you. You know the fun we all had atthe rehearsal. You haven't noticed, these three years, that I've had myway, in pretty nearly everything, merely because it happened to be your waytoo. We've been living in a sort of pleasure garden, just playing about, with mother as the good old fairy. But everything has changed. We mustlook out for ourselves now, and I cannot put the whole burden on yourshoulders--"

"I do not mind in the least. That is where it belongs. "

Alexina shook her wise little head. "Oh, no. It isn't done any more. Nowoman who has learned to think is so unjust as to throw the whole burdenof life on her husband's shoulders. You have your own daily battle in thebusiness world. I will do the rest. "

"What damned emancipated talk. "

"What a funny old-fashioned word. We don't even say advanced or new anymore. "

"It's nonsense anyhow. You're nothing but a child. "

"You may just bet your life I'm not a child. Nor have I awakened all of asudden. In one sense I have. But not in this particular branch of modernscience. I have read tons about it, and Aileen and I are always discussingeverything that interests the public; I have even read the newspapers fortwo years. "

"Much better you didn't. There is no reason whatever for a woman in yourposition knowing anything about public affairs. It detracts from yourcharm. "

"Maybe, but we'll find more charm in Life as we grow older. "

His memory ran back along a curved track and returned with something thatlooked like a bogey. 

"May I ask what your program is? Your household program? I had goteverything down to a fine point. .. . It seems too bad you should bother. .. . "

"Bother? I've been bored to death, and feeling like a silly littlegood-for-nothing besides. The trouble is, it's too little bother. James andI have had a long talk. Housekeeping will be reduced to its elements withhim, but at least I shall begin to feel really grown up when I pore overmonthly bills and 'slips' and sign cheques. "

She hesitated. "You mustn't think for a minute that I want to make youfeel out of it, Morty. It. Is only that I _must_. The time has come, . .. Ofcourse, you have been paying half the bills anyhow. We could simply go onalong those lines. I will tell you what it all amounts to, shortly afterthe first of the month, and you'll give me half. "

IV

Dwight stared at the end of his cigar. His was not an agile brain but inthat moment it had an illuminating flash. He realized that this shelteredcreature, with whom her mother had never discussed household economics, andfrom whom he had purposely kept all knowledge of his business, took forgranted that he could pay his share of the monthly expenses, merely becauseall the men she knew did twice as much, however they might grumble. For thematter of that she never saw Tom Abbott that he did not curse the ascendingprices, but there was no change whatever in his bountiful fashion ofliving. Alexina knew that the times were bad and that her husband washaving something of a struggle, and, as a dutiful wife, was anxious tohelp him out for the present, but it was simply beyond her powers ofcomprehension to grasp the fact that he was in no position to pay half theexpenses of their small establishment. 

If he told her. .. Tried to make her understand. .. Even if she did, how wouldhe appear in her eyes?

Of all people in the world he wanted to stand high with Alexina. .. He hadnever taken more pains to bluff the street when things were at their worstthan this girl who was the symbol of all he had aspired to and precariouslyachieved. He had longed for riches, not because she craved luxury and pomp, but because she would be forced to look up to him with admiration and alively gratitude. He had, in this spirit, given her; in the most casualmanner, handsome presents, or brilliant little dinners at fashionablerestaurants, in all of which she took a fervent young pleasure. Hehad dipped into his slender capital, but of this she had not even asuspicion. .. He had made some airy remark about celebrating a "gooddeal". .. No wonder. .. He had her too well bluffed. 

For an instant he contemplated a plain and manly statement of fact. But hedid not have the courage. Anything rather than that she should curl thatshort aristocratic upper lip of hers, stare at him with wide astonishedeyes that saw him a failure, even if a temporary one. He set his teeth andvowed to go through with it, to make good. This thousand would last severalmonths, even if he made no more than his expenses meanwhile. 

He shrugged his shoulders and lit another cigar. The first had died alingering and malodorous death. 

"Have your own way, " he said coldly. "I only wished to keep you young andcarefree. If you choose to bother with bills and investments it is your ownlook-out. "

"Thank you, Morty dear. "

She felt that it would be an act of wifely self-abnegation to defer theannouncement of her interest in socialism and Mr. Kirkpatrick. Aileen andSibyl had hailed her plan as even more exciting than the study of economicswith an exceedingly good-looking young professor (who had been tutoringin Burlingame), and she had already dispatched a note to him whom Aileendisreputably called her Fillmore Street mash. 

CHAPTER IX

I

Kirkpatrick sat before a crescent composed of Mrs. Mortimer Dwight, Mrs. Francis Leslie Bascom and Miss Aileen Livingston Lawton. 

His reasons for coming to Ballinger House--which even he knew wasinaccessible to the common herd--were separate and tabulated. Alexina hadfascinated him against his best class principles; but he not only jumped atthe chance of meeting her again, he was excessively curious to understand awoman of her class, to watch her in different moods and situations. He wasequally curious to meet other women of the same breed; he had never brushedtheir skirts before, but he had often stood and gazed at them hungrily asthey passed in their limousines or driving their smart little electriccars. 

He was also curious to see several of those "interiors" he had read so muchabout, and hoped his pupils would meet in turn at their different homes. Hewas a sincere and honest socialist, was Mr. Kirkpatrick, and he had a goodhealthy class-consciousness and class-hatred. But he also had a largemeasure of intelligent curiosity. He had never expected to have theopportunity to gratify it in respect to "bourgeois" inner circles, and whenit came he had only hesitated long enough to search his soul and assurehimself that he was in no danger of growing compliant and soft. Moreover hemight possibly make converts, and in any case it was not a bad way, societybeing still what it was, of turning an honest penny. 

But in this the first lesson he was as disconcerted as a socialist serenein his faith could be. 

The three girls had curved their slender bodies forward, resting one elbowon a knee. At the end of each of these feline arches was a pair of fixedand glowing eyes. No doubt there were faces also, but he was only vaguelyaware of three white disks from which flowed forth lambent streams ofconcentrated light. They looked like three little sea-monsters, slim, flexible, malignant, ready to spring. 

He exaggerated in his embarrassment, but he was not so very far wrong. 

"The little devils!" he thought in his righteous wrath. "I'll teach 'em, all right. "

As it was necessary to break the farcical silence he said in a voice tooloud for the small library. "Well, what is it about socialism that youdon't just know? Mrs. Dwight told me you had read some. "

"There is one thing I want to say before we begin, " said Aileen in her highlight impertinent voice, "and that is that if there is one thing that makesus more angry than another it is to be called _bourgeois_. "

"And ain't you?"

"We are not. I suppose your Marx didn't know the difference, although heis said to have married well, but _bourgeois_ for centuries in Europehad meant middle-class. Just that and nothing more. Marx had no right topervert an honest historic old word into something so different and soobnoxious. "

"To Marx all capitalists were in the same class. I suppose what you mean isthat you society folks call yourselves aristocrats, even when you have lesscapital than some of them that can't get in. "

"Sure thing. Take it from me. "

He gazed at her astounded, and once more had recourse to his rather heavysarcasm. 

"Even when they use slang. "

"Oh, we're never afraid to--like lots of the middle-class--bourgeois. Toosure of ourselves to care a hang what any one thinks of us. "

Alexina came hastily to the rescue, for a dull glow was kindling in Mr. Kirkpatrick's small sharp eyes. She didn't mind baiting him a little, butas he was in a way her guest he must be protected from the naughtiness ofAileen and the insolence of Sibyl Bascom, who had taken a cigarette from agold bejeweled case that dangled from her wrist and was asking him for alight. He gave her measure for measure, for he lifted his heavy boot andstruck a match on the sole. 

"You must not be too hard on us, Mr. Kirkpatrick. " Alexina upreared andleaned against the high back of her chair with a sweet and graciousdignity, "We are really a pack of ignoramuses, full of prejudices, which, however, we would get rid of if we knew how. We are hoping everything fromthese lessons. "

"Do _you_ smoke?"

"No, I don't happen to like the taste of tobacco, but I quite approve of myfriends smoking--unless they smoke their nerves out by the roots, as MissLawton does. Don't give her a light. But I'm sure you smoke. I'll get you acigar. "

She pinched Aileen, glared at Sibyl, and left the room. 

II

Mortimer was smoking furiously, trying to concentrate his mind on theevening paper. 

"Give me a cigar, Morty dear. "

"A cigar? What for?"

"It would be too mean of those girls to smoke unless Mr. Kirkpatrick didtoo, and I am sure we couldn't stand his tobacco. Even a whiff of badtobacco makes me feel quite ill. "

"I'll be hanged if I give my cigars to that bounder. The kitchen is theplace for him. "

"But not for us. And our minds are quite made up, you know. We are goingto study with him just to find out what these strange animals calledsocialists are like. He is queer enough, to begin, with. And the knowledgemay prove useful one of these days. .. . If you won't give me one I'll sendJames out--"

Mortimer handed over one of his choice cigars with ill grace, and Alexinareturned to the library. Aileen was informing Mr. Kirkpatrick how intenselyshe disliked Marx's beard, not only as she had seen it in a photograph, butas she had smelt it in Spargo's too vivid description. 

He rose awkwardly as she entered, but he rose. She handed him the cigar andstruck a match and held it to one end while he drew at the other. Theirfaces were close and she gave him a smile of warm and spontaneousfriendliness. 

Thought Mr. Kirkpatrick: "Oh, Lord, she's got me. I'd better make tracksout of here. If she was a vamp like that Bascom woman she wouldn't get meone little bit. Plenty of them where I come from. But she's plain goddesswith eyes like headlights on an engine. "

Perturbed as he was, however, he resumed his seat and drew appreciativelyat the finest cigar that had ever come his way. It had the opportune effectof causing his class-hatred to flame afresh. No fear that he would be madesoft by teaching in the homes of these pampered cats. For the moment hehated Alexina, seated in a carved high-back Italian chair like a youngqueen on a throne. 

"Well, " he growled. "Let's get to business. I've brought Spargo. Marx istoo much for me. He's terrible dull and involved. He was so taken up withhis subject, I guess, that he forgot to learn how to write about it so'speople without much time and education could understand without getting apain in their beans. Of course I've heard him expounded many times from theplatform, but there must have been about fifty Marxes, for I've heard--orread--just about that many expounders of him and no two agree so's you'dnotice it. That, to my mind, is the only stumbling block for socialism--that we have a prophet who's so hard to understand. 

"So, I've settled on Spargo. He has the name of being about the beststudent of Marx and of socialism generally--it's split up quite a bit--andhe's easy reading. I fetched him along. "

He produced "Socialism" from his hat and hesitated. "I don't know noth--athing about teaching. "

"Oh, don't let that worry you, " drawled Sibyl Bascom in her low voluptuousvoice and transfixing him with narrow swimming eyes; then as he refused tobe overcome, she continued more humanly: "We've been to lots of classes, you know. There are all sorts of methods. Suppose one of us reads the firstchapter aloud and then you expound. That is, we'll ask you questions. "

"That's fine, " said Mr. Kirkpatrick with immense relief. "Fire away. "

And Alexina, who always read prefaces and introductions last, began with"Robert Owen and the Utopian Spirit. "

BOOK III

CHAPTER I

I

Mr. Kirkpatrick realized his ambition to see with his own sharp puncturinglittle eyes (Aileen said they reminded her of a sewing-machine needleplaying staccato) several of the most flagrant examples of capitalisticextravagance where parasitic femalehood idled away their useless livesand servitors battened. In other words the extremely comfortable or theshamelessly luxurious homes built for the most part by still activebusiness men whose first real period of rest would be in a small stoneresidence in a certain silent city Down the Peninsula. 

Several were already occupied by their widows. In a climate where a man canwork three hundred and sixty-five days of the year the temptation to do sois strong, and not conducive to longevity. 

The Ferdinand Thorntons, Trennahans, Hofers and others who had lost theircity homes on Nob Hill had not rebuilt, but lived the year round in theircountry houses at Burlingame, San Mateo, Alta, Menlo Park, Atherton, or"across the Bay, " using the hotels when they came to town for dances, butmotoring home after the theater. 

Fortunately the finest and all of the newest mansions had been built in theWestern Addition and escaped the fire. Sibyl Bascom's father-in-law haderected, shortly before his death, a large square granite palace more orless in the Italian style, and as his widow preferred to live in SantaBarbara, Frank Bascom had taken it over for himself and his bride. 

Olive had carried her millions to France and found her marquis. (As hewas wealthy himself they contributed little to the current gossip of SanFrancisco. )

Janet Maynard lived with her mother, another widow of unrestricted means, in a large low Spanish house with a patio, built by a famous localarchitect with such success that Rex Roberts when he married Polly Luning, had bought the nearest vacant lot and ordered a romantic mansion as nearlylike that of his wife's intimate friend as possible. He would live in it assoon as the idiosyncrasies of The Architect and Labor would permit, Mrs. Clement Hunter had another pale gray stone palace, supported in frontby noble pillars and commanding a superb view of the Bay, the Golden Gate, and Mount Tamalpais. 

Aileen and her father lived in an old wooden house with a modern facade ofstucco, and surrounded by a garden filled with somewhat blightedgeraniums, fuchsias, sweet alicias, heliotrope, mignonette, and othernineteenth-century posies beloved of Mrs. Lawton in her romantic andinnocent youth. 

Sibyl and Alice Thorndyke's father had left his girls a square bow-windowedmansard-roofed double house, built in eighteen-seventy-eight, andunreclaimed. With it went a moderate income, and Alice lived on under theugly old roof chaperoned by an aunt, who had been chosen from a liberalassortment of relatives because she was almost deaf, quite myopic, and soterrified of draughts that her absence when convenient could always becounted on. 

II

All of these young women belonged to Alexina's personal set, and joined theclass in socialism, as they joined anything the stronger spirits amongthem suggested; and they attended as regularly as could be expected of"parasites" who were mainly interested in society, dress, poker, and someabsorbing creature of the other sex. 

Mr. Kirkpatrick hated them all with the exception of Alexina, Aileen, Mrs. Price Ruyler, the half-French wife of a New Yorker, recently adopted byCalifornia, and Mrs. Hunter, who had joined out of curiosity, having read acertain amount of socialism, but never met a socialist. 

She confided to Mrs. Thornton that she was not acutely anxious to meetanother, and Mrs. Thornton replied tartly:

"What do you want to belong to such a class for? It's rank hyprocrisy topretend interest in a question we all hate the very name of, and to givethe creature money that he no doubt turns over to the 'cause' with histongue in his cheek. I'd never give one of them the satisfaction of knowingthat I recognized his existence. "

Said Maria Abbott firmly: "Exactly. We should ignore them, just as weignore envious and spiteful and ill-bred outsiders of any sort. "

"But we may not be able to ignore them, " said Mrs. Hunter. "Theirorganization is the best of any party even if their numbers are notoverwhelming. If they are content to advance slowly and by purely politicalmethods there is no knowing who will own this or any government fifty yearshence. For my part I'd rather they all turn raging anarchists; then wecould turn machine guns on them and clean 'em out. I hate them, for I wastoo long getting where I am now, and I want to stay. But I don't make themistake of ignoring them, and I rather like having a squint at them atclose quarters. Kirkpatrick has taken us to several socialist meetings. .. Weborrow the servants' coats and mutilate our oldest hats. .. . Socialism seemsto me rather more endurable than the socialists, and of these Kirkpatrickis about the sanest I have heard. They rant and froth, contradictthemselves and one another, wander from the point and never getanywhere. .. . That would give me hope if it were not for the fact that poorCalifornia is a magnet for the cranks of every fad as well as for theriff-raff and derelicts. .. . My other hope is that even they--that is to saythe least unbalanced of them--will come in time to realize that socialismis economically unsound--"

"Do you mean to say, " cried Mrs. Abbott, "that Alexina has gone tosocialist meetings?"

"Rather. She's very keen--"

"Believes in it?"

"Rather not. But she is naturally thorough--has a really extraordinarytendency, for a San Franciscan of her sex and status, to finish anythingshe has begun. Sometimes when she is arguing with Kirkpatrick she sticksout that chin of hers so far that you notice how square it is. She has himpretty well tamed though. When he is ready to eat the rest of us alive shecan smooth him down like a regular lion tamer. "

"Well, you're nothing but a lot of parlor socialists, " said Mrs. Thorntondisgustedly. "And just as ridiculous as any other hybrids. But I'm relievedthat it hasn't spoiled your taste for the simpler pleasures of life. Maria, as you don't play poker we'll have a game of bridge, Ladie, ring forcocktails, will you--or would you rather have a gin fizz? Don't look sohorrified, Maria. We're better than socialists, anyhow; if they did winout you'd have farther to fall than we, for you're a moss-backed oldconservative who hates change of any sort, while we not only love change ofall sorts but are regular anarchists: do as we please and snap our fingersat the world. Here we are. "

The three were in Mrs. Thornton's Moorish palace half way between San Mateoand Burlingame, a situation that symbolized the connecting bridge betweenthe old and new order for Mrs. Abbott. Mrs. Thornton was a linealdescendant of the Rincon Hill of the sixties and had made her début withMaria Groome in the eighties. But she had married an immoderately rich manand had a barbaric taste for splendor that formed the proper setting forher own somewhat barbaric beauty, and imperious temper. Her dark andsplendid beauty was waning, for in the matter of giving aid to nature withsecrecy or with art she was faithful to the old tradition. But she wasalways an imposing figure and as close to being the first power in SanFrancisco society as that happy-go-lucky independent class would evertolerate. 

III

Kirkpatrick liked Mrs. Hunter, regarding her as "an honest plain-spokendame without any frills. " This estimate applied not only to her temperamentbut to her costumes. He admired her severe tailored suits (although hesensed their cost) and her smart, plain, hard, little hats. 

The "frills and furbelows" of the younger "spenders" irritated the group ofnerves appropriated by his class-consciousness almost beyond endurance; buthe managed to stand it by reminding himself that irritation of all such wasa healthy sign and vastly preferable to insidious tolerance. 

Mrs. Hunter was also as regular in her attendance as Mrs. Dwight, MissLawton and Mrs. Price Ruyler, and asked fairly intelligent questions. Theothers floated in and out, and one by one dropped from the class, untiltoward the middle of the second winter none remained but Alexina, Aileen, Mrs. Hunter and Hélène Ruyler, who, like Aileen, found in the "franticinterest" of the materialistic creed which antagonized every instinct inthem, a distraction from the excessive gambling which had threatened towreck their nerves, purses, and peace of mind. They confided this artlesslyto Mr. Kirkpatrick, who replied dryly that they were the best argument hehad in stock. 

But if the major part of his fashionable class deserted him in due coursehe had meanwhile seen the inside of their homes; and in each case, Alexina, who divined his interest, arranged to have him shown over the house fromthe kitchens and pantries straight up to the servants' quarters. 

These he found unexpectedly comfortable and complete. In fact, they were somuch more modern and adorned than the little cottage in the Mission wherehe lived with his mother that he longed for the immediate installation of asystem that would teach these workers what real work was. What enraged himfurther was their "airs. " They too obviously looked upon him as an alienintruder, whereas their mistresses, until socialism bored them, were, forthe most part, as charmingly courteous as his one reliable friend, Mrs. Mortimer Dwight. 

IV

During the first winter and spring while his pupils were still fairlyregular in their attendance, he was both incensed and grimly amused bytheir various idiosyncrasies. He soon became accustomed to their vanityboxes and their public application of powder and lip stick, the frankcrossing of their knees that exhibited more diaphanous silk than he hadever seen in his life before, the polite excitement that any new articleof attire worn by one seemed to induce in all, the wicked but on the wholegood-natured baiting of Aileen Lawton and Polly Roberts, the alternateinsolence and Circean glances of Mrs. Bascom, who amused herself"practicing on him, " and the constant smoking of most of them. 

But what he could neither understand nor accept was their attitude towardone another. They would all rush at the hostess of the day as they entered, or at late comers, with the excited enthusiasm of loved and lovingintimates who had not met for months; and Kirkpatrick, who missed nothing, knew that they met once a day if not oftener. 

In spite of their intimacy their warm enraptured greetings carried a patentmeasure of admiration and even respect. It was always at least fifteenminutes before they would settle down for "work" and meanwhile theychattered about their common interests, but always with the air of relatinglong-delayed information and a frank desire to give of their best. He couldhave understood "gush, " and sentimentalism, but this attitude of which hehad neither heard nor read bothered him until one day he had a sudden, flash of enlightenment. 

V

"Is it class-consciousness?"

He asked the question of Gora, who dropped in upon a class at Alexina's orAileen's sometimes on a free afternoon, and with whom he was walking downto the trolley car. 

"Something like that. Caste they would call it if they thought about it atall, which to do them justice they don't. .. . It used to be the fashionin San Francisco for everybody to 'knock' everybody else. Then came arevulsion and everybody began to praise and boost. You see it in allcircles, but the way it has taken that crowd is to show their intenseloyalty to one another by a constant reminder of it in manner, and inrefraining from criticism of one another, no matter how much they maygossip about others outside of their particular set. Once, just to try mysister-in-law, I told her that in my nursing I had stumbled across evidenceof an illicit love affair going on between one of her friends and a marriedman, the husband of my patient. My sister became so remote that I had theimpression for a few moments that she really wasn't there. Once it wouldhave infuriated me, but I have improved my sense of humor and developed myphilosophy, so I merely turned the conversation, as she wouldn't speak atall. She had quite withdrawn--still further into the sacred preserves, Isuppose. .. . 

"They are not only loyal but really seem to have the most exaltedadmiration for one another because they are all of the same heaven-bornstock. .. . That is not all, however. The truth of the matter is that they getso bored out here they would go frantic if they did not cultivate as manykinds of excitement and indigenous admirations as their wits are equal to. When they can, they vary the monotony of life with summers in Europe andwinters in New York--or Santa Barbara, where they meet many interestingpeople from the East or England; but some of them won't leave their busyhusbands or the husbands won't be left; or parents are not amenable; sothey try to create an atmosphere of high spirits and sheer delight in youthand one another, and the result is almost a work of art. I rather respectthem, but I envy them a good deal less than before I knew them so well. "

"Oh, you envied them? They should envy you. "

"Well, they don't! Yes, I envied them because it is my natural right to beone of them and fate slammed the door before I was born. It embittered myfirst youth, and it might have become an obsession after my brother marriedinto society if I had not found the right kind of work. That and the boringSundays I've spent at Rincona, and the experiences I have had with thatyoung set, who are always at Mrs. Dwight's more or less; besides a profoundsatisfaction in accomplishing literary work that not one of them could doto save their lives--all this has routed a good deal of my old bitternessof spirit. I am not sorry that I had it and indulged it, however. Discontent and resentment put spurs on the soul. Anything is better thansmugness, "

"It's made you different enough from these others, all right. Evenfrom Mrs. Dwight, who is different herself. .. . I'd rather you'd stayeddiscontented. The whole scheme's all wrong and you know it. You've sufferedfrom it. You should be the last to tolerate it. When they're jabbering awayabout their ninny affairs they pay as little attention to you as they do tome. They forget our existence. We don't belong, as they say. There isn't, one of them except Mrs. Dwight that I wouldn't give my eye teeth to seehanging out the wash or running a machine in a factory. "'

Gora turned to him with a smile. At this time she was as nearly happy aswas possible for that insurgent too aspiring spirit. 

"Nevertheless, they've made you over in a way--Oh, don't flame! I don'tmean your principles. .. Other ways that won't hurt you in the least. Youcut your hair differently. You wear better shoes. You have your clothespressed--the suit you wear up here anyhow. You've reformed your speechsomewhat, and you know a good deal more about many things than you dida few months ago. I am expecting any day to see you wearing a 'boiled'shirt. "

"Oh, no, not that! It'd never do. It's true enough I got to feelingself-conscious about my rough clothes and boots, especially after I metthat dude brother of yours one day in the hall and he gave me a once-overthat made me feel like a tramp. "

"Oh!. .. But he was snubbed himself not so very long ago, and I supposeit gives him a certain pleasure to snub some one else, I am ashamed ofhim. .. . But tell me, don't you like them rather better than you expected?Find them rather a better sort? You must see that there is practically noleisure class as far as the men are concerned--"

"They have time enough to go chicken chasing--"

"Well, aside from that? At least they do work. And the younger women? Youknew before that they were frivolous because they had too much money andtoo few responsibilities. Many of the older women have a serious and usefulside, even if they do waste an unholy amount of time at cards. "

"Well, if you ask me, their manners, when they remember to use 'em, arebetter than I expected. Only that Miss Thorndyke is cold and haughty, butperhaps that's because she's poor (for her), or is covering up something, or is just plain stupid. .. . Mrs. Dwight's manners are always perfect. She'smy idea of a lady--just! And in the new system there'll be a long sightmore ladies than is possible now, only no aristocrats. .. . Yes, they'redecent enough considering they're rotten poisoned by money and thinkin'themselves better'n the mass; and I like their affection for one another. But they could be all that in the socialist state and more too. They'd haveto cut out drink and gambling, and a few other diversions some of 'em'lldrift into, if one or two of 'em haven't already--just through being boredto death. "

"Do you honestly think socialism means universal virtue?"

"No, I don't. I'm no such greenhorn; though there's some that does, orpretends to. .. . But I mean there'd be no _drifting_ into vice like thereis now, no indulgence of any old weakness because temptation was alwaysfollowing them about or just round the corner. That's the troublenow. .. . But in the most perfect state some would be watching out for theirchance, just because the old Adam was too strong in spite of the fact thatall the old reminders had disappeared. "

"More likely they'd all murder one another because they were some tenthousand times more bored than that poor little group whose brains you areaddling. "

"I don't like to hear you talk like that, Miss Gora. You ought to givethat pen of yours to socialism. There would be all the revenge you couldwant--and it's what you're entitled to. Then I could call you ComradeGora. "

"Call me Comarade by all means if it hurts you to say Miss to a fellowworker. .. . You admit then that envy of a society you were not born into andwhich refuses to acknowledge you as an equal, is the secret of your desireto pull it down?"

"Partly that. " he admitted cooly. "Not that I'd change places with any ofthose fat millionaires I see shuffling down the steps of the Pacific-UnionClub--although I'll admit to you what I wouldn't to these young devils inmy class, that I know some socialists who would. I hate the sight of 'em. But I want to do away with class-rights and class-distinctions, not onlybecause I just naturally have no use for them but because I want to put anend to the misery of the world. "

"You mean the material misery. What would you do with the other sevenhundred different varieties?"

"Well. .. . I guess each case would have to take care of itself. Perhaps we'dget round to it after a while. Get power and class-envy out of the world, and some genius, like as not, would invent a post-graduate course ofcolleges for human nature. All things are possible. "

"You are an optimist! Here's our car. Come home with me and share thesupper that I pay for with the tainted money of a plutocrat. Only wehaven't any real plutocrats in San Francisco. Only modest millionaires. Will you?"

"Yes. " said Mr. Kirkpatrick. "And thank you kindly. " He even smiled, for hewas developing a latent heavily overlain seed of humor; inherited from thefull bay tree that had flourished in his grandfather, born in County Clare, where men sometimes indulged in rebellion but did not take themselves tooseriously withal. 

CHAPTER II

I

That winter and the following seasons for the next few years passed veryrapidly for Alexina. Besides her classes and the constant companionship ofher friends (to say nothing of the excitement of helping one or two of themout of not infrequent scrapes), she had for a time the absorbing interestof refurnishing the best part of her house. 

The square lower hall which had been scantily furnished with thegrandfather's clock, a hat-rack, and a settee, and whose walls were coveredwith "marble paper, " was painted, walls and wood, a deep ivory white, andrefurnished with light wicker furniture, palms, and growing plants. Thehat-rack was abolished, and the small library on the left of the entranceturned into a men's dressing-room. The folding doors were removed from thegreat double parlors, the "body brussels" replaced by hardwood floors, thewalls tinted a pale gray as a background for the really valuable pictures(including the proud and gracious and beautiful Alexina Ballinger, dustlong since in Lone Mountain), and the splendid pieces of Italian furniturewhich had always seemed to sulk and bulge against the dull brown walls. The rep and walnut sets were sent to the auction room and replaced bycomfortable chairs and sofas whose colors varied, but harmonized not onlywith one another but with the rugs that Alexina under Gora's direction hadbought at auction. In fact she bought many of her new pieces at auction andwith Aileen found it vastly exciting to pore over the advertisements andthen go down to the crowded rooms and bid. 

The billiard room behind the former library she left as it was. Hermother's large bedroom upstairs she turned into a library with bookcases tothe ceiling on three sides, and one of the carved oaken tables against anexpanse of Pompeiian red relieved by one painting (a wedding gift fromJudge Lawton, who believed in patronizing local art) that had despoiled adesert of its gorgeous yellow sunrise. 

The carpet and curtains were red without pattern. The coal grate had beenremoved and a fireplace built for logs. It was to be her own den for longrainy winter afternoons, or the cold and foggy days of summer when sheremained in the city. 

The dining-room was also given a hardwood floor and a Japanese red and goldwall paper as a compliment to her martial ancestors; but as the sideboardswere built into the wails end could be replaced only at great cost;they remained as a brooding reminder of the solid sixties, and no doubtexchanged resentful reminiscences at night with the chairs which had beenmerely recovered. 

As a matter of course modern bathtubs were installed and gas replaced byelectricity. 

All this made a "hole" in Alexina's bonds, the wedding-present of herbrothers, but Mortimer offered no objection, knowing as he did that toachieve his ambition of being master of a house to which fashionable peoplewould come as a matter of course the outlay was imperative. Moreover, entertaining at home would be far cheaper for him than at the restaurants. 

He was doing fairly well at this time, for he had learned what commoditiesthe retail men were likely to buy of a firm as small as his, and he had gotinto touch with one or two foreign markets not monopolized by the olderhouses. Moreover, he had been speculating a little in the new Nevada mines, and successfully. He presented Alexina with a Victrola which included themusic for all the new dances, and a long coat of baby lamb lined with herfavorite periwinkle blue. To his sister he returned a thousand dollars ofher money. 

Alexina knew nothing of these speculations and felt that her original faithin him was justified. He did not offer even yet to pay all the monthlyexpenses of the house, explaining casually that the greater part of hisprofits went back into the business; but he handed over his share promptly, and such fleeting doubts and anxieties as may once have visited his stillinexperienced wife faded and finally disappeared. 

II

They began to entertain a little during the second winter, Mrs. Groomehaving been dead nearly two years. The new floor of the large drawing-roomhad been laid for dancing, and their friends formed a habit, when there was"nothing on" elsewhere, of telephoning and announcing they were coming upto take a whirl. This led to more telephoning, and some twenty coupleswould dance in the long-silent old house at least once and often threetimes a week. 

The new order delighted James, who felt young again, and his hastilyimprovised suppers were models of unpretentious succulence. There werealways sherry and whiskey in the handsome old decanters on the sideboards;and, at the equally perfect little dinners, for a time, two bottles ofAlexander Groome's favorite brand of champagne (which he had rememberedwith satisfaction on his deathbed that he had not outlived) were brought upfrom the cellar by the beaming James. 

When, almost with tears, he informed his mistress' husband that the lastbottle had been served Mortimer could do no less than order up a case. Hehad not the courage either to give his guests the excellent native claretwhere they had formerly enjoyed imported champagne or to appear a "piker"in the eyes of the far from democratic family butler. 

He consoled himself with the reflection that it was "good business. " Nearlyall the young men, married or otherwise, that came to his house (Alexinasubtly encouraged him to call it his house) were of more or less importanceor standing in the world of business and finance (two were lawyers in theirfirst flight, Bascom Luning and Jimmie Thorne), and the more prosperous heappeared to be (they knew to a dollar the extent of Alexina's income) themore apt would business be to flow his way, the less likely they would beto suspect him of playing the stock market. At all events it enhanced hisstanding and gave him intense pleasure. 

Moreover, as time passed it became evident to his sensitive ego that hewas no longer looked upon as an outsider. He was accepted as a matterof course. He was one of them. Neither men nor women (not even Aileen)continued to ask themselves whether they liked him or not. He was there andto stay and that was the end of it. They had always liked his manners; hemade a charming host, and, as ever, he danced like "a god with wings on hisheels. "

Quite naturally in due course some one offered to put him up at the mostexclusive and the most expensive club west of New York, a club to whichevery Californian with any pretence to fashion or importance belonged as amatter of course. Old men whose names had once been potent in the greatbanks or firms of the valleys below, sat and gazed with sad and rheumy eyesdown upon the new city in which there was barely a familiar landmark toremind them of their youth or the years of their power and their pride. They sat there all day long, day after day; and tourists went away with theimpression that the imposing brown stone mansion on the sacred crest of NobMill was a sumptuously endowed retreat for the incurably aged. 

But the majority of its members were very much alive and still well-padded;and, far from being on a pale diet, were deeply appreciative of the famousculinary resources of the chef, and showed it. 

When the offer was made to Mortimer he accepted with a bright: "Oh, thanks, old chap. I'd like it immensely, " But when, on the first day of hismembership, he stood in one of the front windows and gazed out at the ruinsopposite--the Pacific Union Club and the Fairmont Hotel were still twooases in the rubbled waste of Nob Hill--he felt so exultant and so happythat he dared not open his lips lest he betray himself. He could mount nohigher socially. All that he had to strive for now was his million--ormillions. When he had half a million he would build a house at Burlingamethat could be enlarged from time to time. 

Only with the "Rincona crowd" he had made no headway. Maria did nothesitate to comment on the extravagance of doing the house over, themembership at the club with all it entailed, Alexina's little electriccar, and above all the constant entertaining. A moderate amount was dueAlexina's position; but open house--nothing made money fly so quickly. Prices were getting higher every day (there came a time, in the wake of thegreat war, when she looked back with sad amazement at the morning of herdiscontent) and rich people were getting richer while poor people likethemselves (she meant what Alexina still called the A. A. ) were growingpoorer. 

Tom Abbott had not put Mortimer up at the club. He happened to know thatalthough his brother-in-law was doing fairly well he was not making afortune, and suspected that he dabbled in stocks. But he said nothing ofthis to his wife, and as he knew that Alexina had long since revoked herpower of attorney (she had given him to understand that this was done atMortimer's suggestion) he believed that her money at least was safe. 

CHAPTER III

I

Alexina, although she would have found it impossible, even if she hadso desired, to relapse into the incognitance of the years preceding hermother's death, had nevertheless locked and sealed and cellared her ivorytower, those depths of her nature where, she suspected, her true ego dwelt. It was an ego she had forfeited the right to indulge, nor had she at thistime any desire to know more of herself than she did. Life after all wasvery pleasant; she managed to fill it with many little and even afew absorbing interests; and once she spent a month at Santa Barbarachaperoning Janet Maynard, where her duties sat lightly upon her and shewould have responded naturally if addressed as Miss Groome, so completelydid Mortimer fade into the background. In the summer of nineteen-thirteenJudge Lawton and Aileen overcame all protests and took her with them toEurope, where, after a month in Paris, she visited Olive de Morsigny in herrenaissance château on the Loire. The memory of Gathbroke revisited herand she half-wished the Judge would go to England, but the climate did notagree with him, and after a few more enchanted weeks, in Italy and Spain, she returned to Mortimer, who was distinctly duller than ever. 

But she had reconciled herself long since to the dullness of herlife-partner; he could not help it and she had willfully married him in theface of as imposing a phalanx of family and friendly opposition as everattempted to stand between a girl and her fate. 

Nevertheless, immediately after her return from Santa Barbara in the lateautumn of nineteen-eleven, and wholly without, analysis or pondering, shemade a significant change in the order of her life. Mortimer, who had, during her absence, occupied a large room at the back of the house visitedby the afternoon sun, found himself invited to retain it. .. . They must avoidthe least possibility of a family until they were better off. .. . She hadbeen hearing the subject discussed. .. The most economical baby cost fiftydollars a month. With a permanent trained nurse, and of course they wouldhave one, the cost would easily be doubled. .. Thousands were required forthe proper education of a child. .. Even if she had girls she should wishthem to go to college; she was not half educated herself. .. And boys, withtheir extravagances, their debts, they cost a mint; it was better forchildren to be born outright in the humbler classes than to be born into arich set without riches themselves. .. It all put her in a panic every timeshe thought of it. .. . Morty was so sensible and had such a high sense ofresponsibility, of course he understood. .. Children, even when small, wouldhamper him fearfully, especially as he had not even begun to make hismillion. .. . As for herself she would be more economical than ever and helphim like the good pal she was. 

Mortimer had the sensation of being trussed up with invisible butinflexible silken thongs. His thoughts need not be recorded. 

II

Alexina refurnished her bedroom in her favorite periwinkle blue; a lowgraceful day-bed with a screen before the stationary washstand helped tocreate the atmosphere of a boudoir. It had an intensely personal atmospherein which man, more particularly a lawful husband, had no place. 

When Alexina stood on the threshold and surveyed this room, chaste, cool, proud, and exquisitely lovely, she lifted her hand and blew off a kiss, outof the window, wafting away the memory of the room as it had been. Shehad remarkable powers of obliteration, a sort of River of Lethe among thebackwaters of her mind, where she held below the surface all she wished toforget until it ceased to struggle. She never again gave a thought toher early relationship with her husband; not even to the indifferenceor distaste which had followed so quickly upon her curiosity and herdetermination to feel romantic at all costs. 

III

Subtly she felt she was happier than she had ever been even in those firstweeks, when she had barred the gates of her fool's paradise behind her; shefelt as free and happy as the birds skimming over the beds of periwinklebelow her window, and (miraculously finding her second youth quite asproductive as her first) took no pains to conceive of anything better. Shelooked neither forward nor back, and all was well. 

She even flirted a little, that being the fashion, and, having had enoughof business men, encouraged the devotions of Bascom Luning and JimmieThorne. She saw them when they chose to call in the daytime, and regaledthe glowering Mortimer at the dinner table with scraps of their sapience. 

Mortimer had resigned himself long since to the sacrifice of several of hisbourgeois ambitions, among them to be master in his own house; but not aniota of his convictions. Although it would not have occurred to him todistrust his wife if she had chosen to sit up all night with a man, he madefrozen comments upon the impropriety of a woman having men in the housewhen her husband was not there, sitting out dances with men, taking longtramps through Marin County with three men and no one for chaperon butAlice Thorndyke and Janet Maynard--shocking flirts--whole Sundays--withlunch heaven knew where, and himself, who hated tramping, not included. 

But these grim remonstrances were met in so gay a spirit of badinage thathe felt ridiculous, particularly as no powers of badinage or of reparteehad been included in his own mental equipment; and he usually relapsed intoa polite and bored silence. 

He never had had much to say at the dinner table when they were alone, and, as time went on, his comments on the day were exhausted before the soup hadgiven place to the entrée, and Alexina fell into the habit of bringing herItalian text-book to the table--the study of Italian just then being therage in her set--and whatever interesting book she had on hand. Mortimermade no protest. His brain was fagged at night. It was a relief not tobe expected to talk when they dined alone; those long silences had beenoppresive even to him; he rather welcomed the books. 

CHAPTER IV

I

This complete new freedom, and personal privacy, entailed in time a resultwhich Alexina would have been the last to anticipate even if she haddisposed of her husband by death or divorce. 

Owing to the thoroughness of her mental methods she was psychologicallyfree, the legal tie mattered as little as if Mortimer had been transposedby some beneficent law to the status of a brother. The will when it isstrong enough can control acts, and, when favored by bias, thought; but ithas no command whatever over the sub-consciousness, and in that mysteriousregion are the subtle inheritances of mind and character, the springs andthe direction, of all functional life; a fate with a thousand threads onher wheel, filaments from the souls and the bodies, the minds and theacts, of every ancestor straight back to that vast impersonal ocean where, unthinkable millions of years ago proemial life awaited the call of theworlds. 

This aged untiring fate at the wheel battles unceasingly with the consciousmind above, for age is prone to live by law and rote. These fates, theoldest daughters of the Earth-Mother, Nature, know nothing of morals ormanners, assume that men and women are as naïve in their normality as thedenizens of forest and field. And so they are while children. 

II

The eternal pull between civilizing Mind (Oh, centuries yet from beingcivilized!) and the memoried but obstinate old lady at the wheel (wholaughs when a man of powerful will and too active mind "wills" sleep;forcing him finally to choose between the horrors of insomnia, theinsidious tyranny of drugs, and the doubtful and wearisome alternative ofpsychotherapeutics)--this pull, automatic in people of low estate, becomesbitter and often appalling where the mind is highly developed and attunedbesides to the codes and customs of the best that civilization has so faraccomplished. 

The most vital of all these functions, for without it Mother Earth would belike an ant hill without ants, and all these ancient norms of daughtersas homeless as the rest of the fates, is what man in a spirit of socialcompromise has labeled an instinct--the sex-instinct. It is no morean instinct than recurring sleep, lymphatic action, hunger, thirst, alimentation. It is a primal function for which Mind, wisely foreseeing theconsequences of too much Nature, long since created laws both civil andsocial to curb. There are many impulses, Inherited, from ten thousandancestors and constantly jogged by Earth's busy agent, human nature, thatmay logically be called instincts (their roots lying in the ancient socialgroups and their struggle to exist) but not a function that governs thelaw of reproduction, as appetite governs the law of renewing the vitalnecessities of the body. 

III

In the Latin races the conscious war between the brain above and thesub-ego below, with the latter's constant reminders that mind is a mereexcrescence, often warped or ill-directed, at the apex of the perfect body, is almost negligible. Even, when moral their lack of reticence, theirpractical logic, their habit of facing every fact pertaining to life, psychical and physical, as squarely as they face a simple question ofhunger and thirst, above all their almost complete lack of that modern, development, called romance, which has given birth to a peculiar form ofpersonal imagination, too often without foundation or logic--all thesepreclude that most active of all mental aids to the matter of fact needs ofthe body--glamour. 

But it is far otherwise with the English-speaking races--loosely calledAnglo-Saxon, They are powerfully sexed; their feelings and sentiments godeeper than is possible to those of more ebullient temperament but fatalclarity of vision; refinement of mind and habit and manner is perhaps themost precious of their achievements, and they have established a code whichnot only demands rectitude of act but suppression of thought and desirewhere there is no lawful outlet. 

Nothing, possibly, has more infuriated the old lady at the methodicallyperforming wheel than this. She takes her revenge and squirts poison intothe physical structure of the brain, obscures the soul with dark andbrooding clouds, and subtly reduces the blood system to such a state thatany germ is welcome. 

IV

Once more Mind uses its highest faculties and outwits her, having nointention that civilization shall drop below the plane to which it has beenraised through long laborious centuries of time. Life becomes more diverse, more complex. The middle classes work harder to live; they have littleleisure for thoughts, for introspection. Punishment is dire. .. . Those thathave leisure and yet not enough to command the more brilliant and specialforms of distraction are supplied with public libraries, gymnasiums, freemedical advice regarding the laws of hygiene in places where they cannotfail to see it, new forms of cheap amusement; they are subtly encouraged totake up useful work or study; or there are increasing pressures which mayforce even this semi-leisure class to work for luxuries if not for bread. Tens of thousands of women are led into the passionate diversions of clublife. For them, too, politics with its fierce championships and hatredsand frictions; the necessity of concentration of thought on the impersonalplane if only in the matter of getting the best of rivals within the fold;and if hair flies souls are saved. 

Over the Oldest Profession Mind still scratches its head in vain. It isever hopeful, and hamstrings a sovereign patron, like alcohol, now andagain; but the lady at the wheel smiles, for here, in addition to theunquenchable maternal instinct, the ignorance of the poor, and the glamourthat the men of certain races have learned to give to love, she has herclearest field. 

Aside from the women of commerce there are, of course, many secretrebels--now and then only does one make her exit from society through thecourts. The vast majority of Anglo-Saxons in whatever clime or capital, suppress their "unrefined" appetites or vagrant fancies--which arevibrations from the wheel; sometimes hard jerks when the presiding geniusis more than commonly out of patience--and rise to serene heights or growmorbid and irritable according to the strength or the meagerness of theirequipment; or the nature of their resources. A cultivated resource is apersistent fiction that life is as it ought to be, not as it is, and itis no plan of theirs to read books or witness plays that might carve andpopulate a new groove in their brains. 

Let no one imagine that this class will become more "enlightened, ""broader, " as time goes on. Not for a century at least. Mind has made toogreat a success of this product; she has practically achieved a completetriumph over the lady at the wheel. It is this class that has madecivilization progress, the solid thing it is to date. The excrescences, thedeserters from the normal, scintillating or subtle, may be tolerated forthe spice they give to life but they will never rule, Possibly they do not mind. Life Is made up of compromises andcompensations. 

V

American women in youth, of the visibly reputable world, may be freelydivided into two classes, the oversexed and those that seem cold tothemselves and others until they are well into the period of their secondyouth--between twenty-four and thirty; and a not inconsiderable number areso and permanently. In the first case they either precipitate themselvesinto matrimony or have one or more intrigues until they find the man theywish to marry, when they settle down and make excellent wives. The others, if they are imaginative and high-minded, fall in love romantically andmarry far too soon; or they capitalize their youth or beauty and marry tothe best advantage; or they elect to live a life of serene spinsterhoodlike Alexina's Aunt Clara, and bring up the family children. A notinconsiderable number take their fling late. 

When the American girl of the super-refined class, and whose baleful normin the crypt was asleep at the wheel in her first blind youth, findsherself disappointed in the most intimate partnership that exists, thecomplaisance, voluntary at the beginning, drifts into habit, more and moregrimly endured. Some have the moral courage to put an end to it as theywould to any false situation, but if individuals were not rare in thisworld we should have chaos, not a civilization of sorts which is a pleasantplace to plant the feet, however high into the clouds the head may poke itsinvestigating nose. 

It is natural that with such women during the period of endurance all loveshould seem distasteful, and the mind dwell upon any other subject. Butremove the cause of sex-inertia and there is likely to be the stir andawakening of spring after a long monotonous winter of hard frost andblanketing snow. Or a homelier simile: remove the cause of chronicindigestion and the appetite becomes fresh and normal. 

Thus Alexina. 

CHAPTER V

I

San Francisco, commencing in September, has three or four months of perfectweather. The cold fogs and winds cease to pay their daily visits, the rainyseason awaits the new year. The skies are a deep and cloudless blue, theair is warm and soft and alluring, never too hot, although the overcoats ofsummer are discarded. 

The city lies bathed in golden sunlight or the sharp jeweled light ofstars, when the moon is not blazing like a crystal bonfire. Then MountTamalpais and other mountains across the Bay and behind the city take ona chiseled outline that, particularly at night, makes them look curiouslynew, as if but yesterday heaved from the deep, and Nature too busy toprovide them with a background and the soft blurs of time for centuries tocome. This primeval look of bare California mountains on clear nights hassomething sinister and menacing in its aspect as if at any moment theymight once more brood alone over the earth. 

II

Alexina returned from abroad early in November and stood one morningoutside her eucalyptus grove, revolving slowly on one heel, schoolgirlfashion, as she gazed up at the steep densely populated hill that rose fromthe street below her own private little hill, and cut off her view of thehills of Berkeley and the mountains beyond; at the broad crowded valleyson the south; the range of hills that hid the Pacific Ocean, and includedMount Calvary with its cross and the symmetrical mass of Twin Peaks; thebare brown mountains of the north piling above the green sparkling bay withits wooded and military islands. 

Like a good and valiant Californian she was assuring herself that she hadseen nothing like this in Europe, and that she really preferred it toart galleries and dilapidated old ruins. But as a matter of fact she hadreturned to California with dragging feet and was merely staving off thedisheartening moment when her ruthless candor would force her to admit it. 

San Francisco was all very well, and in this dazzling light that compactmass of houses swarming over the city's hills and valleys, with suddenpalms in high gardens and a tree here and there, produced the impressionthat all were white with red roofs, and looked not unlike Genoa. But itseemed quite unromantic and uninspiring to a girl who had just paid herfirst brief visit to the old world, an interval, moreover, that had beenwithout a responsibility, cut her off so completely from her general lifethat when variously addressed "Mademoiselle, " "Signorina, " "Señorita, " sheceased almost at once to feel either surprised or flattered. If she had notforbidden herself to dream she would still have been Alexina Groome witha future to sketch with her own adventurous pencil; and to fill in at herpleasure. 

But although she was free in a sense she was not free to live in Europe. She was a partner with a partner's obligations. To desert Mortimer wouldnot only be to banish him from Ballinger House to dreary bachelor quarters, with none of the comforts and little luxuries he intensely loved, but itwould also deprive him of his surest social prop. People had accepted himand liked him as well as they liked the totally uninteresting of the goodold stock; but many would drift into the habit of not inviting him toanything but large dances, if his wife were absent. Alexina knew that herinvitations to all important and many small dinners, not avowedly bridgeor poker parties, were as inevitable as crab in season; but there were toomany young men whom girls would infinitely prefer to enliven the monotonyof crab à la poulette, to any married man, particularly one who had aslittle to say as poor Morty. She had known dèbutantes who flatly refused todance with married men or even to be introduced to them. 

California was her fate. No doubt of that. She might never see Europeagain, for while it was all very well to be a guest once it would be quiteimpossible another time. She certainly could not afford it herself and keepBallinger House open, even for brief summer visits; as she might if herhome were in New York. 

Of course Mortimer might make his million, but then again he might not. Certainly there were no present signs of it and she had never seen him sodepressed, not even during the panic of nineteen-seven. His eyes were aslifeless as slate, his voice was flat, although for that matter he wasalmost dumb. When at home he sat brooding heavily by the open westernwindows of the drawing-room, or moved restlessly about. To all herquestions he replied shortly that the times were bad again, worse thanever; that he was holding his own, but was tired, tired out. As she had notbeen there he had not cared to take a cottage by himself, and had paid fewweek-end visits. He had nothing to talk to women about and the men talkedof nothing but the business depression. .. . Alexina had shrugged hershoulders and concluded that his attitude was a subtle reproach for leavinghim to the dull cares of business while she enjoyed herself in Europe. 

She was not in the least sorry for Mortimer. He had been perfectlycomfortable; he had had his friends; she had left him a sum of money whichwith the monthly rents from the flats would pay her share in the householdexpenses; he could spend his free afternoons at the golf club by the ocean, and his evenings, when not invited out, at the temple of his idolatry onNob Hill. James was a better housekeeper than she was and it was now twoyears that Mortimer bad been living the life of a luxurious bachelor at theback of the house with an always amiable companion at breakfast and dinner. 

III

Alexina, as she stood shading her eyes from the brilliant sunlight andwatching a great liner drift through the Golden Gate, wondered if Morty hadconsoled himself, and if his Puritanical conscience were flaying him. Shehoped that he had, for she was quite willing that he should be happy inhis own way, poor thing, so long as he secluded his divagations from theworld--and she could trust him to do that! Now that she had ceased to bethe complaisant bored wife with dull nerves and torpid imagination shewould be the last to condemn him. Human Nature was an ever opening book toher these days, and she wondered what would happen to herself if any ofseveral men she liked were capable of making her love him, whipping up apersonal storm in those emotional gulfs which had slowly and inflexiblyintruded themselves upon her consciousness. 

She had pondered long and deeply on this subject, particularly in the oldworld where bonds seem looser to the mere observer whether they are or not, and where life looks to the American the quintessence of romance. .. . Shehad concluded that the most satisfactory experience that could come to herwould be a mad love affair "in the air" with a man who possessed all therequirements to induce it, but who would either be the unsuspecting object, or, reciprocating, would continue to love her with the world between them. 

For she shrank from the disillusionments of secret libertinage; she didnot, indeed, believe that love could survive it, although passion might fora time. Passion was unthinkable to her without love, and when she recalledthe mean and sordid devices to which two of her friends were put to meettheir lovers she felt nothing but disgust for the whole drama of man andwoman. 

Alexina had been reared on the soundest moral principles of church andsociety, to say nothing of the law, but the norm at the wheel has oftenlaughed in her amiable way at church and society and law when circumstanceshave conspired to help her. But against fastidiousness even the blind urgeof the race seldom has availed her; she can only go on sullenly feeding thefires, heaping on the fuel, hoping grimly for the astrological moment. 

IV

Alexina shrugged her shoulders impatiently and went into the house. Shewould go down to the bank and clip her coupons. She cultivated assiduouslythe practical side of life, making the most of it, delighted when repairswere needed on her flats, regretting that the greater part of her incomecame from ground rents, collected, as ever, by Tom Abbott, and bonds, fromwhich she still experienced a childish pleasure in cutting the coupons. Herflats, which were in a humbler part of the western division of the city, she had never visited, but she received a call every month from the agent, who brought her the rents and complaints. 

She had made a heroic effort to turn herself into a business woman butthe material had been too slender; and she sometimes wished for a largeindependent fortune that would tax her powers to the utmost. But she nevereven had any surplus to invest. Her wardrobe was no inconsiderable item;living prices rose steadily; there were repairs both on her own house andthe flats to be anticipated every year, to say nothing of the fiendish sumthat must be set aside for taxes. But she managed to save the necessaryamount; and if they lived somewhat extravagantly, at least she had neverdisturbed her capital. 

On the whole she knew they had managed very well for young people who livedso much in the world, and she had no intention of economizing further. Theyhad no children. Her husband was young and energetic and healthy. Her ownlittle fortune was secure. She purposed to enjoy life as best she could;and as she could not have done this quite selfishly and been happy, sheincluded among her yearly expenditures a certain admirable charity presidedover by her equally admirable sister, and even visited it occasionally withher friends when a serious mood descended abruptly upon them. .. . She was nowon the threshold of her second beautiful youth, and found herself and lifefar more interesting than when, a silly girl of eighteen, she had believedthat all life and romance must be crowded into that callow period. She hadno idea of sacrificing this new era vibrating with unknown possibilities(it was on the cards that she might resurrect Gathbroke from his ivorytomb; lie would do admirably for her present needs, and when she found itdifficult to visualize him after so long a period, she could pay Gora asisterly visit) to a penurious attempt to increase her capital. At the sametime she had no intention of diminishing it. To quote Tom Abbott (whenMaria was elsewhere): She might be a fool, or even a----fool, but she wasnot a----fool. 

V

She dressed herself in a black velvet suit made by her New York tailors. She had spent, a fortnight with her brother Ballinger on her way home, and he had given her a set of silver fox: a large muff and two of thosepriceless animals head to head to keep a small section of her anatomy atblood heat in a climate never cold enough for furs. 

The day was hot. It was the sort of weather which on the opposite side ofthe continent arrives when spring is melting into summer and fortunatewoman arrays herself in thin and dainty fabrics. But women everywhere witha proper regard for fashion rush the season, and autumn is the time todisplay the first smart habiliments of winter. No San Francisco woman offashion would be guilty of comfortable garments in the glorious springweather of November if she perished in her furs. 

The coat, bound with silk braid, was lined with periwinkle blue, and therewas a touch of the same color in her large black velvet hat. Nothing couldmake the great irises of her black-gray eyes look blue, but they shone out, dazzling, under the drooping brim; and if she was, perchance, too warmabove, her scant skirt, her thin silk stockings and low patent leathershoes struck the balance like a brilliant paradox. 

Alexina nodded approvingly at her image in the pier glass, found the key ofher safe deposit box in the cabinet where she had left it, and went down tothe smart little electric car which the gardener had brought to the door. 

CHAPTER VI

I

Alexina stood alone in the strong room of the bank leaning heavily againstthe wall with its endless rows of compartments from one of which she hadtaken the dispatch box in which she had kept her bonds. 

The box had fallen to the floor. If there had been any one in the room withher he would have started and turned as the box clanged with a hollow echoon the steel surface. 

The box was empty. 

It was a large box. It had contained forty thousand dollars' worth ofbonds, nearly a third of her fortune. The securities were among thesoundest the country afforded, for Alexander Groome, wild as he may havebeen when relieving the monotony of life with too many diversions, notthe least of which was speculation, never made a mistake in his permanentinvestments; and others had been bought with equal prudence by Judge Lawtonor Tom Abbott. 

But the bonds had been negotiable. She recalled Tom Abbott's warning tokeep them always in her safe deposit box and the key hidden. They might betraced if stolen, but State's Prison for the thief would be cold comfort ifthe bonds had been cashed and the money spent. 

She had always had one of the lighter Italian pieces in her bedroom, abeautiful cabinet of carved and gilded oak nearly black with age. Like allsuch it had a secret drawer and here she had kept her keys, and her jewelsduring the winter. 

Who knew of this secret drawer, which opened by pressing a certain littlegilded face on the panel?. .. All her friends, of course: Aileen, Sibyl, Alice, Olive, Janet, Hélène. .. . Unthinkable to have a secret drawer in anold Italian cabinet which had belonged to some Borgia or other, and notexhibit it to one's chosen friends. 

She had even shown it to Gora, but to no one else but Mortimer. She hadkept his love letters in it for a time, written while the family wasapplying the polite methods of the modern inquisition at Rincona, Theyhad remained there, forgotten, until her mother's death, when she hadremembered the secret drawer as a safe hiding place for her keys andjewels; which, with her mother's, had formerly reposed in the safe underthe stairs. 

It was a deep drawer and when she was in town held the few valuable stones, reset, that she had inherited from her mother, besides the fine piecesshe had received as wedding-gifts; when all the old friends of the familyout-did themselves, and not a few of the less distinguished but moreopulent, whose floors Alexina had graced while her mother slept. Her pearlnecklace had been the present of her more intimate group of friends. 

Alexina was not a little proud of her collection of jewels, although sheseldom wore anything but her pearls. She had left it when she went abroad, in the safe deposit vault, and she sent a quick terrified glance in thecoffer's direction like that of a cornered rat. 

But her attention riveted itself once more on the empty box at her feet. Athird of her fortune, and gone beyond redemption. Her stunned mind graspedthat fact at once. No one stole bonds to keep them. But who was the thief?

Not any of her old friends. They might gamble, or drink, or deceive theirlegal guardians, but they drew the line at stealing. Certain sins liewithin the social code and others do not. Women of her class, unlesskleptomaniac, did not steal. It wasn't done. With reason or unreason theyclassed thieves of any sort with harlots, burglars, firebugs, embezzlers, forgers, murderers, and common people who overdressed and drank too much inpublic; and withdrew their skirts. 

Moreover, Aileen had been with her in Europe. Olive lived there. Janet andSibyl had more money than they could spend. The Ruylers were ranching, andHélène was in Adler's Sanatorium with a new baby. Alice had gone to SantaBarbara before she left and had not returned. 

It was insulting even to pass them in review, but the mind works in erraticcurves under shock. 

Gora had taken the thousand dollars Mortimer had returned to her and gonefirst to Lake Tahoe and then to Honolulu to write a novel. She would returnon the morrow. 

Mortimer. 

It was incredible. Monstrous. She was outrageous even to link his name withsuch a deed. He was the soul of honor. He might not be a genius but no manhad a cleaner reputation. She had lived with him now for over six years andshe had never. .. Never. .. Never. .. 

And she knew, unconsentingly, infallibly, that Mortimer had stolen thebonds. 

CHAPTER VII

I

Alexina drew the jewel coffer from the depths of the compartment and openedit with fingers that felt swollen and numb. But the jewels were there, andshe experienced a feeling of fleeting satisfaction. They were no part ofher fortune, for she believed that only want would ever induce her to sellthem, but at least they were her own personal treasure and a part of thebeauty of life. 

She returned the fallen box to its place and locked the little cupboard, then took herself in hand. Neither the keeper outside the door of the vaultnor those she met above must suspect that anything was wrong with her. Whatshe should do she had no idea at the moment, but at all events she musthave time to think. 

She left the bank with her usual light step and her head high, and then shemotored down the Peninsula. As she passed the shipyards she saw crowds ofmen standing about; some of them turned and scowled after her. They were onstrike and took her no doubt for the wife or daughter of a millionaire; andin truth there was never any difference superficially in her appearancefrom that of her wealthier friends. She had one ear instead of several hutit was perfect of its kind. Her wardrobe was by no means as extensive asSibyl's or Janet's or a hundred others, but what she had came from the besthouses, that use only the costliest materials. Her face was composed andproud. There was not a signal out, even from her brilliant expressive eyes, of the storm within. 

Her mind was no longer stunned. It was seething with disgust and fury. Howdared he? Her own, her exclusive property, inherited and separate. .. . Shefelt at this moment exactly as she would have felt if her jewel cofferinstead of the dispatch box had been rifled; it was the instinct ofpossession that had been outraged. What was hers was hers as much as thehair on her head or the thoughts in her mind. .. An instinct that harked backto the oldest of the buried civilizations. .. She wondered if any socialistreally had cultivated the power to feel differently. She was quite certainthat if Kirkpatrick should see a thief fleeing with his purse he wouldchase him, collar him, and either chastise him then and there or drag himto the nearest police station. 

And the thief was her husband, the man of her choice. Alexina felt thatpossibly if a brother had stolen her money she would have been less bitterbecause less humiliated; one did not select one's brothers. .. . And if shehad still loved Mortimer it would have been bad enough, although no doubtwith the blindness of youthful passion she would immediately have begun tomake excuses for him, reeling a blow as it would have been. But the onecompensation she had found in her matrimonial wilderness was her pride inthe essential honor of her chosen partner, and her complete trust. If therehad been any necessity for giving a power of attorney when she wentto Europe she would have drawn it in his favor without hesitation, socompletely had she forgotten her earlier incitements to precaution. .. . Ifshe had, no doubt she would have returned to find herself penniless. 

Whether he had stolen the money to speculate with or to extricate himselffrom some business muddle she did not pause to wonder. He had lost it; thatwas sufficiently evident from his depression. When his powers of blufffailed him matters were serious indeed. 

He had stolen and lost. The first would have been unforgivable, but thelast was unpardonable. 

And he had taken her money as he would have taken Gora's, or his parents'had they been alive, because however they might lash him with theircontempt, his body was safe from prison, his precious position in societyunshaken. She knew him well enough to be sure that if he had had fortythousand dollars of some outsider's money under his hand it would have beensafe no matter what his predicament. He would have accepted the alternativeof bankruptcy without hesitation. 

But with the women of his family a man was always safe. She rememberedsomething that Gora had once said to the same effect. .. . Yes, she could haveforgiven the theft of an outsider, for at least she would be spared thissickening suffocating sensation of contempt. It was demoralizing. She hatedherself as much as she hated him. Moreover there would have been somecompensation in sending an outsider to San Quentin. 

And there was the serious problem of readjusting her life. Two thousanddollars out of a small income was a serious deficit. Simultaneously she wasvisited by another horrid thought. Mortimer had heretofore paid half thehousehold expenses. No doubt he was no longer in a position to pay any. They would have to live, keep up Ballinger House, dress, pay taxes, subscribe to charities, maintain their position in society, pay the doctorand the dentist. .. A hundred and one other incidentals. .. Out of fourthousand dollars a year. Well, it couldn't be done. They would have tochange their mode of living. 

However, that concerned her little at present. The ordeal loomed of a plaintalk with Mortimer. It was impossible to ignore the theft even had shewished; which she did not, for it was her disposition to have things outand over with. But it would be horrible. .. Horribly intimate. She had alwaysdeliberately lived on the surface with her family and friends, respectedtheir privacies as she held hers inviolate. As her mind flashed back overher life she realized that this would be the first really serious personaltalk she would ever have held with any one. Or, if her family, andoccasionally, Mortimer, had insisted upon being serious she had maintainedher own attitude of airy humor or delicate insolence. 

She had no shyness of manner but a deep and intense shyness of the soul. Some day. .. Perhaps. .. But never yet. 

II

She turned her car after a time, for she feared that her batteries wouldrun down. The strikers were still lounging and scowling; and this timehaving relaxed her mental girths she looked at them with sympathy. Sheknew from the liberal education she had received at the hands of Mr. JamesKirkpatrick, and the admissions of Judge Lawton and other thoughtful men, that the iniquities of employers and labor were pretty equally divided;greed and lack of tact on the one hand, greed and class hatred and the itchfor power on the part of labor leaders; and a stupidity in the mass thatwas more pardonable than the short-sighted stupidities of capital. .. . Butwhat would you? A few centuries hence the world might be civilized, but notin her time. Nothing gave her mind less exercise. One thing at least wascertain and that was that when strikes lasted too long the laborers andtheir families went hungry, and the employers did not. That settled thequestion for her and determined the course of her sympathy. (It was not yetthe fashion to recognize the unfortunate "public, " squeezed and helplessbetween these two louder demonstrators of sheer human nature. )

But her mind did not linger in the shipyards. She had problems of herown. .. . The chief of her compensations, having made a mess of her life, hadbeen taken from her: her pride and her faith in the man to whom she wasbound. The death of love had been so gradual that she had not noticed it intime for decent obsequies; she had not sent a regret in its wake. .. . She hadhad enough left, more than many women who had made the same blind plungeinto the barbed wire maze of matrimony. .. . And now she had nothing. Shewould have liked to drive right out on to a liner about to sail through theGolden Gate. .. But she would no doubt have to live on. .. And on. .. In changed, possibly humble, conditions. .. Despising the man she must meet sometimeevery day. .. . Yes, she did wish she never had been born. 

CHAPTER VIII

I

She concluded, while she dressed for dinner, that she must be a coward. 

Alexina was far from satisfied with herself as she was; she would haveliked to possess a great talent like Gora, or be an intellectual power inthe world of some sort. She was far from stultification by the nationalgift of complacence, careless self-satisfaction--racial rather thanindividual. .. Qualities that have made the United States lag far behind thegreater European nations in all but material development and a certaininventiveness; both of which in some cases are outclassed in the olderworld. 

A California woman of her mother's generation had become a great andrenowned archæologist and lived romantically in a castle in the City ofMexico. She bad often wished, since her serious mental life had begun, thatthis gift had descended upon her--the donee had also been a member ofthe A. A. , and this striking endowment might just as well have tarried ageneration and a half longer. 

She was by no means avid of publicity--people seldom are until they havetasted of it--but she would have enjoyed a rapid and brilliant developmentof her mental faculties with productiveness of some sort either as a sequelor an interim. It was impossible to advance much farther in her presentcircumstances. 

No, she was far from perfect, and willing to admit it; but she had alwaysassumed that courage, moral as well as physical, was an accompaniment ofrace, like breeding and certain automatic impulses. But her hands weretrembling and her cheeks drained of every drop of color because she musthave a plain and serious talk with a guilty wretch. She had nothing tofear, but she could not have felt worse if she had been the culpritherself. What was human nature but a bundle of paradoxes?

At least she had the respite of the dinner hour. Only a fiend would spoila man's dinner--and cigar--no matter what he had done. That would make thefull time of her own respite about an hour and twenty minutes. 

In a moment of panic she contemplated telephoning to Aileen and beggingher to come over to dinner. She also no doubt could get Bascom Luning andJimmie Thorne. Then it would not be possible to speak to Mortimer beforeto-morrow as he always fell asleep at ten o'clock when there was nodancing. .. . To-morrow it would be easier, and wiser. One should never speakin anger. .. . 

But she was quite aware that her anger had burnt itself out. Her mind feltas cold as her hands. Better have it over. She put on a severe black frock, not only suitable to the occasion but as a protection from disarmingcompliments. Mortimer, who dressed so well himself that it would have beenas impossible for him to overdress as to be rude to a woman, disliked darkseverity in woman's attire. He never criticized his wife's clothes, butwhen they displeased him he ignored them with delicate ostentation. 

II

Alexina had begun to feel that she should scream in the complete silence ofthe dining-room when Mortimer unexpectedly made a remark. 

"Gora arrives to-morrow. Will you meet her? I shall not have time. "

"Of course. I shall be delighted to see her again. It would have been anideal arrangement if I could have left her here with you when I went toEurope. "

"Yes. She was here for a week. I missed her when she left. "

"W-h-at? When was she here? You never told me. "

"I forgot. It was soon after you left. The ship was disabled--fire, Ithink, --and put back. I asked her to stay here until the next sailing. "

"How jolly. "

Again there was a complete silence. But Alexina did not notice it. Herbrain was whirling. After all, she might be mistaken! Mortimer! He might beinnocent. .. . To think of Gora as a thief was fantastic. .. Was it?. .. Was shenot Mortimer's sister?. .. Why he rather than she?. .. And what after alldid she know of Gora?. .. She inspired some people with distrust, evenfear. .. . That might be the cause of Mortimer's depression. .. . He knew it. .. . 

At all events it was a straw and she grasped it as if it had been a plankin mid-ocean. With even a bare chance that Mortimer was innocent it wouldbe unpardonable to insult and wound him. .. . Nor was it quite possible to askhim if his sister were a thief. She must wait, of course. 

And if Gora had taken the bonds they might be recovered. It would be like awoman to secrete them in a reaction of terror after having nerved herselfup to the deed. 

She wished that Gora had gone to Hong Kong. Bolted. Then she could becertain. But at least she had a respite, and she felt so ebullient that shealmost forgot her loss, and swept Morty over to the Lawtons after dinner;and the Judge took them all to the movies. 

CHAPTER IX

I

Alexina would listen to no remonstrance. Gora might send her trunks toGeary Street if she liked, but she must come home to Ballinger House andspend at least one night with her brother and sister, who had missed herquite dreadfully. Gora wondered how Alexina could have missed her sotouchingly in Europe, but accepted the invitation, as a note from thesurgeon to whom she had written by the previous steamer asked her to holdherself in readiness for an operation a week hence. 

Gora was looking remarkably well, and Alexina assumed it was not only thesix months of mountain life and the three months in the tropics. She had anair of assured power, rarely absent in a woman who has found herself andachieved a definite place in life. Besides being one of the best nurses inSan Francisco, in constant demand by the leading doctors and surgeons, her short stories had attracted considerable attention in the magazines, although no publisher would risk bringing them out in book form. But theywere invariably mentioned in any summary of the year's best stories, onehad been included in a volume of selected short stories by modern authors, and one in a recent text-book compiled for the benefit of aspirants inthe same difficult art. The remuneration had been insignificant, for herstories were not of the popular order, and she had not yet the name thatalone commands the high reward; but she had advanced farther than manyanother as severely handicapped, and she knew through her admiringsister-in-law and Aileen Lawton that her stories were mentionedoccasionally at a San Francisco dinner table and even discussed! She was"arriving. " No doubt of that. 

II

"When will the novel come out? I can't wait. "

"Not until the spring. "

They were sitting in Alexina's room and Gora had been placed directly infront of the cabinet, which she did not appear even to see. She had takenoff her hat and coat and was holding the heavy masses of hair away from herhead. 

"Do you mind? I feel as if I had a twenty-pound weight. .. . "

"What a question! Do what you want. "

Gora took out the pins and let down her hair. It was not as fine asAlexina's, but it was brown and warm and an unusual head of hair for thesedays. It fell down both sides of her face, and her long cold unrevealingeyes looked paler than ever between her sun-burned cheeks and her low heavybrows. 

Alexina knew that she had an antagonist far worthier of any weapons shemight find in her armory than poor Morty, but she believed she could trapher if she were guilty. .. . And she must be. .. She must. .. . 

"Didn't you find it too hot in the tropics for writing?"

"I only copied and revised. The book was finished before I left LakeTahoe-an ideal place for work. Some day I shall have a log cabin up there. May I smoke?"

"Of course. "

"It is almost a shame to desecrate a flower. .. . I used to come in heresometimes and look round. .. The week I spent here. .. . The room is apoem. .. Like you. .. . Or rather the binding of the prose poem that isAlexina. "

"I'd love it if you made me the heroine of one of your novels. "

"You'll have much more fun living it yourself. "

"Fine chance. I don't suppose I'll ever get out of California again. .. . I amafraid that Morty is doing quite badly. "

Gora shrugged her strong square shoulders. "I never expected anything else. I asked him for another thousand dollars of my money when I was here and helooked as if he had forgotten he owed me any. Just like a man and Morty inparticular. Then he said he expected to make an immense profit on somethingor other he had ordered from the Orient and would pay me off when Ireturned. Has he condescended to tell you anything about his affairs?"

"Not a word. Did you need the money badly? If I had been here I could havelent it to you. "

"Thanks. I am sure you would. But I dislike the idea of borrowing. It mustbe so depressing to pay back. .. . I was in no particular need of it, for ofcourse I've saved quite a bit. I merely have a natural desire for my ownand thought it was a good opportunity to strike Morty. .. . I suppose he'sbeen speculating. Fortunes have been made in Tonopah, but he would be sureto buy at the wrong time or in the wrong mine. .. . Has he ever asked you formoney?"

"Never. He knows, too, that I have quite a sum in bonds that I couldconvert into cash at once. "

"Well, take my advice and hold on to them--to every cent you have. Where doyou keep them?"

"In the bank. .. In a safe-deposit vault--Oh, how careless of me! I've leftthe key out on the table! I usually keep it. .. You remember. .. In the secretdrawer of the cabinet. "

"How I wish I had the courage to write a story about a secret drawer ofan old Italian cabinet!. .. I wouldn't leave it lying about; although, ofcourse, no one could use it without a pass also. "

"A what?"

"They use every precaution. I know, because when I nursed old Mrs. Beresford for eight months, I was sent down to the vault twice. "

Alexina's head was whirling. The blood burned and beat in her face. 

"Even with her signature I couldn't get by the keeper the first timebecause he didn't know me. I had to be identified by her lawyer. "

"I like to feel so well taken care of. What shall you do if your novel is agreat success? Of course it will be. You would never go on being a nurse. "

"I am not so sure it will be a success. Neither is my publisher. He wroteme a half-whimsical half-complimentary letter saying that I must rememberthe average reader was utterly commonplace, with no education in the highersense, no imagination, had an extremely limited vocabulary and thoughtand talked in ready-made phrases, composed for the most part of thecolloquialisms of the moment. Style, distinction of mind, erected an almostvisible wall between the ambitious writer and this predominant class. Ifthey found this sort of book interesting-which as a rule they did not--theyfelt a sullen sense of inferiority; and if there were too many unfamiliarwords they pitched it across the room with the ultimate adjective oftheir disapproval--'highbrow. ' But it is more the general atmosphere theyresent--would resent if the book were purposely written with the mostlimited vocabulary possible. "

"Our national self-sufficiency, I suppose. Also the fetish of equality thatstill persists. We are the greatest nation on earth, of course, but itisn't democratic for any one of us to be greater than the other. "

"Exactly. I don't say I wouldn't write for the mob if I could. Nice storiesabout nice people. Intimate life histories of commonplace 'real Americans, 'touched with a bit of romance, or tragedy-somewhere about the middle--oradventure, with a bad man or woman for good measure and to prove to thehighbrows that the author is advanced and knows the world as well as thenext, even if he or she prefers to treat of the more 'admirable aspects ofour American life. ' Unluckily I cannot read such books nor write them. Iwas born with a passion for English and the subtler psychology. I should behopeless from any editor's or publisher's standpoint if I didn't happen tohave been fitted out with a strong sense of drama. If I could only set mystage with commonplace, people no doubt I'd make a roaring hit. But Ican't and I won't. Who has such a chance as an author to get away fromcommonplace people? Fancy deliberately concocting new ones!"

"Not you! But you'll have some sort of success, all the same. "

"Yes, there are publics. Perhaps I'll, hypnotize one of them. As for thefinancial end what I hope is that the book will give me a position thatwill raise my prices in the magazines. "

"You could live abroad very cheaply. " Alexina raised her eyes a trifle andlooked as guileless as her words. 

"Oh, be sure I'll go to Europe and stay there for years as soon as I see myway ahead. I should find color in the very stones or the village streets. "

"I am told that you can find most comfortable quarters in some of thoseEnglish village inns, and for next to nothing. By the way, do you stillcorrespond with that Englishman who was here during the fire?"

"Gathbroke? Off and on. T send him my stories and he writes a humorous sortof criticism of each; says that as I have no humor lie feels a sort of urgeto apply a little somewhere. "

"How interesting. He didn't strike me as humorous. "

"I fancy he wasn't more than about one-fifth developed when he was here. Men like that, with his advantages, go ahead very rapidly when they getinto their stride. He has already developed from business into politics--heis in Parliament--and that is the second long stride he has taken in thepast seven years. "

"How interesting it will be for you two to meet, again. " Alexina spoke withlanguid politeness. 

Gora shrugged her shoulders, "If we do. " She might not be able to show theunder-white of her eyes arid look like a seraph, but she had her voice, herfeatures, under perfect control, and she had never been quick to blush. Shedid not suspect that Alexina was angling, but the very sound of Gathbroke'sname was enough to put up her guard. 

"You must have had several proposals, Gora dear. Your profession is almostas good as a matrimonial bureau. And you look too fetching for words inthat uniform and cap. "

"I've had just two proposals. One was from an old rancher who liked the wayI turned him over in bed and rubbed his back. The other was--well, a nicefellow, and quite well off. But I'm not keen on marrying any one. "

"Still, if it gave you that much more independence and leisure. .. Travel. .. Awider life. .. . "

"I'd only consider marrying for two reasons: If I met a man who had thepower to make me quite mad about him, or one who could give me a greatposition in the world and was not wholly obnoxious. Otherwise, I prefer totrot alone. Why not? At least I escape monotony; I have what after allis the most precious thing in life, complete personal freedom; and if Isucceed with my writing I can see the world and attain to position withoutthe aid of any man. If I don't, I don't, and that is the end of it. I'm abit of a fatalist, I think, although to be sure when I want a thing badlyenough I forget all about that and fight like the devil. "

Alexina looked at the square face of her strange sister-in-law, so unlikeher brother; at the high cheek bones, the heavy low brows over the coldlight eyes, the powerful jaw, the wide firm but mobile mouth. 

"Have you any Eussian blood?"' she asked. "'Way back?"

"Not that I know of. But after all I know little about my family, outsideof the one ancestor that anchors us in the Revolutionary era. He or his sonor his son's son may have married a Russian or a Mongolian for all I know. Perhaps some one of my old aunts may have worked out a family tree incross-stitch, but if so I never heard of it. Well, I'm off to clean up fordinner. "

Alexina for the first time in their acquaintance flung her arms roundGora's neck and kissed her warmly. Truth to tell her conscience wassmarting, although she was able to assure herself that not for a moment hadshe really believed her sister-in-law to be guilty; she had merely graspedat a straw. Gora returned the embrace gratefully and without suspicion. Asever, she was a little sorry for Alexina. 

CHAPTER X

I

Alexina felt only an intolerable ennui. Gora had gone in the morning;she sat alone in her room. Of course she must have that explanation withMortimer, but any time before the first of the month would do. She was farless concerned with that now than with the problem: what to do with herlife. How was she to continue to live in the same house with him? Perhapsin far smaller quarters than these? For she could not leave him. She hadno visible excuse, and no desire to admit to the world that she had madewoman's superlative mistake. 

She scowled at the lovely room in which she had expected to findcompensation in dreams, the setting for an unreal and enchanted world. 

Dreams had died out of her. For the first time in her sheltered existenceshe appreciated the grim reality of life. She was no longer sheltered, secluded, one of the "fortunate class. " Ways and means would occupy most ofher time henceforth. And it was not the privations she shrank from butthe contacts with the ugly facts of life; a side she had found extremelypicturesque in novels, but knew from, occasional glimpses to be merelyrepulsive and demoralizing. 

And of whom could she ask advice! She must make changes and make themquickly. Four thousand dollars a year!. .. And taxes--besides the new incometax--to be paid on the downtown property, the fiats, the land on which herhome stood, Ballinger House itself and all its contents. 

She knew vaguely that many girls these days were given special training ofsome sort even where their parents were well off; but more particularlywhere the father was what is known as a high-salaried man; or even amoderately successful professional or business man--all of whose expensesarid incomes balanced too nicely for investments. 

Not in her set! Joan, bored after her third season with dancing in winterand "sitting round Alta" in summer, had asked permission to become atrained nurse like Gora, or go into the decorating business, "any oldthing"; and Maria Abbott had simply stared at her in horror; even herfather had asked her angrily if she wished to disgrace him, advertise himas unable to provide for his family. No self-respecting American, etc. 

But something must be done. She wished to live on in Ballinger House ifpossible, not only because she loved it, or to avoid the commiserationsof the world; she had no desire to live in narrow quarters with herhusband. .. . And she knew nothing, was fit for nothing, belonged to a sillyclass that still looked upon women workers as de-classed, although to besure two or three whose husbands had left them penniless had gone intobusiness and were loyally tolerated, if deeply deplored. 

The day after her return from Europe Alice Thorndyke had come into thisroom and thrown herself down on the couch, her long, languorous bodylooking as if set on steel springs, her angelic blonde beauty distortedwith fury and disgust, and poured out her hatred of men and all their ways, her loathing for society and gambling and all the stupid vicious round ofthe life both public and secret she had elected to lead. .. . She had hadenough of it. .. . After all, she had some brains and she wanted to use them. She wanted to go into the decorating business. There was an opening. Shehad a natural flair for that sort of thing. See what she had managed to dowith that old ark she had inherited, and on five cents a year. .. . When shehad asked her sister to advance the money Sibyl had flown into one of herworst rages and thrown a gold hair brush through a Venetian mirror. Didn'tshe give her clothes by the dozen that she hadn't worn a month? Did anygirl have a better time in society? Was any girl luckier at poker? Was anygirl more popular with men--too bad it was generally the married ones thatlost their heads. .. . Better if she stopped fooling and married. By and by itwould be too late. 

But she didn't want to marry. She was sick of men. She wanted to get out ofher old life altogether and cultivate a side of her mind and characterthat had stagnated so far. .. Also to enjoy the independent life ofa money-earner. .. Life in an entirely different world. .. Somethingnew. .. New. .. New. 

Alexina had offered to lend her the capital, for Alice had a hard coolhead. But she had refused, saying she could mortgage her old barrack ifit came to that. .. But she didn't know. .. It would he a break. .. . Sib mightnever speak to her again. .. People were such snobs. .. And she mightn't likeit. .. She wished she had been born of poor but honest parents and put towork in a canning factory or married the plumber. 

She had done nothing, and Alexina wondered if she would have the courage togo into some sort of business with herself. .. They could give out theywere bored, seeking a new distraction. .. Save the precious pride of theirfamilies. 

She leaned forward and took her head in her hands. If she only had some oneto talk things over with. It was impossible to confide in Gora, in anyone. If she broached the subject to Tom Abbott, to Judge Lawton, even in aroundabout way, they would suspect at once. Aileen and Janet and the othergirls did not know enough. They would suspect also. But her head wouldburst if she didn't consult some one. She was too horribly alone. Andafter all she was still very young. She had talked largely of herresponsibilities, but as a matter of fact until now she had never had oneworth the name. 

Suddenly she thought of James Kirkpatrick. 

II

The lessons in socialism had died a natural death long since. But Alexinaand Aileen and Janet had never quite let him go. Whenever there was a greatstrike on, either in California or in any part of the nation, they invitedhim to take tea with them at least once a week while it lasted and tellthem all the "ins. " This he was nothing loath to do, and waived thequestion of remuneration aside with a gesture. He was now a foreman, andvice-president of his union, and it gave him a distinct satisfaction toconfer a favor upon these "lofty dames, " whom, however, he liked better astime went on. Alexina he had always worshiped and the only time he ceasedto be a socialist was when he ground his teeth and cursed fate for notmaking him a gentleman and giving him a chance before she was corralled bythat sawdust dude. 

He had also remained on friendly terms with Gora, who had cold-bloodedlystudied him and made him the hero of a grim strike story. But as he neverread polite literature their friendship was unimpaired. 

II

He came to tea that afternoon in response to a telephone call from Alexina. She had put on a tea gown of periwinkle blue chiffon and a silver filletabout her head, and looked to Mr. Kirkpatrick's despairing gaze as sheintended to look--beautiful, of course, but less woman than goddess. Exquisite but not tempting. She was quite aware of the young workman'shopeless passion and she managed him as skillfully as she did the moreassured, sophisticated, and sometimes "illuminated" Jimmie Thorne andBascom Luning. 

She received him in the great drawing-room behind the tea-table, laden withthe massive silver of dead and gone Ballingers. 

"I've only been home a week, " she said gayly. "See what a good friend I am. I've scarcely seen any one. Did you get my post cards?"

"I did and I've framed them, if you don't mind my saying so. "

"I hoped you would. I picked out the prettiest I could find. They do havesuch beauties in Europe. Just think, it was my first visit. I was wildlyexcited. Wouldn't you like to go?"

"Naw. America's good enough for me. 'Fris--oh, Lord! San Francisco--forthat matter. I'd like to go to the next International Socialist Congressall right--next year. Maybe I will. I guess that would give me enough ofEurope to last me the rest of my natural life. "

"I met a good many Frenchmen, and I have a friend married to a very cleverone. He says they expect a war with Germany in a year two--"

"There'll never be another war. Not in Europe or anywhere else. Thesocialists won't permit it. "

"There are a good many socialists--and syndicalists--in France, and it'squite true they're doing all they can to prevent any money being votedfor the army or expended if it is voted; but I happen to know that theGovernment has asked the president of the Red Cross to train as many nursesas she can induce to volunteer, and as quickly as possible. My friendMadame Morsigny was to begin her training a few days after I left. "

"Hm. So. I hadn't heard a word of it. "

"We get so much European news out here! America first! Especially in thematter of murders and hold-ups. Who cares for a possible war in Europe whenthe headlines are as black as the local crimes they announce?"

"Sure thing. Great little old papers. But don't let any talk of war fromanywhere at all worry you. And I'll tell you why. At the last InternationalCongress all the socialists of all the nations were ready to agree that alllabor should lay down its tools--quit work--go on a colossal strike--themoment those blood-sucking capitalists at the top, those sawdust kings andkaisers and tsars--or any president for that matter--declared war for anycause whatsoever. All, that is, but the German delegates. They couldn't seethe light. Now they have. When we meet next August the resolution willbe unanimous. Take it from me. You've read of your last war in some oldhistory book. Peace from now on, and thank the socialists. "

"I should. But suppose Germany should declare war before next August?"

"She won't. She ain't ready. She'd have done it after that there 'AgadirIncident' if she'd dared. That is to say been good and ready. Now she's gotto wait for another good excuse and there ain't one in sight. "

"But you believe she'd like to precipitate a war in Europe for her ownpurposes?"

"She'd like it all right. " And he quoted freely from Treitschke andBernhardi, while Alexina as ever looked at him in wonder. He seemed to bemore deeply read every time she met him, and he remained exactly the sameJames Kirkpatrick. "What an adventitious thing breeding was! Mortimer hadit!"

"Well, I am glad I spoke of it. You have relieved my mind, for you speakas one with authority. .. . There is something else I want to talk to youabout. .. . A friend of mine is in a dilemma and I don't quite know how toadvise her. .. . We're all such a silly set of moths--"

"No moth about you!" interrupted Mr. Kirkpatrick firmly. "Some ofthem--those others, if you like. The only redeeming virtue I can see inmost of them is that they are what they are and don't give a damn. Butyou--you've got more brains and common sense than the whole bunch of womenin this town put together. "

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I'm afraid I've addled my brains trying to cultivatethem, and what I'm more afraid of is that I've addled my common sense. " Shespoke with such gayety, with such a roguish twinkle, and curve of lip, thatneither then nor later did he suspect that she was the heroine of her owntale. 

"Well, fire away. No, thanks, no more. I only drink tea to please youanyway. Tea is so much hot water to me. "

"Well, smoke. " She pushed the box of cigarettes toward him. "I know yousmoke a pipe, but I won't let my husband smoke one at home. It's bad for mycurtains. .. . This is it--One of my friends, poor thing, has had a terribleexperience: discovered that her husband has stolen the part of her littlefortune whose income enabled them to do something more than keep alive. Yousee, it's a sad case. She believed in him, and he had always been the mosthonest creature in the world; and that's as much of a blow as the loss ofthe money. "

"What'd he do it for?"

"Oh, I know so little about business. .. He wanted to get rich too quickly Isuppose. .. Speculated or something. .. Perhaps got into a hole. This has beena bad year. "

"Poor chap!" said Kirkpatriek reflectively. 

"You're not commiserating _him_?"

"Ain't I, just? He done it, didn't he? He's got to pay the piper, hasn'the? Women don't know anything about the awful struggles and temptations ofthe rotten business world. He didn't do it because he wanted to, you canbet your life on that. He's just another poor victim of a vicious system. A fly in the same old web; same old fat spider in the middle!. Not capitalenough. Hard times and the little man goes under, no matter if he's a darnsight better fellow than the bloated beast on top--"

"You mean if we were living in the Socialistic Utopia no man could gounder?"

"I mean just that. It's a sin and a shame, A fine young fellow--"

"Remember, you don't know anything about him. He's not a bad sort and hasalways been quite honest before; but he's not very clever. If he were hewouldn't have got himself into a predicament. He had a good start, farbetter than nine-tenths of the millionaires in this country had in theiryouth. "

"Oh, I don't care anything about that. If all men were equally clever inchasing the almighty dollar there'd be no excuse for socialism. It's ourjob to displace the present rotten system of government with one in whichthe weak couldn't be crowded out, where all that are willing to work willhave an equal chance--and those that ain't willing will have to work anyhowor starve. .. . One of the thousand things the matter with the present systemis that the square man is so often in the round hole. In the socializedstate every man will he guided to the place which exactly fits hisabilities. No weaker to the wall there, "

"You think you can defy Nature to that extent!"

"You bet. "

"Well. I'm too much distracted by my friend's predicament to discusssocialism. .. . I rather like the idea though of the strong man having theopportunity to prove himself stronger than Life. .. Find out what, he was puton earth and endowed with certain characteristics for. .. Rather a pity allthat should atrophy. .. . However--what shall my friend do? Continue to livewith a man she despises?"

"She's no right to despise him or anybody. It's the system, I tell you. Andno doubt she's just as weak in some way herself. Every man jack of us is sochuck full of faults and potential crime it's a wonder we don't break outevery day in the week, and if women are going to desert us when theold Adam runs head on into some one of the devilish traps the presentcivilization has set out all over the place, instead of being able tosidestep it once more, well--she'd best divorce herself from the ideaof matrimony before she goes in for the thing itself. Would I desert mybrother if he got into trouble? Would you?"

"N--o, I suppose you are right, and I doubt if she would leave him anyway. However. .. There's the other aspect. What can a woman in her position do tohelp matters out? You have met a good many of her kind here. Fancy MissLawton or Mrs. Bascom or Miss Maynard forced to work--"

"I can't. If I had imagination enough for that I'd be writin' novels likeMiss Dwight. "

"I believe they'd do better than you think. Well, this friend isn't quiteso much absorbed in society and poker and dress. She's more like--well, there's Mrs. Ruyler, for instance. She was very much like the rest of us, and now we never see her. She's as devoted to ranching as her husband. "

"There was sound bourgeois French blood there, " he said shrewdly. "And shewasn't brought up like the rest of you. Don't you forget that. "

"Then you think we're hopeless?"

"No, I don't. Three or four women of your crowd--a little older, that'sall--are doin' first-rate in business, and they were light-headed enoughin their time, I'll warrant. And you, for instance--if you came up againstit--"

"Yes? What could I do?" cried Alexina gayly. "But alas! you admit you haveno imagination. "

"Don't need any. You'd be good for several things. You could go intothe insurance business like Mrs. Lake, or into real estate like Mrs. Cole--people like to have a pretty and stylish young lady showin' 'emround flats. Or you could buy an orchard like the Ruylers--that'd requirecapital. If we had the socialistic state you'd be put on one of thethinking boards, so to speak. That's the point. You've got no training, butyou've got a thinker. You'd soon learn. But I'm not so sure of yourfriend. Somehow, you've given me the impression she's just one of theselady-birds. "

"I'm afraid she is, " said Alexina with a sigh. "But you're so good to takean interest. .. . Suppose you had the socialistic state now--to-morrow, whatwould you do with all these--lady-birds?"

"I'd put 'em in a sanatorium until they got their nerves patched up, andthen I'd turn 'em over to a trainer who'd put them into a normal physicalcondition; and then I'd put 'em at hard labor--every last one of 'em. "

"Oh, dear, Mr. Kirkpatrick, would you?"

"Yes, " he said grimly. "It 'ud be their turn. "

CHAPTER XI

I

She walked down the avenue with him, listening to his angry account of thegreat coal strike in West Virginia, where the families of miners in theirbeds had been fired on from armored motor cars, and both strikers andcivilians were armed to the teeth. 

"That's the kind of war--civil war--we can't prevent--not yet. No wondersome of us want quick action and turn into I. W. Ws. Of course they're fools, just poor boobs, to think they can win out that way, but you can't blame'em. Lord, if we only _could_ move a little faster. If Marx had been agood prophet we'd have the socialized state to-day. Things didn't turn outaccording to Hoyle. Lots of the proletariat ain't proletariat any longer, instead of overrunning the earth; and in place of a handful of greatcapitalists to fight we've a few hundred thousand little capitalists, orgood wage earners with white collars on, that have about as much use forsocialism as they have for man-eating tigers. I'm thinking about thiscountry principally. Too much chance for the individual. Trouble is, theindividual, like as not, don't know what's good for him and goes under, like the man you've been telling me about. "

"There's only one thing I apprehend in your socialistic state, " saidAlexina, who always became frivolous when Kirkpatrick waxed serious, "andthat is universal dissolution from sheer ennui. Either that or we'll go oneternally rowing about something else. Earth has never been free from warsince the beginning of history, and there is trouble of some sort going onsomewhere all the time--"

"All due to capitalism. "

"Capitalism hasn't always existed. "

"Human greed has, and the dominance of the strong over the weak. "

"Exactly, and socialism if she ever gets her chance will dominate all sheknows how. Remember what you said just now about forcing the pampered womento work when they were the underdog. But the point is that Nature madeEarthians a fighting breed. She must have had a good laugh when we namedanother planet Mars. "

"Well, we'll fight about worthier things. "

"Don't be too sure. We fight about other things now. All the trouble in theworld isn't caused by money or the want of it. And what about the religiouswars--"

III

It was at this inopportune moment that they met Mortimer. If Alexina hadremembered that this was his homing hour she would have parted from hervisitor at the drawing-room door; but in truth she had dismissed Mortimerfrom her mind. 

He halted some paces off and glared from his wife's diaphanous costume tothe workman in his rough clothes and flannel shirt. As the avenue slopedabruptly he was at a disadvantage, and it was all he could do to keep fromgrinding his teeth. 

Alexina went forward and placed her hand within his arm, giving it awarning pressure. 

"Now, at last, you and Mr. Kirkpatrick will meet. You've always so snubbedour little attempts to understand some of the things that men know allabout, that you've never met any of our teachers. But no one has taught, meas much as Mr. Kirkpatrick, so shake hands at once and be friends. "

Mortimer extended a straight and wooden hand. Kirkpatrick touched, anddropped it as if lie feared contamination, Mortimer ascended a few stepsand from this point of vantage looked down his unmitigated disapproval andcontempt. Kirkpatrick would have given his hopes of the speedy demise ofcapitalism if Alexina had picked up her periwinkle skirts and fled up theavenue. His big hands clenched, he thrust out his pugnacious jaw, his hardlittle eyes glowed like poisonous coals. Mortimer, to do him justice, wasentirely without physical cowardice, and continued to look like a stagelord dismissing a varlet. 

Kirkpatrick caught Alexina's imploring eyes and turned abruptly on hisheel, "So long, " he said. "Guess I'd better be getting on. "

IV

"I won't have that fellow in the house, " said Mortimer, in a low tone ofwhite fury. "To think that my wife--my wife--"

"If you don't mind we won't talk about it. "

Alexina was on the opposite side of the avenue and her head was in the air. She had long since ceased to carry her spine in a tubercular droop and whenshe chose she could draw her body up until it seemed to elongate likethe neck of a giraffe, and overtop Mortimer or whoever happened to haveincurred her wrath. 

Mortimer glowered at her. He had many grievances. For the moment he forgotthat she might have any against him. 

"And out here in broad daylight, almost on the street, in that tea gown--"

"I have often been quite on the street in similar ones. Going over toAileen's. You forget that the Western Addition is like a great park setwith the homes of people more or less intimate. "

Mortimer made no further remarks. He had never pretended to be a matchfor her in words. But the agitating incident seemed to have lifted himtemporarily at least out of the nether depths of his depression, foralthough he talked little at dinner he appeared to eat with more relish. As he settled himself to his cigar in a comfortable wicker chair on theterrace and she was about to return to the house he spoke abruptly in afaint firm voice. 

"Will you stay here? I've got something to say to you. "

"Oh?"

She wheeled about. His face was a sickly greenish white in the heavy shadeof the trees. 

"It's--it's--something I've been wanting to say--tell you. .. As well now asany time. "

"Oh, very well. I must write just one letter. "

She ran into the house and up the stairs and shut herself in the library, breathless, panic-stricken. He was going to confess! How awful! How awful!How could she ever go through with it? Why, why, hadn't she spoken at onceand got it over?

She sat quite still until she had ceased trembling and her heart no longerpounded and affected her breathing. Then she set her teeth and wentdownstairs. 

CHAPTER XII

I

Mortimer was walking up and down the hall. 

"Come in here, " he said. He entered the drawing-room, and Alexina followedlike a culprit led to the bar. Nevertheless, it crossed her mind that hewanted the moral support of a mantelpiece. 

She almost stumbled into a chair. Mortimer did not avail himself of thechimneypiece toward which he had unconsciously gravitated, but walked backand forth. Two electric lights hidden under lamp shades were burning, butthe large room was rather somber. 

Alexina composed herself once more with a violent effort and asked in acrisp tone: "Well? What is this mystery? Are you in love with some oneelse? Been, making love--"

"Alexina!"

He confronted her with stricken eyes. "You know that I am literallyincapable of such a thing. But of course you were jesting. "

"Of course. But something is so manifestly wrong with you, and. .. Well. .. Ofcourse you would be justified. "

"Not in my own eyes. Besides, I shall never give up the hope of winningyou back again. I live for that. .. Although now!. .. That is the wholetrouble. .. . How am I going to say it?"

"Well, let me help you out. You took the bonds. "

"You've been to the bank! I wanted to tell you first. .. The day you cameback. .. . I couldn't. .. . "

"There is only one thing I am really curious about. How did you get in? Ofcourse you knew where I kept the key, but--"

"I--" His voice was so lifeless that if dead men could speak it must be inthe same flat faint tones. "I had the old power of attorney. "

"But I revoked it. "

"I mean the instrument--the paper. You did not ask for it. I did not thinkof it either. .. . I trusted to the keeper taking it on its face value, notlooking it up. He didn't. You see--" He gave a dreadful sort of laugh. "Iam well known and have a good reputation. "

"Why didn't you cable and ask me to lend you the money?"

"There wasn't time. Besides, you might have refused. I was desperate--"

"I don't want to hear the particulars. I am not in the least curious. WhatI must talk to you about--"

"I must tell you the whole thing. I can't go about with it any longer. Then, perhaps, you will understand. "

His voice was still flat and as he continued to walk he seemed to drawhalf-paralyzed legs after him. Alexina set her lips and stared at thefloor. He meant to talk. No getting out of it. 

"I--I--have only done well occasionally since the very first. It didn'tmatter so long as your mother was alive, and for a little while after. Butwhen you took things into your own hands. .. After that it was capital Iturned over to you nearly every month--hardly ever profits. "

"What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I hadn't the courage. I was too anxious to stand well with you. And Ialways hoped, believed, I would do better as times improved. I had greathopes of myself and I had a pretty good start. But as time went on I grewto understand that my abilities were third-rate. I should have done allright with a large capital--say a hundred and fifty thousand dollars--butonly a man far cleverer than I am could have got anywhere in that businesswith a paltry sixteen thousand to begin on. I got one or two connectionsand did pretty well, off and on, for a time; but if I hadn't made oneor two lucky strikes in stocks my capital would simply have run away inhousehold expenses long ago. "

"Then why did you join that expensive club?"

"It was good business, " he said evasively. "I meet the right sort of menthere. That's where I got my stock pointers. "

"Did you take the bonds to gamble with?"

"No. I'd never have done that. I gambled in another way, though. I thoughtI saw a chance to sell a certain commodity at that particular time andI plunged and sent for a large quantity of it. It looked sure. I have afriend over there and got it on credit. I banked on an immediate sale anda big profit. But something delayed the shipping in Hong Kong. When itarrived the market was swamped. Some one else had had the same idea. I hadto pay for the goods, as well as other big outstanding bills, or go intobankruptcy. So I took the bonds. It wasn't easy. But there was nothing elseto do. .. . There were about ten thousand dollars left and I tried anothercoup. That failed too. "

"How is it possible to go on with the business?"

"It isn't. I have closed out. But I have escaped bankruptcy. People onthe street think that I wanted to get into the real estate business--withAndrew Weston, a young man who has recently come here from Los Angeles. He's doing fairly well and has a good office. He wanted a hustler and apartner who had good connections. But it is slow work. There are the oldfirms, again, to compete with. I wouldn't have looked at it if I'd had anychoice, but it was a case of a port in a storm. "

"Well? Is that all? There is another matter to discuss. Our future mode ofliving. "

"No, it isn't all. I wish you would tell Gora something. I can never gothrough this again. While she was away--in Honolulu--that lawyer of my auntsent out ten thousand dollars' worth more of stock, that had been lookedupon as so much waste paper, but suddenly appreciated--some little railroadthat was abandoned half finished, but has since been completed. This hadbeen left to Gora alone. We had some correspondence and he sent it to me asGora was traveling. It came at the wrong time for me. .. On top of everythingelse. .. . I plunged in a new mine Bob Cheever and Baseom Luning wereinterested in. It turned out to be no good. We lost every cent. "

II

Alexina sat cold and rigid. Once she pinched her arm. She fancied it hadturned to stone. 

He dropped into a chair and leaning forward twisted his hands together. 

"If you knew. .. If you knew. .. What I have been through. .. . At first it wasonly the anxiety and excitement. But afterward, when it was over. .. Whenthere was nothing left to speculate with. .. Then I realized what I haddone. .. I. .. A thief. .. A thief. .. . I had been so proud of my honor, myhonesty. I never had believed that I could even be tempted. And I went topieces like a cheaply built schooner in its first storm. There's nothing, it seems, in being well brought up, when circumstances are too strong foryou. "

Alexina forebore the obvious reply. "Of course you were a little mad, " shesaid, rather at a loss. 

"No, I wasn't. I'd always been a cool speculator, and I'd never taken longchances in business before. It all looked too good and I got in too deep. But if I could have repaid it all I'd feel nearly as demoralized. That Ishould have stolen. .. And from women. .. . "

Again Alexina restrained herself. The dead monotonous voice went on. 

"I thought once or twice of killing myself. It didn't seem to me that I hadthe right to live. I had always had the best ideals, the strictest sense ofright and wrong. .. It does not seem possible even now. "

Alexina could endure no more. Another moment and she felt that she shouldbe looking straight into a naked soul. She felt so sorry for him that shequite forgot her own wrongs or her horror of his misdeeds. She wished thatshe still loved him, he looked so forlorn and in need of the physicaldemonstrations of sympathy; but although she was prepared to defend him ifneed be, and help him as best she could, she felt that she would willinglydie rather than touch him. .. . She wondered if souls in dissolution subtlywafted their odors of corruption if you drew too close. .. . 

"Well, what is done is done, " she said briskly. "I'll tell Gora and engagethat she will never mention it. You have suffered enough. Now let usdiscuss ways and means. Does this new business permit you to contributeanything to the household expenses?"

"I'm afraid not. It takes time to work up a business. "

"Then we must live on what I have left, and you know what taxes are. Isuppose I had better look for a job. "

"What?" He seemed to spring out of his apathy, and stared at herincredulously. "You?"

"Yes. We must have more money. I could sell the flats and go into thedecorating business. "

"And advertise to all San Francisco that I am a failure! Do you think Icould fool them then!"

"Are you sure you have fooled them now! They must know you would have stuckto the old business if it had paid. "

"It isn't the first time a man has changed his business. But if you go outto earn money--why, I'd be a laughing stock. "

"Then we shall have to give up the house. The city has long wanted thislot--"

"That would never do, either. Everybody knows how devoted you are to yourold home. .. And after fixing it up. .. . "

"Well, what, do you suggest? You know perfectly well we can't go on. "

"My brain seems to have stopped. I can't do much thinking. But. .. Well. .. Youmight sell the flats and we could go on as before until my business beginsto pay. "

"Sacrifice more of my capital? That I won't do. Why don't you see if youcan get back with Cheever Harrison and Cheever? I know that Bob--"

"I won't go back to being a salaried man. You can't go back like that whenyou've been in the other class. " He beat a fist into a palm. "Why couldn'tBob Cheever have left me alone? So long as I didn't know anything aboutSociety I never thought about it. Why couldn't your family have let me staywhere I was? I should have been head clerk with a good salary by this time, and we would have arranged our expenses accordingly when your motherdied. Why can't men give a young fellow a better chance when he goes intobusiness for himself? Every man trying to cut every other man's throat. "What chance has a young fellow with a small capital?"

"Do you know that you have blamed everybody but yourself? However. .. Perhapsyou are right. .. . Mr. Kirkpatrick puts it down to the system. I feel moreinclined to trace it straight back to old Dame Nature--all the ancestralinheritances down in our sub-cellars. We are as we are made and ourcharacters are certainly our fate. I suppose you will at least resign fromthe club?"

He set his lips in the hard line that made him look the man of characterhis ancestor, John Dwight, had been when he legislated in the firstCongress. "No, I shall not resign. It would be bad business in two ways:they would know I was hard up, and I should no longer meet in the same waythe men who can give me a leg up in business. "

"Are you sure those are the only reasons?"

To this he did not deign to reply, and she asked: "Do you mean that youshall go on speculating?"

"I've nothing to speculate with. I mean that the men I cultivate can helpme in business. "

"They don't seem to have done much in the past. However. .. At least I'llsend in our resignations to the Golf Club. As we use it so seldom no onewill notice. Now I'm going upstairs to think it all over. To-morrow I shalldo something. I don't know what it will be, yet. "

He stood up. "Promise me, " he said with firm masculine insistence, "thatyou will neither go into any sort of money-making scheme or sell thishouse. " His tones had distinctly more life in them and he had recovered hisusual bearing of the lordly but gallant male. His eyes were as stern as hislips. 

Alexina stared at him for a moment in amazement, then reflected thatapparently the stupider a man was the more difficult he was to understand. She nodded amiably. 

"No doubt I'll think of some other way out. Will let you know at dinnertime. Don't expect me at breakfast. Good-night. "

CHAPTER XIII

I

Alexina was driving her little car up the avenue at Rincona on thefollowing morning when she saw Joan running toward her through the park andsignaling to her to stop. 

"What is it?" she asked in some alarm as Joan arrived panting. "Any oneill?"

"Not so's you'd notice it. Leave your car here and come with me. Sneakafter me quietly and don't say a word. "

Much mystified, Alexina ran her car off the road and followed her nieceby a devious route toward the house. Joan interested her mildly; she hadfulfilled some of her predictions but not all. She did not go with the"fast set" even of the immediate neighborhood; that is to say the smallgroup called upon, as they indubitably "belonged, " but wholly disapprovedof, who entertained in some form or other every day and every night, playedpoker for staggering stakes, danced the wildest of the new dances, made upbrazenly, and found tea and coffee indifferent stimulants. Two of Joan'sformer schoolmates belonged to this active set, but she was only permittedto meet them at formal dinners and large parties. She had rebelled atfirst, but her mother's firm hand was too much for her still undevelopedwill, and later she had concluded "there was nothing in it anyhow; just thewhole tiresome society game raised to the nth degree. " Moreover, shewas socially as conventional as her mother and her good gray aunts, andalthough full of the mischief of youth, and longing to "do something, " noprince having captured her fancy, enough of what Alexina called the soundBallinger instincts remained to make her disapprove of "fast lots, " and shehad progressed from radical eighteen to critical twenty-one. She workedoff her superfluous spirits at the outdoor games which may be indulged inCalifornia for eight months of the year, rode horseback every day, usedall her brothers' slang she could remember when in the society of suchuncritical friends as her young Aunt Alexina, and bided her time. Sooneror later she was determined to "get out and hustle, "--"shake a leg. " Thatwould be the only complete change from her present life, not matrimony andrunning with fast sets. She wanted more money, she wanted to live alone, and, while devoted to her family, she wanted interests they could notfurnish, "no, not in a thousand years. "

II

Joan's slim boyish athletic figure darted on ahead and then approached therear of the house on tiptoe. Alexina followed in the same stealthy fashion, feeling no older at the moment than her niece. The verandah did not extendas far as the music room, which had been built a generation later, and thewindows were some eight feet from the ground. A ladder, however, abridgedthe distance, and Alexina, obeying a gesture from Joan, climbed as hastilyas her narrow skirt would permit and peered through the outside shutters, which had been carefully closed. 

The room was not dark, however. The electricity had been turned on andshone down upon an amazing sight. 

Clad in black bloomers and stockings lay a row of six women flat on thefloor, while in front of them stood a woman thin to emaciation, who wasevidently talking rapidly. Alexina's mouth opened as widely as her eyes. She had heard of Devil Worship, of strange and awful rites that took placeat midnight in wickedest Paris. Had an expurgated edition been brought tochaste Alta--plus Menlo--plus Atherton, by Mrs. Hunter or Mrs. Thornton, orany of those fortunate Californians who visited the headquarters of fashionand sin once a year? They would do a good deal to vary the monotony oflife. But that they should have corrupted Maria. .. The impeccable, thesuperior, the unreorientable Maria! Maria, with whom contentmentand conservatism were the first articles of the domestic and thesocio-religious creed!

For there lay Maria, extended full length; and on her calm white face wasa look of unholy joy. Beside her, as flat as if glued to the inlaid floor, were Mrs. Hunter, Mrs. Thornton, Coralie Geary, Mrs. Brannan, another oldfriend of Maria, and--yes--Tom's sister, Susan Delling, austere in hervirtues, kind to all, conscientiously smart, and with a fine mahoganycomplexion that made even a merely powdered woman feel not so much a harlotas a social inferior. 

What on earth. .. What on earth. .. . 

The thin loquacious stranger clapped her hands. Up went six pairs of legs. Two remained in mid-air, Mrs. Geary's and Mrs. Brannan's having met animmovable obstacle shortly above the hip-joints. Three bent backward slowlybut surely until they approached the region of the neck. Maria's flewunerringly, effortlessly, up, back, until they tapped the floor behind herhead. Alexina almost shouted "Bravo. " Maria was a real sport. 

Six times they repeated this fascinating rite, and then, obeying anotherperemptory command, they rolled over abruptly and balanced on all fours. Alexina could stand no more. She dropped down the ladder and ran afterJoan, who was disappearing round the corner of the house. 

III

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "Maria! Your mo--"

"She gained three pounds, for the first time in her life, and you know herfigure is her only vanity. This woman came along and the whole Peninsula iscrazy about her. She's taken the fat off every woman in New York, and cameout with letters to a lot of women. Mother fell for her hard. I nearlypassed away when I peeked through that shutter the first time. Mother!She's the best of the bunch, though. But they're all having a perfectlygrand time. New interest for middle-age--what?"

"Don't be cruel. Heavens, how hot they all looked! I could hear them gasp. Hope their arteries are all right. Are they going to stay to lunch?"

"No. There's a big one on in Burlingame. Mother's not going, though. It'sat that Mrs. Cutts', new Burlingame stormer, that Anne Montgomery coachesand caters for and who gives wonderful entertainments. Mother and AuntSusan won't go, but nearly all the others do. "

"Anne Montgomery. I haven't seen her since mother died. "

"You look as if an idea had struck you. She's useful no end, they say; isnow a social secretary to a lot of new people, and sells the 'real lace'and other superfluous luxuries of some of our old families for the coldcoin that buys comforts. "

"Fine idea. But I'm glad your mother will be alone. I've come down to havea talk with her. "

"Thanks. I'll take the hint. "

CHAPTER XIV

I

Alexina went up to Joan's room to remain until the gong sounded forluncheon, when she drifted down innocently and kissed the somewhatfurtive-looking Maria, who was in chaste duck and fresh from a bath. 

"So glad to see you, darling, " she murmured almost effusively. "I hope youhaven't waited long. A number of my friends have a lesson every Thursdaymorning, and meet at one house or another. "

"Irregular French verbs, I suppose. So fascinating, and one does forget so. I thought I'd never brush up my French. "

Not for anything would she have forced Maria into the most innocentequivocation, and she rattled on about her wonderful summer as people areexpected to do after their first visit to Europe. 

No time could have been more propitious for this necessary understandingwith Maria, who was feeling amiable, apologetic, as limber as Joan, andalmost as warm. She had also lost two-thirds of a pound. 

II

Alexina began as soon as Joan left them alone on the shady side of the widepiazza. 

"I have a lot of things to tell you, " she said nervously. "I have to makecertain economies and I want the benefit of your advice. "

Mrs. Abbott looked up from her embroidery. "Of course, darling. I wasafraid you were going a little too fast for young people. "

"That is not it. I always managed well enough. .. . You know we've never gonethe limit: polo at Burlingame and Monterey, gambling, big parties andall the rest of it. I've never run into debt or spent any of my capital. But. .. "

Maria began to feel anxious and took off the large round shell-rimmedspectacles that enlarged stitches and print. "Yes?"

"You know I had bonds--about forty thousand dollars' worth--those thatmother left: I spent those that Ballinger and Geary gave me on the houseand one thing and another. "

"Yes?" Mrs. Abbott was now alarmed. She had a very keen sense of the valueof money, like most persons that have inherited it, and was extremelyconservative in its use. 

"Well, you see, I thought I saw a chance to treble it--we never really hadenough--and I speculated and lost it. "

Alexina was a passionate lover of the truth, but she could always lie likea gentleman. 

Maria Abbott readjusted her spectacles and took a stitch or two in herlinen. She was aghast and did not care to speak for a moment. She was nofool and Tom had told her that Mortimer had changed his business and mightbluff the street, but could never bluff him. She knew quite as well as ifAlexina had confessed it that Mortimer had lost the money, either in hisbusiness or in stocks; although of course she was far from suspecting thewhole truth. 

III

"That is dreadful, " she said finally. "I wish you had consulted Tom. Heunderstands stocks as he does everything else. "

"I thought I had the best tips. However--the thing is done, and the pointis that I must make great changes. Mortimer is not making as much as hewas, either; he came to the conclusion that he couldn't get anywhere inthat business on so small a capital, and has gone into real estate. It willbe some time before he makes enough to keep things going in the old way. I made all my plans last night and came down to ask you if you could takeJames. He has been with us so long; I can't let him go to strangers. Then Ishall turn out all those high-priced servants and get a woman to do generalhousework. Alice says her aunt always gets green ones from an agency andbreaks them in. They are quite cheap. I shall help her, of course, and ifshe doesn't know much about cooking I know a little and can learn more. Ishall shut up the big drawing-room, put everything into moth balls, andgive out that the doctor has ordered me to rest this winter, to go to bedevery night at eight. That will stop people coming up three or four times aweek to dance. And I can sell the new clothes I brought from Paris and NewYork to Polly Roberts. She's just my height and weight. Of course I musttell the girls the truth--that I'm economizing; but wild horses wouldn'tdrag it out of them. I don't care tuppence, but Morty says it would hurthis business. I rather like the idea of working. I'm tired of the oldround, and would like to get a job if Morty wasn't so opposed--says itwould ruin him. "

"I should think so. At least let us wash our dirty linen at home. .. . I havebeen thinking while you talked. I've only spent two whole winters in townsince I married, end I've always thought I'd love to live in the old house. I've rather envied you, Alexina, dear. .. It is so full of happy memories forme. I did have such a good time as a girl. .. Such a good, simple time. .. . I'mwondering if Tom wouldn't rent it for the winter and spring. He's beendoing splendidly these last two or three years, and he owned some of theproperty west of Twin Peaks that is building up so fast. I know he sold itfor quite a lot. .. . And I sometimes wonder if he doesn't get as tired ofliving in the same place year after year as I do. He could play golf atthe Ingleside. .. . I am sure he will. .. . It would be the very best thingall round. Then we could run the house, and you and Mortimer would paysomething--never mind what. .. . People would think it was the other way, ifthey thought anything about it. Families often double up in that fashion. "

"Maria! I can't believe it. It would be too perfect a solution, provided ofcourse that we pay all we cost. I should insist upon keeping the slips asusual. You are an angel. "

"We Groomes and Ballingers always stand by one another, don't we? TheAbbotts, too. Besides, it will certainly be no sacrifice on any of ourparts. It will mean a great deal to me to spend six months in town, and Iknow that Tom has grown as tired of motoring back and forth every day as beused to be of the train. "

"It will be heavenly just having you. " Alexina spoke with perfectsincerity. She had not faltered before the prospect of work, but that ofMortimer's society unrelieved for an indefinite time had filled her withsomething like panic. It had been the one test of her powers of enduranceof which she had not felt assured. 

"That will give us time, too, to get on our feet again. Morty is veryhopeful of this new business. I shall go out very little, and as Joan willbe the natural center of attraction it will be understood that her friends, not mine, have the run of the house. "

Maria nodded. "It's just the thing for Joan. Really a godsend. She worriesme more than all three of the boys. They are east at school for the winterand of course don't come home for the Christmas holidays. If you want to behousekeeper you may. I don't know anything I should like better than a restfrom ordering dinner, after all these years. "

"Perfect! I'll also take care of my room and Morty's. Then I'd be sure Iwasn't really imposing on you. You're a dead game sport, Maria, and I'dlike to drink your health. "

CHAPTER XV

I

Mortimer looked nonplussed when Alexina informed him at dinner of theimmediate solution of their difficulties. He detested Tom and Maria Abbott;there were certain things he could forget in his aristocratic wife'spresence, far as she had withdrawn, but never in theirs. Moreover he fearedAbbott. He was as keen as a hawk; an unconsidered word and he might as wellhave told the whole story. Well, he never talked much anyhow; he wouldmerely talk less. 

When Alexina asked him if he had any better plan to propose he was forcedto shrug his shoulders and set his lips in a straight line of resignation. When she told him what her original plan had been he was so appalled, sohumiliated at the bare thought of his wife in a servant's apron (to saynothing of the culinary arrangements) that he almost warmed to the Abbotts. 

II

Ten days later, on the eve of the Abbotts' arrival, the equanimity ofspirit he was striving to regain by the simple process of thinking ofsomething else when his late delinquencies obtruded themselves, receiveda severe shock. Alexina handed him a cheque for ten thousand dollars andasked him to place it to Gora's account in the bank where she kept hersavings. 

"Where did you get it?" he asked stupidly, staring at the slip of paper soheavily freighted. 

"Anne Montgomery sold some of my things to a good-natured ignoramus whosehusband made a fortune in Tonopah. She doesn't know how to buy and Anneadvises her. "

"What did you sell? Your jewels?"

"Some. I never wear anything but the pearls anyhow; and it's bad taste towear jewels unless you're wealthy. I had some old lace that is hard to buynow, and real lace isn't the fashion any more. New rich people always thinkit's just the thing. I also sold her two of the biggest and clumsiest ofthe Italian pieces. She is crazy about them. Anne told her that they wereas good as a passport. "

Mortimer sprang to the only, the naïve, the eternal masculine conclusion. 

"You do love me still!" The dull eyes of his spirit flashed with the suddenrejuvenation of his heavy body. "I never really believed you had ceased tocare. .. . You were capricious like all women. .. A little spoilt. I knew thatif I had patience. .. Only a loving wife would do such a thing. "

Alexina made a wry face at the banality of his climax, although the fatuousoutburst had barely amused her. 

"No, I don't love you in the least, Mortimer, and never shall. Make up yourmind to that. Love some one else if you like. .. . I did this for two reasons:I did not have the courage to tell Gora the truth--and that I was toounjust and penurious to restore the money you had taken; and as your wifeit would have hurt my pride unbearably. "

"And you are not afraid to trust me with this money?" he asked, his voicetoneless. 

"Not in the least. There's no other way to manage it and I fancy you knowwhat would happen if you didn't hand it over. There is such a thing as thelast straw. "

CHAPTER XV

I

It was a week later. Alexina was changing her dress. Maria had asked anumber of her girlhood friends in for luncheon, and they were to exchangereminiscences in the old house over a table laden as of yore with themassive Ballinger silver, English cutglass, and French china. Alexina wasabout to take refuge with Janet Maynard. 

Her door opened unceremoniously and Gora entered. 

Alexina caught her breath as she saw her sister-in-law's eyes. They lookedlike polar seas in a tropical storm. 

"Why, Gora, dear, " she said lightly. "I thought you were on an importantcase. "

"Man died last night. I have just been to see Mortimer. When I got hisnote--just three lines--saying that he had received a cheque from Uticaand deposited it to my account I knew at once--as soon as I had time tothink--there was something wrong. The natural thing would have been to callme up--couldn't tell me the good news too soon. .. . And there was a hollowring about that note. .. . Well, as soon as I woke up to-day I went straightdown to his office. I had to wait an hour. When he came in and saw me heturned green. I marched him into a back room and corkscrewed the truth outof him--the whole truth. Then I blasted him. He knows exactly what oneperson in this world thinks of him, what everybody else would think ofhim if he were found out. I gathered that you had let him down easy. Yourtoploftical pride, I suppose. Well, I must have a good plebeian streak inme somewhere and for the first time I was glad of it. When I left him helooked shrunken to half his natural size. His eyes looked like a deadfish's and all the muscles of his face had given Way. He looked as if hewere going to die and I wish he would. Faugh! A thief in the family. Thatat least we never had before. "

"Don't be too sure. Remember nobody else knows about Morty, andeverybody'll go on thinking he's honest. Half our friends may be thievesfor all we know, and as for our ancestors--what are you doing?"

II

Gora had taken a roll of yellow bills from her purse. She counted them onthe table; ten bills denominating a thousand dollars each. 

"I won't take them. " said Alexina stiffy. "I think you are horrid, simplyhorrid, "

"And do you imagine I would keep it? I What do you take me for?"

"I am in a way responsible for Mortimer's debts--his partner. "

"That cuts no ice with me--nor with you. That is not the reason you soldyour jewels and laces and those superb--Oh, you poor child! If I'm furious, it's more for you than on any other account. You don't deserve such afate--"

"I don't deserve to have you treat me so ungratefully. I can't get mythings back. I wanted you to have the money more than I eared for thosethings, anyhow. I have no use for the money. I don't owe anything and therent Tom pays me for six months will help me to run the house for the restof the year and pay taxes besides. So, you just keep it, Gora. It's yoursand that's the end of it. "

"This is the end of it as far as I'm concerned. " She opened the secretdrawer of the cabinet and stuffed in the bills. "They're safe from any sortof burglars there. But not from fire. Bank them to-morrow. "

"I'll not touch them. "

"Nor I either. "

III

Gora threw her hat on the floor and sitting down before the table thrusther hands into her hair and tugged at the roots. "I always do this whenI'm excited--which is oftener than you think. What dreams I had that firstnight--I got his note late and was too tired to reason, to suspect. .. . Ijust dreamed until I fell asleep. I'd start for England a week later--forEngland!"

Goose flesh made Alexina's delicate body feel like a cold nutmeg grater. "England?"

"Yes!. .. Ah. .. You see, it's the only place where literary recognition countsfor anything. "

"Oh? I rather thought the British authors looked upon Uncle Sam in thelight of a fairy godfather. Our recognition counts for a good deal, Ishould say. I never thought you were snobbish. "

"I'm not really. Only London is a sort of Mecca for writers just as Parisis for women of fashion. .. . Just fancy being feted in London after you hadwritten a successful novel. "

"I'd far rather receive recognition in my own country, " said Alexina, elevating her classic American profile. She was not feeling in the leastpatriotic, however. "You'd see your friend Gathbroke, though. That would bejolly. Do take the money, Gora, and don't be a goose. "

"That subject's closed. Don't let me keep you. James told me that Maria ishaving a luncheon, and I suppose that means you are going out. I'll resthere for awhile if you don't mind. "

CHAPTER XVI

I

Mortimer went off that night and got drunk. It was the first time in hislife and possibly his last, but he made a thorough job of it. He took theprecaution to telephone to the house that he was going out of town, butwhen he returned two days later he experienced a distinct pleasure intelling Alexina what he had done. Alexina, who still hoped that she wouldalways be able to regard Life as God's good joke, rather sympathized withhim, and assured him that he would have nothing to apprehend from Gora inthe future: she had no more fervent wish than to keep out of his way. 

II

He found himself on the whole very comfortable. Maria was always most kind, Alexina polite and amiable, and Tom "decent. " Joan liked him as well asshe liked anybody, and when the family spent a quiet evening at home heundertook to improve her dancing and she was correspondingly grateful;it had been her weak point. The fiction was carefully preserved that theDwights were conferring a favor on the Abbotts and that all expenses wereequally shared. In time he came to believe it, and his hours of deepdepression, when he had pondered over his inexplicable roguery, grew rarerand finally ceased. After all he had had nothing to lose as far as Alexinawas concerned; one's sister hardly mattered (Did women matter much, anyhow?); and his sense of security, which he hugged at this time as themost precious thing he had ever possessed, at last made him a littlearrogant. He had done what he should not, of course, but it was over anddone with, ancient history; and where other men had gone to State's Prisonfor less, he had been protected like an infant from a rude wind. He knewthat he would never do it again and that his position in life was asassured as it ever had been. 

III

He spent a good many evenings at the club, and Maria found him a willingcavalier when Tom "drew the line" at dancing parties. Alexina, who had soldher car to Janet and her new gowns to Polly, had announced that she wasbored with dancing and should devote the winter to study. She spent theevenings either in her library upstairs or with her friends. Mortimer sawher only at the table. 

He wondered if Tom Abbott would rent the house every winter. A pleasantfeeling of irresponsibility was beginning to possess his jaded spirit. Hemade a little money occasionally, but he was no longer expected to handanything over when the first of the month came round--a date that hadhaunted him like a nightmare for four long years. Pie could spend it onhimself, and he felt an. Increasing pleasure in doing so. 

CHAPTER XVII

I

Gray naked trees; orchards of prune and peach and cherry, mile after mile. Orange trees in small wayside gardens heavy-laden with golden fruit. Tallaccacias a mass of canary colored bloom. Opulent palms shivering against agray sky. Close mountains green and dense with forest trees, their crestsfilagreed with redwoods. Far mountains lifting their bleak ridges abovebare brown hills thirsting for rain. 

The heavy rains were due. It was late in January. Alexina and several ofher friends were motoring back to the city through the Santa Clara Valley, after luncheon with the Price Ruylers at their home on the mountain aboveLos Gatos. As it was Sunday there was an even number of men in the party, and Alexina, maneuvered into Jimmie Thorne's roadster, was enduring withnone of the sweet womanly graciousness which was hers to summon at will, one of those passionate declarations of love which no beautiful young womanout of love with her husband may hope to escape; and not always when in. Alexina had grown skillful in eluding the reckless verbalisms of love, but when one is packed into a small motor car with a determined man, desperately in love, one might as well try to wave aside the whirlwind. 

Jimmie Thorne was a fine specimen of the college-bred young American ofgood family and keen professional mind. He has no place in this biographysave in so far as he jarred the inner forces of Alexina's being, and hefell at Château-Thierry. 

II

Alexina lifted her delicate profile and gave it as sulky an expression asshe could assume. She really liked him, but was annoyed at being trapped. 

"I don't in the least wish to marry you. "

"Everybody knows you don't care a straw for Dwight. You could easily get adivorce--"

"On what grounds! Besides, I don't want to. I'd have to be really off myhead about a man even to think of such a thing. Our family has kept out ofthe divorce courts. And I don't care two twigs for you, Jimmie dear. "

"I don't believe it. That is, I know I could make you care. You don't knowwhat love is--"

"I suppose you are about to say that you think I think I am cold, and thatif I labor under this delusion it is only because the right man hasn't comealong. Well, Jimmie dear, you would only be the sixteenth. I suppose menwill keep on saying it until I am forty--forty-five--what is the limitthese days? I know exactly what I am and you don't"

"I'm not going to be put off by words. Remember I'm a lawyer of sorts. God!I wish I'd been here when you married that codfish, instead of studying lawat Columbia, Do you mean to tell me I couldn't have won you!"

"No. Almost any man can win a little goose of eighteen if circumstancesfavor him. Twenty-five is another! matter. Oh, but vastly another! Even ifI'd never married before I'm not at all sure I should have fallen in lovewith you. "

"Yes, you would. You're frozen over, that's all. "

Alexina sighed, and not with exasperation. He was very charming, magnetic, companionable. He was handsome and clever and manly. She could feel thewarmth of his young virile body through their fur coats, and her owntrembled a little. .. . It suddenly came to her that she no longer owedMortimer anything. Their "partnership" had been dissolved by his own act. If she could have loved Jimmie Thorne with something beyond the agreeableresponse of the mating-season (any season is the mating season inCalifornia). .. That was the trouble. He was not individual enough to holdher. Life had been too kind to him. Save for this unsatisfied passion hewas perfectly content with life. Such men do not "live. " They may havecharm, but not fascination. .. . Perhaps it was as well after all that shehad married Mortimer. Another man might not have been so easily disposedof. 

"Jimmie dear, if it were a question of a few months, and I made a cult ofmen as some women do, it would be all right. But marry another man that Iam not sure--that I know I don't want to spend my life with. Oh, no. "

He looked somewhat scandalized. Like many American men he was even moreconventional than most women are; he was, moreover, a man's man, spendingmost of his leisure in their society, either at the club or in out-of-doorsports, and he divided women rigidly into two classes. Alexina was hisfirst love and his last; and as he went over the top and crumpled up hethought of her. 

"I wouldn't have a rotten affair with you. You're not made for that sort ofthing--"

"Well, you're not going to have one, so don't bother to buckle on yourarmor. " She relented as she looked into his miserable eyes, and took hishand impulsively. "I'm sorry. .. Sorry. .. . I wish. .. You are worth it. .. Butit's not on the map. "

CHAPTER XVIII

I

Gora's novel was published in February. Aileen Lawton, Sibyl Bascom, AliceThorndyke, Polly Roberts, and Janet Maynard organized a campaign to make itthe fashion. They went about with copies under their arms, on the street, in the shops, at luncheons, even at the matinée, and "could talk of nothingelse. " Sibyl and Janet bought a dozen copies each and sent them to friendsand acquaintances with the advice to read it at once unless they wished tobe hopelessly out of date: it was "all the rage in New York. "

As a matter of fact, with the exception of Aileen and possibly Janet, thebook almost terrified them with its pounding vigor and grim relentlesslogic, even its romantic realism, which made its tragedy more poignant andsinister by contrast; and, again with the exception of Aileen, they werelittle interested in Gora. But they were loyally devoted to Alexina andobeyed, as a matter of course, her request to help her make the book asuccess. They worked with the sterner determination as Alexina in her ownefforts was obliged to be extremely subtle. 

Besides, it, was rather thrilling not only to know a real, author butalmost to have her in the family as it were. Their industrious sowing borean abundant harvest and Gora's novel became the fashion. Whether peoplehated it or not, and most of them did, they discussed it continually, andwhen a book meets with that happy fate personal opinions matter little. 

II

Maria thought the book was "awful" and forbade Joan to read it. Joanthought (to Alexina) that it was simply the most terribly fascinating bookshe had ever read and made her despise society more than ever and moredetermined to light out and see life for herself first chance she got. TomAbbott thought it a remarkable book for a woman to have written; a manmight have written it. Judge Lawton read it twice. Mortimer declined toread it. He had not forgiven Gora; moreover, although his social positionwas now planetary, it annoyed him excessively to hear his sister alluded tocontinually as an author. Even the men at the club were reading the damnedbook. 

III

Bohemia stood off for some time. It was only recently they had learned thatGora Dwight was a Californian. They had read her stories, but as she hadbeen the subject of no publicity whatever they had inferred that, like manyanother, she had dwelt in their midst only long enough to acquire material. When they learned the truth, and particularly after her inescapablenovel appeared, they were indignant that she had not sought her muse atCarmel-by-the-Sea, or some other center of mutual admiration; affiliatedherself; announced herself, at the very least. There was a very sincerefeeling among them that any attempt on the part of a rank outsider toachieve literary distinction was impertinent as well as unjustifiable. .. . Itwas impossible that he or she could be the real thing. 

When they discovered that she was affiliated more or less with fashionablesociety, nurse though she might be, and that those frivolous and negligiblebeings were not only buying her book by the ton but giving her luncheonsand dinners and teas, their disgust knew no bounds and they tacitly agreedthat she should be tabû in the only circles where recognition counted. 

IV

But Gora, who barely knew of their existence, little recked that she hadbeen weighed, judged, and condemned. Her old dream had come true. Society, the society which should have been her birthright and was not, had thrownopen its doors to her at last and everybody was outdoing everybody else inflattering and entertaining her. 

Not that she was deceived for a moment as to the nature of her success withthe majority of the people whose names twinkled so brightly in the socialheavens. She more than suspected the "plot" but cared little for theoriginal impulse of the book's phenomenal success in San Francisco andits distinguished faubourgs. She was square with her pride, her youthfulbitterness had its tardy solace, her family name was rescued fromobscurity. She knew that this belated triumph rang hollow, and that shereally cared very little about it; but the strength and tenacity of hernature alone would have forced her to quaff every drop of the cup so longwithheld. Even if she had been desperately bored she would have acceptedthese invitations to houses so long indifferent to her existence, and as amatter of fact she welcomed the sudden lapse into frivolity after her yearsof hard and almost unremitting work. She had played little in her life; anda year later when she was working eighteen hours a day without rest, inconditions that seemed to have leapt into life from the blackest pages ofhistory, she looked back upon her one brief interval of irresponsibility, gratified vanity, and bodily indolence, as at a bright star low on thehorizon of a dark and terrible night. 

V

There was one small group of women, Gora soon discovered, that stood forsomething besides amusement, sharply as some of them were identified withall that was brilliant in the social life of the city. They read all thatwas best in serious literature and fiction as soon after it came out astheir treadmill would permit, and they gave somewhat more time to it thanto poker. It was this small group, led by Mrs. Hunter, that in common withseveral wealthy and clever Jewish women, with intellectual members of oldfamilies that had long since dropped out of a society that gave them toolittle to be worth the drain on their limited means, and with one or twopresidents of women's clubs, made up the small attendance at the lectureson literary and political subjects, delivered either by some local light, or European specialist in the art of charming the higher intelligence ofAmerican women without subjecting it to undue fatigue. 

This small but distinguished band discussed Gora separately andcollectively and placed the seal of approval upon her. With them herarrival was genuine and permanent. 

It was hardly a step from their favor to the many women's clubs of thecity, and she was invited to be the luncheon or afternoon guest at oneafter another until all had entertained the rising star and she had learnedto make the little speeches expected of her without turning to ice. 

VI

The local intelligenzia, those that assured one another how great were eachand all, and whose poems or stories found an occasional hospitality in theeastern magazines, who toiled over "precious" paragraphs of criticism orwhose single achievement had been a play for the mid-summer jinks of theBohemian Club; these and their associates, the artists and sculptors, stillheld aloof, more and more annoyed that Gora Dwight should have had the badtaste to be discovered by the Philistines, and should be flying across thehigh heavens in spite of their tabû. 

Gora had gradually become aware of their existence, and their attitude, which both amused and piqued her. She knew now that if she had been one ofthem they would have beaten the big drum and proclaimed to the world (ofCalifornia) that she was "great, " "a genius, " the legitimate successor ofAmbrose Bierce, whom she remotely resembled, and Bret Harte, whom shedid not resemble at all. This they would have done if only to prove thatCalifornia no longer "knocked" as in the mordant nineties, nor waited forthe anile East to set the seal of its dry approval before discovering thata new volcano was sending forth its fiery swords in their midst. 

But it was extremely doubtful if society and upper club circles would havetaken any notice of her. Both had acquired the habit, however unjustly, ofregarding their local intelligenzia (with the exception of the few who keptthemselves wholly apart from all groups) as worshipers of small gods, and preferred to take their cues from London or New York. They plumedthemselves upon having discovered Gora Dwight and sometimes wondered how ithad happened. 

But Bohemia is hardly a trades union; it is indeed anarchistic and knowsno boss. Gora might not be invited to Carmel this many a day, nor yet toBerkeley, nor to sundry other parnassi, but there was one club in SanFrancisco whose curiosity got the better of it, and she was invited tobe the guest of the evening at the home of the Seven Arts Club on thetwentieth of April in the fateful year of nineteen-fourteen. 

VII

The Seven Arts Club had been organized by a group of painters, architects, authors, sculptors, musicians, actors and poets, most of whom had longsince found various degrees of fame and moved to New York, Europe, or theromantic wilderness. 

It still had seventy times seven votaries of the seven arts on its list andfew had found fame as yet outside their hospitable state--where log-rollingis as amiable as the climate--but all save the elders were expecting it andmany made a fair living. They met once a week, and a part of the eveningpleasure of the literary wing was to "place" authors. They were willing toswallow the British authors whole (they did in fact "discover" one ortwo of them, as the musical critics had discovered such a rara avis asTetrazzini, or the dramatic critics many a now famous player); but theywere excessively critical of all who owed their origin to the United Statesof America, and particularly of those who had loved and lost the sovereignstate of California. 

Naturally all were more or less radical (except the cynical and nowsomewhat anæmic elders who gave up hope for a world that had ceased tohold out hope to them). The artists were disturbed by futurism and cubism, although as neither paid they were forced to devote the greater part oftheir inspiration to the marketable California scenery. 

But the writers: potential or locally arrived novelists, playwrights, poets, essayists, were the real intelligenzia! They went about with theradical weeklies of the East (or Berkeley) under their arms and discoursedunder their breath (when foregathered in small and ardent groups) upon TheRevolution, the day of Judgment for all but honest Labor, and hissedtheir hatred of Capital. And if they had much in common with those"intellectuals" to be found in every land who caress the chin of radicalismwith one hand and plunge the other into the pocket of capital as far aspermitted, who shall blame them? One must live and one must have somethingto excite one's intellect when sex, the stand-by, takes its well-earnedrest. 

Several of these ardent ladies and gentlemen, with the sanction of theClub's President, a business man whose contributions were the financialmainstay of the Seven Arts, and who sincerely envied the gifted members, denying them nothing, invited James Kirkpatrick to be the guest of anevening and deliver an address on Socialism and the Proletariat. He repliedthat he would come and spit on them if they liked but that he had as muchuse for parlor socialists as he had for damned fools and posers of anysort. Life was too short. As for Labor it knew how to take care of itselfand had about as crying a need of their "support" as a healthy human bodyhad of lice and other parasites. 

They were not discouraged however, merely pronouncing him a "creature, "and were not at all flattered or surprised when Gora Dwight accepted theirinvitation and asked permission to bring her friends, Mrs. Mortimer Dwightand Miss Aileen Lawton. 

CHAPTER XIX

I

The wildflowers were on the green hills: the flame-colored velvet skinnedpoppy, the purple and yellow lupins, the pale blue "babyeyes, " buttercups, dandelions and sweetbrier, fields of yellow mustard. The gardens aboutthe Bay and down the Peninsula were almost licentious in their vehementindulgence in color. Every flower that grows north, south, east, west, onthe western hemisphere and the eastern, was to be found in some one ofthese gardens of Central California; the poinsettia cheek by jowl withperiwinkle and the hedges of marguerite; heavy-laden trees of magnoliaabove beds of Russian violets. Pomegranate trees and sweet peas, bridal wreath and camellia, begonia, fuchsias, heliotrope, hydrangea, chrysanthemums, roses, roses, roses. .. . Little orchards of almond trees, their blossoms a pink mist against a clear blue sky. .. . The mariposa lilywas awake in the forests; infinitesimal yellow pansies made a soft carpetfor the feet of the deer and the puma. .. . In the old Spanish towns of thesouth, the Castilian roses were in bloom and as sweet and pink andpoignant as when Rezánov sailed through the Golden Gate in the April ofeighteen-six, or Chonita Iturbi y Moncada, the doomswoman, danced on thehearts of men in Monterey. .. . From end to end of the great Santa ClaraValley the fruit trees were in bloom, a hundred thousand acres and more ofpure white blossoms or delicate pink. Bascom Luning took Alexina over itone day in his air-car, as she called it, and from above it looked like ascented sea that was all foam. 

But no such riot and glory had come to San Francisco. This was the seasonfor winds that seemed to blow from the four points of the compass atonce and of ghostly fogs that stole up and down the streets of the city, abandoning the hills to bank in the valleys, as if seeking warmth; abruptlydeserting the lowlands to prowl along the heights, always searching, searching, these pure white lovely fogs of San Francisco, for somethinglost and never found. 

II

"I hope they're not too artistic to keep their rooms warm, " said Aileen, as they drove from her house where Gora and Alexina had dined, down tothe Club of the Seven Arts. "I have smoked so much, intending to prove inpublic how really virtuous a society girl is, in contrast to Bohemia, thatI'm nearly frozen. "

"Keep your wrap on, " said Alexina. "Who cares? I have always been wild toget into real Bohemian circles, meet authors and artists. We do lead themost provincial life. All circles should overlap--the best of all, anyhow. That is the way I would remold society if I were rich and powerful--"

"Good heavens Alex, you are not idealizing this crowd we are going to meetto-night? They're just a lot of second and third raters--"

"What do you know about them?"

"I keep my feet on the ground and my head out of the clouds. I know more orless what it must be. Besides, the last time I was in New York I was takenseveral times to the restaurants and studios of Greenwich Village. I couldonly convey my opinion of it in many swear words. This must be a sort ofchromo of it. .. . Gora, are you as wildly excited as Alex is? I know she isbecause her spine is rigid; and she is probably colder than I am. "

"Well, anyhow, " said Alexina defiantly, "it will be something I never sawbefore. "

"It will, darling. Well. Gora, what do you anticipate?"

Gora laughed. "I wonder? I don't think I've thought much about it. Thecircumstances of my life have developed the habit of switching off myimagination except when I am at my desk. I've also formed the habit oftaking things as they come. I'll manage to extract something from this, oneway or another. "

III

The car stopped before a narrow house in the rebuilt portion of the city. The door was opened immediately and the three guests of honor, apparentlyvery late, as a large room beyond the vestibule appeared to be crowded, were marshaled up a narrow stair into a dressing-room under the eaves. 

"Looks like the loft of a barn, " grumbled Aileen. There was no attendant tohear. "Well, I'm not going to leave my cloak, for several reasons--only oneof which is that if this room is a sample my ill-covered bones will rattletogether downstairs. "

She wore a gown of black chiffon with a green jade necklace and a band ofgreen in her fashionably done fair hair. Alexina's gown was a soft whitesatin that fitted closely and made her look very tall and slim and round, the corsage trimmed with the only color she ever wore. Her hair was done ina classic knot and held with a comb--a present from Aileen--designed fromperiwinkles and green leaves and sparkling dew-drops. 

Gora shook out the skirt of her only evening-gown, a well-made black satin, very severe, but always relieved by a flower of some sort. To-night shewore a poinsettia, whose peculiarly vivid red brought out the warm brownsof her skin and hair. She had a superb neck and shoulders and bust, and theskin of her body was a delicate honey color that melted imperceptibly intothe deeper tones of her throat and face. 

"Alexina, " she said, "let us perish but exhibit all our points. Your armsand hands were modeled for some untraced Greek ancestress and born again. Your neck is almost as good as mine, if not quite so solid. .. . "

She had a spot of crimson on her high cheek bones and admitted to thediscerning Aileen that she was the least bit excited. After all, thekeenest brains of San Francisco might be down in that long raftered roomthey had glimpsed, and in any case she was about to be judged by a newstandard. 

"Oh, don't let that worry you, " Aileen began. 

A door at the end of the room opened abruptly and a small woman cameforward almost panting. "I just ran up those stairs, " she cried. "But I wasbound to be the first. I used to go to school with your mother down on BushStreet--dear Minnie Morrison!"

She was a woman of fifty or sixty, with a nose like an inflamed button, eyes that watered freely, and a shabby black hat somewhat on one side. 

"But my mother never went to school in San Francisco, " said Gora stiffly, and eyeing this first precipitate member of the intellectual world withprofound disfavor. 

"Oh, yes, she did. We were the most intimate friends. To think that dearMinnie's daughter--"

"Her name was not Minnie Morrison--"

'Oh, yes, it was--"

"Don't mind her so much, Gora dear. " Aileen did not trouble to lower hervoice. "She's drunk. Let's go down. "

Another woman entered the same door almost as hastily, but she was astately and rather handsome woman of forty, who gave the intruder such awithering look from her serene blue eyes that the unrefined member of theSeven Arts slunk out and could be heard stumbling down the stairs. 

"I followed as soon as some one told me that Miss Skeers had come up here, "she said apologetically. "She is not always herself, poor thing. Onceshe was quite distinguished as a local magazine writer, but. .. Well, youknow. .. All people do not have the good fortune to have their geniusuniversally recognized, and the results are sometimes disastrous. We areso proud to welcome you to-night, Miss Dwight, and--and--your charmingfriends. I am Jane Upton Halsey. " She appeared to think no furtherexplanation necessary. 

"Oh, yes, " murmured the bewildered Gora. "It was you who wrote to me. "

"Exactly. I am chairman of the reception committee. " She looked expectant, then piqued, and added hastily: "Will you come downstairs? What lovelygowns. I should like to paint you all. "

She herself was a symphony in pink ("dago pink, " whispered Aileenwickedly), and she wore a small pink silk turban, apparently made from thesame bolt as the gown. 

"Perhaps we should have worn hats, " said Gora nervously. "I didn't know--Ithought. .. "

"You are just all right. Anything goes here. We wear what's becoming, what we can afford, and what is our own idea of the right thing. Nobodycriticizes anybody else. "

"Now, this is life!" said Alexina to Aileen. "You will admit we never foundanything like that before. "

"Just you watch and catch them criticizing us. .. . Rather effective--what?"

They were descending a staircase that led directly into the crowded roombelow, and they looked down upon a mass of upturned expectant faces, Gorawas ahead with Miss Halsey, and as she reached the floor the faceschanged their angle; it was apparent that they were not interested in hersatellites. 

"Let's stop here for a moment and watch, " said Alexina. "It's toointeresting. They look as if they'd eat her alive. "

The whole company seemed to be seething about Gora, and as they wererapidly presented by Miss Halsey and passed on they produced the effect, in the inner circles, of a maelstrom. On the outer edge the women franklystood on chairs to get a better look at the new lion, or pushed forwardwith frenzied determination to the fixed center of the whirlpool, whosegracious smile was becoming strained. 

"Poor Gora!" said Aileen. "We do it better. A few picked souls at a time;or, even when it's a tea, just casual introductions at decent intervals, and not too many references to the immortal work. "

"It's simply great for Gora, anyhow; for, big or little, they're her ownsort. And they're not snobs, They don't care tuppence for us. "

"You're right there. I went to a big reception of all the arts in Parisonce and the only people any one kowtowed to were two disgustingly richNew York women who had never done anything. But no one can be blamed fornational characteristics. Heavens! What an olla podrida!"

Some of the men were in evening dress, but the greater number were not. They were of all ages, shaves, neckties and haircuts. The women wore everyvariety of hat, from an immense sailor perched above an immense fat face, above an immense shirtwaist bust, to minute turbans and waving plumes. Theywore tailored suits, high "one piece" frocks of any material from chiffonto serge, symphonic confections like Miss Halsey's, and flowing robespresumably artistic. None wore full evening dress except the guests ofhonor. All, however, did not wear hats, and they arranged their hair asindividually as Alexina. 

IV

"This may be our chance to see the art exhibit, " said Aileen. "They'llremember us in time, or Gora will. .. . "

They descended into the room but had waited too long. Miss Halsey, turningthe guest of honor over to the second in command, a woman of portentousseriousness, made her way hastily to the mere butterflies; who endeavoredvainly to slink away under cover of the rotating crowd. 

"You won't think me rude, I hope, " she cried, "but I had to start thingsgoing, and it is awkward for all to introduce three people at a time. "

"You were most considerate, " said Alexina amiably. "But we only came towitness Gora's triumph, and we enjoy looking on, anyhow. .. . We were about tolook at the pictures. .. . "

"You must meet some of our more brilliant members, " said Miss Halseyfirmly. "They would never forgive me, and have been almost as excited atmeeting two such distinguished members of society as at meeting Miss Dwightherself. Now, if you. .. If you. .. That is. .. "

"Our names are Jane Boughton and Mamie Featherhurst, " supplied Aileen, transfixing the lady with her wicked green eyes. 

"Oh, yes, to be sure. .. There has been so much to think of. .. But your namesare so often in the society columns. .. It seems to me I recall that one ofyou is the daughter of a famous judge--"

"Boughton. He's under indictment, you know, for graft, bribery, andcorruption. "

"Oh. .. Ah. .. How unfortunate, " Miss Halsey's jaw fell. Even she hadheard--vaguely in her studio--of the scandal of Judge Boughton, and shewondered how she had been so absent-minded as to invite a member of hisfamily to the club. 

"You see, " said Aileen coolly. "I am not fit to associate with yourmembers, and as Miss Featherhurst is still my loyal friend, we'll just goover and sit in a corner--"

"Indeed you shall do nothing of the kind. You are our guests, and--pleasefor this evening forget everything else. "

"You nasty little beast, " hissed Alexina into Aileen's discomforted ear. "She's worth two of you. "

"So she is, " said Aileen contritely, "I'll behave better. "

Miss Halsey, who had been signaling several members and rounding up others, returned, Alexina blazed her eyes at Aileen, who murmured hastily to thehostess: "I was just joking. I am Judge Lawton's daughter, and this is Mrs. Mortimer Dwight, Gora's sister-in-law. I'd never have told such a whopperbut I'm so nervous and shy. I didn't think I could go through the ordeal. "

"Oh, you poor child. Well, you'll find we're not terrible in the least. Now, don't try to remember names. They'll remember yours--better than Idid!"

Another small eddying circle formed about the luminaries from a lowersphere. This proved to be much like similar performances in any stratum ofsociety. All murmured platitudes, or nothing. Nobody tried to be originalor witty. Alexina and Aileen gradually disengaged themselves and weremaking their way toward the pictures that turned the four walls into aharmonious mass of color, when an old man came tottering up. He had bright, eyes and a pleasant face. 

"Which is Mrs. Dwight?" he asked eagerly. Alexina bent her lofty head andsmiled down upon him. 

"Of course. Little Alexina. I remember you when you were a dear little girland I used to see you playing about the house when I went up to have agood powwow with that clever grandfather of yours, Alex Groome--one of theablest politicians this town ever had; and straight, damn straight. "

"Alexander Groome was my father. "

"Oh, no, he wasn't. He was your grandfather. You are the daughter. .. Let mesee. .. There were two or three young ladies. .. . I remember when they came outin the eighties. .. And a boy or two. .. . "

"I am sorry to be rude, but Alexander Groome was my father. I came alongrather late. "

"Impossible!. .. Well, I suppose you know best. .. " and he drifted off. 

"This seems to be a home for incurables, " said Aileen. "I am sure I don'tknow how I shall get through the evening. Gora has a slight sense of humor, you have quite a keen one, but mine is positively fiendish. .. . Oh, Lord!"

Miss Halsey was trailing them, her hand resting lightly on the arm ofanother woman. 

"Now this is something like, " whispered Aileen. "Witch of Endor got up tolook like Carmen. "

The oncoming luminary was a singular-looking woman who may have beenconsiderably less so in the privacy of her dressing-room; she had evidentlyexpended much thought upon supplementing the niggardliness of Nature. Herunwashed-looking black hair was dressed very high and stuck with immensepins. Large, circular, highly colored, imitation jade rings dangled intiers from her ear-lobes, and at least eight rows of colored beads coveredthe front of her loose, fringed, embroidered, beaded gown. She had ahaggard face, deeply lined and badly painted, but something, an emanationperhaps, seemed to proclaim that she was still young. 

"This, dear Mrs. Dwight and Miss Lawton, is Alma De Quincey Smith, withwhose work you are of course familiar. She had her reception last week butwas only too glad to come to-night and extend the welcoming hand of theeast to our new daughter of the west. "

Miss De Quincey Smith barely gave her time to finish. She darted forwardand grasped Aileen's hand. "Oh, you must let me tell you how wonderful Ithink your unique green eyes go with that jade. I've been watching you!"She spoke with the eager unthinking impulsiveness of a child, which, oddly, made her look like a very old woman. 

"Too nice of you, " murmured Aileen, who was determined to behave. 

"And you!" she cried, turning to Alexina. "Your eyes simply blaze. You looklike a long white arum lily. And dusky hair, not merely black. Oh, I dothink you are both too wonderful, and I am sure all these splendid artistshere will want to paint you. "

Alexina and Aileen were not accustomed to such spontaneous and unbridledadmiration and they thought Miss Smith quite fascinating if rather queer. But Miss Smith did not number tact among her gifts and rushed on. 

"Gora Dwight is too wonderful looking for words. We are all crazy overher. All the artists want to paint her already. Her coloring and style areunique and she suggests tragedy--with those marvelous pale eyes in thatdark face--those heavy dark brows and heavy masses of hair. I havesuggested that Folkes--your greatest portrait painter, you know, --painther as Medea, or as the Genius of the Revolution, How proud you must be ofher!"

"So we are, " murmured Aileen. "We think she is the only woman writer inAmerica worth mentioning. Why don't you paint her yourself?"

"I? I am not an artist--with the brush! I am an author, Alma De QuinceySmith. "

"Oh!. .. " Aileen's voice trailed off vaguely, "What do you write? Plays?Essays?. .. "

"I--why, I'm one of the best--my stories appear constantly in the bestmagazines. " Miss Smith, who had been deserted some time since by MissHalsey, looked abject, helpless, and infuriated. 

"Oh! We only read the worst. It must be wonderful to be famous. Come, Alex, we must see the pictures. They're going to have music and supper later. "

V

"Nevertheless, " said Alexina, "they are real as far as they go, and theyreally do things, good or bad. They work, they aspire; they dream, andperhaps with reason, of a glorious future, when they will be as famous andsuccessful as the founders of the club. Even if they fail they will havehad the wonderful dream. Nothing can take that from them. I envy them--envythem!"

They were standing in a far corner of the room, after having examined threeor four admirable and many passable paintings. Aileen looked at her insurprise. They had both been remarking upon the comic aspects of theintellectual life, and Alexina's outburst was unexpected. Aileen hadseldom seen her vehement since they had outgrown their youthful habit ofwrangling. She was still more astonished when she turned from a view of theLatin-seeming roofs of San Francisco from Twin Peaks, to Alexina's face. Itlooked drawn and desperate. 

"Well, most of them will fail, " she said lightly. "Look at these pictures!That is what is the matter with California--too much talent. You must be asindividual as a talking monkey to get your head above the crowd. All thesepoor devils are doomed to the local reputation. "

"Even so they have something to live for, mean something, do something. What do I mean to myself or anyone? What have I accomplished? The man Imarried is a dummy-husband; means nothing to me nor I to him. I have nochildren. Even my housekeeping for Maria is a farce; James really does itall. I mean nothing to society now that I can no longer entertain it. Ihaven't even a decent vice. I don't smoke and gamble like you, nor havelovers like some of the others. I'm simply a nonentity--nothing!"

"You have personality. .. Beauty. .. . " Aileen was completely at a loss. "Ihate being banal like that Smith idiot. .. But you are the perfection of atype. That is something. And you cultivate your mind--"

"My mind! What does it amount to? Anybody can pack a brain. I'd like one ofthose that gives out something, however little. But I can't help that. Thepoint is I don't live. I don't care a hang about personality that doesn'tget anywhere, and I care still less about being a finished type--that's thework of dead and gone ancestors, anyhow, not mine. .. . I wish I could fall inlove with James Kirkpatrick. I'd feel more justified in my own eyes if Iwere living with him over in the Mission--"

"His old mother would chase you out with a broom and use Biblical language. Of course I know you must be bored, Alex dear. Can't you manage to goabroad and live for a time?"

"No, I can't, and I don't see what difference that would make. But I'lltell you what I shall do. If Tom and Maria want to rent the house next yearthey can have it but I'll not live there. I'll not be 'held up' any longer. I'll stand on my own feet--in other words get a job. No--I've some loosemoney, I'll start in business. "

"Good for you. Perhaps dad'll let me go in with you. Don't imagine I don'tget sick of my racketing life; and when I have a spasm of reform I nearlytake seriously to drink, I'm so bored. Would you have me for partner?"

"Wouldn't I? That is if you would be serious about it. I am, let me tellyou. The whole family can perform suttee for all I care. I'm going to dosomething that will give me a place in the main stream of life. "

"Trust me. I have been considering Bob's fifteenth proposal--Mr. Cheeverhas promised him a full partnership the day he marries, and it wouldn'tbe so bad. Bobby is a good sport, and we'd live the out-door life atBurlingame instead of the in--sports. .. Tournaments. .. Polo. .. Cut outdissipation. We've both really had enough of it. But I believe businesswould be more interesting. After all that's what you marry for unless youwant children--which I don't--to be interested. What'll we be? Decorators?"

"I suppose so. But all this has only just come to a head, although I knownow that it has been slowly gathering force in my deepest deeps. If we doI'll take Alice on. She's sick of the game too and she has simply rippingideas. "

"Perfect. 'Dwight, Thorn--', no, 'Thorndyke, Lawton and Dwight. ' I'm tooexcited--convicts must feel like that when they tunnel a hole and get out. It will be our real, our first adventure. "

CHAPTER XX

I

But two weeks later Aileen told Alexina that although she had cannilywaited for what she believed to be the propitious moment and told herfather about the great scheme, she had never seen him so upset. Shestormed, argued, wept, but he was adamant. He would give her neither a centnor his permission. When she accused him of inconsistency (he had supportedwoman's suffrage) he replied that women forced to work needed the franchiseand no fair-minded man would withhold it; and if for no other reason hewould forbid his daughter to go out and compete with women who must workwhether they wanted to or not. 

But that was only one point. 

What did progress mean if women deliberately dropped from a higher planeto a lower? What had their ancestors worked for, possibly died for? It wastheir manifest duty to their class, to their family, to go up not down. 

Moreover, when women had men to support them and insisted upon forcingtheir way into the business world, they made men ridiculous and underminedsociety. It was dangerous, damned dangerous. If he had his way not a womanin any class, outside of nursing and domestic service, should work. He'dtax every male in the land, according to his income or wage, to say nothingof the rich women, and keep every last one of the unportioned in idlenessrather than risk the downfall of male supremacy in the world. 

He hated every form of publicity for the women of his class. If he had hisway their names, much less photographs, should never appear in the publicpress. Society should be sacrosanct. Its traditions should be handed on, not lowered. .. . Charity boards and settlement work, perhaps, but no furtherexposure to the vulgar gaze. .. He was glad she had never gone in for thelast. 

Civilization would be meaningless without that small class at the top thatproved what Earth could accomplish in the way of breeding, the refinementsof life, the beauty of distinction, in making an art of leisure, ofpleasure--quite as much an art as writing books or painting pictures. 

If the men in the younger nations had to work, at least they were able toprove to the older that the exquisite creatures they bred and protectedwere second to none on this planet, at least. 

If women had genius that was another question. Let them give it to theworld, by all means. That was their personal gift to civilization. .. . He wasnot bigoted like some men, even young men, who thought it a disgrace for alady publicly to transfer herself to the artistic plane and compete withmen for laurels. .. . But when it came to stripping off the delicate badgesthat only the higher civilization could confer, and struggling tooth andnail with the mob for no reason whatever--it was disloyal, ungrateful andmonstrous. 

He was no snob. He thought himself better than no man. (Different, yes. )But in regard to women, the women of his class, the class of his fatherbefore him, and of his father's father, he had his ideals, his convictions. 

That was all. 

II

"In short, he's modern but not too modern. My twentieth-century argumentswere brushed aside as mere fads. And yet there's probably not an importantcase tried in any court in either hemisphere that he doesn't read--learnsomething from if he can. He takes in the leading newspapers and reviews ofAmerica and Europe and even reads the best modern novels as carefully as heever read Thackeray and Dickens--says they are the real social chronicles. He's a profound student of history, and the history of the presentinterests him just as much--he has those Balkans under a microscope; andcollects all the data on every important strike here and elsewhere. And yetwhere women are concerned he is a fossil. An American fossil--worst sort. Some of the young ones are just as bad. .. I'll have to give in. I can'tbreak his heart. I suppose I'll marry Bobby. "

III

Alice Thorndyke also shook her head. "I'd like to, Alex, but frankly Ihaven't the courage. Your friends all stick to you like perfect dears whenyou step down and out and set up shop, and are so kind you feel like astreet walker in a house of refuge. But secretly they hate it and theydon't feel toward you in the same way at all. They may not know enoughto express it, but what they really feel is that you have threatened thesolidity of the order and lowered yourself as well as them. One day theymay have more sense but not in our time, I am afraid. "

Nevertheless, Alexina persisted in her determination. One could succeedalone. She would not be the first. She was by no means sure, however, whatshe wanted to do, and made up her mind to take no step before the followingwinter. When the Abbotts returned to Rincona in May they took James withthem. Alexina closed Ballinger House, although Mortimer slept there and aFilipino came in every morning to make his breakfast and bed; and took acottage in Ross with Janet Maynard whose mother had gone south to visit oldlady Bascom, and who craved the wild peace of Marin County after too muchSan Francisco and Burlingame. 

Marin, with its magnificent redwood forests on the coast, fed by the fogsof the Pacific, its ancient sunlit woods of oak and madroño and manzanita, its mountains and rocky hills and peaceful fertile valleys, is perhaps themost beautiful county in California, and its towns and villages are stillalmost primitive in spite of the many fashionable residents whose homes areclose to or in them. The ocean pounds its western base, Mount Tamalpais isits proudest possession, it has a haunted looking lake; and a part of itembraces one of the many ramifications of the Bay of San Francisco, andcommands a superb view of city and island and mountain. But it has a heavybrooding peace that seems to relax the social conscience. Entertaining isintermittent, and its inhabitants return to their winter in San Franciscodeeply refreshed. It has its paradoxes like the rest of California. On astark little peninsula, jutting out from bare hills into the Bay, is SanQuentin, one of the State's Prisons, and along the edges of the marsh areChinese hamlets and shrimp fisheries. 

IV

Alexina and Janet purposed to spend the summer reading, idling in thesweet-scented garden, walking in the early morning, riding horseback in thelate afternoon, taking tea at the club house at San Rafael, or Belvedere, perhaps, but "cutting out" all social dissipations. Janet was nowtwenty-six and beginning to feel the strain as well as seriously toconsider what she should do with the rest of her life. She had greatwealth, she was blasée as a result of doing everything she chose to do, inpublic or in private, and she was nearly two generations younger than JudgeLawton. Nevertheless, she perceived no allurement in the business world, and the only alternative seemed marriage. Not in California, however. Nosurprises there. She might take her fortune to London and become a peeressof the realm. When change became imperative better go up than down. 

Alexina had never felt the attractions of dissipation and was not afflictedwith moral ennui; but she was tired from much thinking and brooding andintimate personal contacts. She wanted the deep refreshment of the summerbefore girding up for the winter--before making her plunge into the worldof business and toil. 

But she was soon to discover that she had girded up her loins, or at allevents brightened up her corpuscles and reposed her brain cells, for a fardifferent purpose. 

CHAPTER XXI

I

It is possible that only two people in California, barring German spies, leapt instantly to the conclusion that the Sarajevo bomb meant a EuropeanWar. The Judge, because he had the historical background and knew hismodern Europe as he knew his chessboard; and Alexina because she recalledconversations she had had in France the summer before with people close tothe Government, to say nothing of mysterious allusions in the letters ofOlive de Morsigny; who may have thought it wise not to trust all she knewto the post, or may have been too busy with her intensive nursing course toenter into particulars. 

Janet shrugged her large statuesque shoulders when Alexina communicated herfears. What was war to her? England at least would have sense enough tokeep out of it. Aileen came over after a convincing talk with her fatherlooking as worried as if some nation or other were training their guns onthe Golden Gate. 

"Dad says it's the world war. .. That we'll be dragged in. .. That Germanyhas had it up her sleeve for years. .. Believes that bomb was made inBerlin. .. Nothing under heaven could have averted this impending war but ahuge standing army in Great Britain. .. Hasn't Lord Roberts been crying outfor it?. .. . Dad and I dined at his house one night in London and the onlypicture in the dining-room was an oil painting of the Kaiser in a reduniform, done expressly for Lord Roberts. .. Funny world. .. And now Britain'sgot a civil war on her hands and mutinous officers who won't go overand shoot men of their own class in Ulster. .. . Russia hasn't built herstrategic railways--all the money used up in graft. .. . Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!who'd have thought it?. .. Twentieth century and all the rest of it. "

"Twentieth century. .. War. .. How utterly absurd. .. . I don't wish to berude. .. But really. .. "

This from every one to whom Alexina and Aileen, or even Judge Lawton, communicated their fears. 

II

One day Alexina and Aileen met in San Francisco by appointment andtelephoned to James Kirkpatrick, asking him to lunch with them at theCalifornia Market. He accepted with alacrity, and laughed genially at theirapprehensions. War? War? Not on your life. There'll never be another war. Socialists won't permit it. The kaiser? To hell with the kaiser. (Excuseme. ) He, James Kirkpatrick, was in frequent correspondence withcertain German socialists. They would declare themselves in the comingInternational Congress for the general strike if any sovereign--orPresident--dared to try to put over a war on the millions of determinedsocialists, syndicalists, internationalists, and communists in GreatBritain and Europe; he'd get the surprise of his life. Socialism wasdetermined there should never be another war--the burden and life-toll ofwhich was always borne by the poor man. He didn't believe any of those foolsovereigns, not even the crazy kaiser, would attempt it, knowing what theydid; but if they turned out to be deaf and blind, well, just watch out forthe Great Strike. That would be the most portentous, the most awe-inspiringevent in history, And then he dismissed a prospective European war as unworthy of furtherattention and held forth with extreme acrimony on the subject of the GreatColorado Strike; which rose to passionate denunciation of the miserablemake-shift called civilization which, would permit such a horror in thevery heart of a great and prosperous nation. But with the new system. .. Thenew system. .. There would not be even these abominable little civilwars. .. For that was what we had right here in our own country. .. No need touse up your gray matter bothering about European states. .. . 

He was so convincing that Alexina and Aileen thanked him warmly and went totheir respective destinations lulled and comforted. 

Nevertheless, the war made its grand début on August first, and Mr. Kirkpatrick, who had started on one of the passenger ships leaving New Yorkfor the International Socialist Congress, climbed ignominiously over theside and returned to the great ironic city on a tug. 

III

Two letters came from Olive to Alexina and one to each of her other oldfriends, imploring them to come over and help. They could nurse. They couldrun canteens. Oeuvres. She wanted to show France what her friends, hercountrywomen, could do. 

But the war would be over in three months. .. . Only Judge Lawton believedit would be a long war. Others hardly comprehended there was a war atall. .. . Such things don't happen in these days. (Who in that wondroussmiling land could think upon war anywhere?). .. It would be too funny ifit were not for those dreadful pictures of the Belgian refugees. .. . Poorthings. .. . Maria and other good women immediately began knittingfor them. .. Sat for hours on the verandahs, all in white, knitting, knitting. .. But talking of anything of war. .. . It simply was a horriddream and soon would be over. .. . Their husbands all said so. .. Threemonths. .. . German army irresistible. .. Modern implements of war mustannihilate whole armies very quickly, and the Germans had the most andthe best. .. . Rotten shame (said Burlingame) and the Germans not even goodsportsmen. 

James Kirkpatrick, who avoided his former pupils, consoled himself with thethought that at least Britain would be licked. .. She'd get what was comingto her, all right, and Ireland would be free. .. . Anyhow it would soon beover. .. . When April nineteen-seventeen came he damned the socialist partyfor its attitude and enlisted: "I was a man and an American first, wasn'tI?" he wrote to Alexina. "I guess your flag. .. Oh, hell! (Excuse me. )"

IV

In December, nineteen-fourteen, Alexina and Alice Thorndyke (who graspedthe entering wedge with both ruthless white little hands) went to France. Aileen was not strong enough to nurse so she bade a passionate good-byto her friends and engaged herself to Bob Cheever. Jimmie Thorne went toFrance as an ambulance driver, and Bascom Luning to join the LafayetteEscadrille. Gora sailed six months later to offer her services to England. In the case of a nurse there was much red tape to unravel. 

A fair proportion of the women left behind continued to knit. As time wenton branches of certain French war-relief organizations were formed, andrun by such capable women as Mrs. Thornton and Mrs. Hunter, who had manyfriends among the American women living in France; now toiling day andnight at their oeuvres. 

Alexina and Olive de Morsigny, after a year of nursing, when what littleflesh they had left could stand no more, founded an oeuvre of their own, and Sibyl Bascom and Aileen Cheever did fairly well with a branch in SanFrancisco, Alexina's relatives quite wonderfully in New York and Boston;although they were already interested in many others. 

V

Certain interests in California, notably the orchards and canneries, wereviolently anti-British during the first years of the war, as the blockadeshut off their immense exports to Germany, and those that failed, or closedtemporarily, realized the incredible: that a war in Europe could affectCalifornia, even as the Civil War affected the textile factories ofEngland. To them it was a matter of indifference, until nineteen-seventeen, who won the war so long as one side smashed the other and was quick aboutit. 

Owners and directors of copper mines--but let us draw a veil over thesincere robust instincts of human nature. 

The Club of Seven Arts was proudly and vociferously pro-German. Not thatthey cared a ha'penny damn really for Germany, but it was a far moreoriginal attitude than all this sobbing over France. .. And then there wasReinhardt, the Secessionist School, the adorable jugendstyl. And theatrocity stories were all lies anyway. The bourgeois president resigned, but no one else paid any attention to them. 

In nineteen-seventeen a few declared themselves pacifists and conscientiousobjectors, and, little recking what they were in for, marched offtriumphantly to a military prison, feeling like Christ and longing for apublic cross. 

The others, those that were young enough, shouldered a gun and went to thefront with high hearts and hardened muscles. Democracy über alles. Thewomen enlisted in the Red Cross and the Y. W. C. A. , and worked with grimenthusiasm, either at home or in France. 

VI

By this time California, almost on another planet as she was, with herabundance unchecked, and her skies smiling for at least three-fourths ofthe year, admitted there was a real war in the world, as bad (or worse) asany you could read about in history. The war films in the motion picturehouses were quite wonderful, but too terrible. 

They also discussed it, especially on those days when the streets echoedwith the march of departing regiments in khaki, or one's own son, or one'sfriend's son enlisted or was drafted, or it was their day at Red Crossheadquarters. 

All the older women were at work now, and all but the most irreclaimablyfrivolous of the young ones. Even Tom and Maria Abbott made no protestagainst Joan's joining the Woman's Motor Corps; and, dressed in a smart, gray, boyish uniform, she drove her car at all hours of the day and night. She was not only sincerely anxious to serve, but she knew, and shelteredgirls all over the land knew, --to say nothing of the younger marriedwomen--that this was the beginning of their real independence, the knell ofthe old order. They were freed. Even the reënforced concrete minds of thelast generation imperceptibly crumbled and were as imperceptibly modernizedin the rebuilding. 

A good many of the women, old and young, continued to gamble furiously outof their hours of work; but the majority of the girls did not. Those withnaturally serious minds were absorbed, uplifted, keen, calculating. Theydid not even dance. They realized that they had wonderful futures in achanging world. It was "up to them. "

VII

Mortimer was beyond the draft age, but, possibly owing to his gallantfearless appearance, it was rather expected that he would enlist. He didnot, however, nor did he join the Red Cross or the Y. M. C. A. , nor volunteerfor some Government work, as so many of the men of his age and class weredoing as a matter of course. 

War news bored him excessively. He was making two or three hundred dollarsa month; he lived at the Club when Maria Abbott occupied BallingerHouse--Tom went to Washington--and he was extremely comfortable. In theClub he always felt like a blood, forgot for the time being that he was nota rich man, like the majority of its members, and there was always a groupof nice quiet contented fellows, glad to play bridge with him in theevening. On the whole, he congratulated himself, he had not done so badly, although he had resigned all hope of being a millionaire--unless he made alucky strike. .. . But it did not make so much difference in California. .. Andwhen Alexina had had enough of horrors they would settle down againvery comfortably to the old life. .. . There was very good dancing at therestaurants (upstairs) where one met nice girls of sorts who didn't carea hang about this infernal war. .. One of them. .. But he was extremelycareful. .. He would never be divorced; that was positive. .. As for society hedid not miss it particularly. .. The dancing at the restaurants was betterand he didn't have to talk. .. Whether people stopped asking him or not, nowthat his wife was away, or whether they entertained or not, didn't so muchmatter. He had the Club. That was the all important pivot of his life, hisaltar, his fetish. .. A lot he cared what went so long as he had that. 

BOOK IV

CHAPTER I

I

The Embassy was a blinding glare of light from the ground floor to theupper story, visible above the wide staircase. After four years of legaltenebration it was obvious that the ambassador's intention was to celebratethe Armistice as well as the visit of his King to Paris with an almostimpish demonstration of the recaptured right to extravagance, obliteratethe dry economical past. The ambassador's country might be intolerably poorafter the war, but like many other prudent nobles he had invested money inNorth and South America, and was able to entertain his sovereign out of hisprivate purse. He had made up his mind to give the first brilliant functionfollowing the sudden end of La Grande Guerre and one that it would bedifficult for even Paris to eclipse. 

All Paris had burst forth into illumination of street and shop afternightfall, but Alexina had seen no such concentrated blaze as this; and hereyes, long accustomed to a solitary globe high in the ceiling of her room, blinked a little, strong as they were. She had come with the Marquis andMarquise de Morsigny, and after they had passed the long receiving linewhere the King in his simple worn uniform stood beside the resplendentambassador, her friends' attention had been diverted to a group ofacquaintances chattering excitedly over the startling munificence thatseemed to them prophetic of a swift renaissance. 

They moved off unconsciously, and Alexina remained alone near one ofthe long windows behind the receiving line; but she felt secure in herinsignificance and quite content to gaze uninterruptedly at the greatestfunction she had ever seen. After the bitter hard work, the longmonotonies, the brief terrible excitements, of the past four years, andthe depressed febrile atmosphere of Paris during the last year when avionsdropped their bombs nearly every night, and Big Bertha struck terror toeach quarter in turn, this gay and gorgeous scene recalled one's mostextravagant dreams of fairy-land and Arabia; and Alexina felt like a veryyoung girl. Even the almost constant sensation of fatigue, mental andbodily, fell from her as she forgot that she had worked from nine untilsix for three years in her oeuvre, often walking the miles to and from herhotel or pension to avoid the crowded trains; the distasteful food; thetremors that had shaken even her tempered soul when the flashing of theGerman guns, drawing ever nearer, could be seen at night on the horizon. 

And Paris had been so dark!

She reveled almost sensuously in the excessiveness of the contrast, quiteunconcerned that her white gown was several years out of date. For thatmatter there were few gowns, in these vast rooms, of this year's fashion. Although Paris had begun to dance wildly the day the Armistice wasdeclared, not only in sheer reaction from a long devotion to its idealof duty, but that the American officers should have the opportunity todiscover the loveliness and charm of the French maiden, the women had notyet found time to renew their wardrobes, and the only gowns in the roomless than four years old were worn by the newly arrived Americans of thePeace Commission and the ladies of the Embassy. The most striking figureswere the French Generals in their horizon blue uniforms and rows of orderson their hardy chests. 

Of jewels there were few. When the German drive in March seemedirresistible, jewels had been sent to distant estates, or to banks inMarseilles and Lyons, and there had been no time to retrieve them after theambassador sent out his sudden invitations. Alexina smiled as she recalledOlive de Morsigny's lament over the absence of her tiara. European women ofsociety take their jewels very seriously, and there was not a Frenchwomanpresent who did not possess a tiara, however old-fashioned. 

But the cold luminosity of jewels would have been extinguished to-nightunder this really terrific down-pour of light. The tall candelabra againstthe tapestried or the white and gold walls were relieved of duty; Paris hadhad enough of candlelight; the four immense chandeliers of this receptionroom, either of which would have illuminated a restaurant, had been rewiredand blazed like suns. Suspended from the ceiling, festooned between thecandelabra and the chandeliers, were clusters and loops of glass tupils androses, each concealing an electric bulb. Alexina reflected that the softhaze of candles might be more artistic and becoming, but was gratefulnevertheless for this rather tasteless fury of light, symptomatic as itwas; and understood the ambassador's revolt against the enforced economiesof a long war, his desire to do honor to his unassuming little sovereign. 

II

The room, whose lofty ceiling was supported along the center by threemassive pillars, was already crowded, and people entered constantly. Everyembassy was represented, all the grande noblesse of Paris and even a strayBourbon and Bonaparte. A few of the guests were the more distinguishedAmerican residents of Paris and their gowns were as out of date if asinimitably cut as the Frenchwomen's, for they had worked as hard. ButAlexina ceased to notice them. She had become aware that two Americanofficers, standing still closer to the window, were talking. One of themhad parted the curtains and was looking out. 

"By Jove, " he said. "Strikes me this is rather risky. Six long windowsopening on the garden, and the King standing directly in front of one ofthem. Fine chance for some filthy Bolshevik or anarchist. "

"Oh, nonsense, " said the other absently; his eyes were roving over theroom. "Wish I could take to one of these French girls. .. Feel it a sort ofduty to increase the rapport and all that. .. But although the married womenand the other sort of girls are a long sight more fascinating than ours, the upper--"

"American girls for me. But I'm still jumpy, and this sort of carelessnessmakes me nervous, particularly as the story is going about that the Kingcame near being assassinated in the station of his home town when he wasleaving. Man fired point blank at his face, but gun didn't go off or someone knocked up the man's arm. Did you notice that he looked about ratherapprehensively when he arrived, at the station yesterday? No wonder, poordevil. "

III

Alexina moved off, making her way slowly, but finally was forced to haltnear the row of pillars. She was looking through the opposite door at thefantastic illuminations of the hall and reception rooms beyond, when, without a second's warning flicker, every light in the house went out. 

Simultaneously the high clatter of voices ceased as if the old familiar cryof "_Alerte_" had sounded in the street. Involuntarily, as people in reallife do act, her hands clutched her heart, her mouth opened to relieve herlungs. A Frenchman whispered beside her. "The King! A plot!"

She waited to hear screams from the women, wild ejaculations from the men. But the years of war and danger had extinguished the weak and exalted thestrong. Beyond the almost inaudible gasp of her neighbor Alexina heardnothing. The silence was as profound as the darkness and that was abysmal;she could not see the white of her gown. 

All, she knew, were waiting for the sound of a pistol shot, or of a groanas the King fell with a knife in his back. 

Then she became aware that men were forcing their way through the crowd;she was almost flung into the arms of a man behind her. Later she knew thata group of officers had surrounded their King and rushed him up the room toplace him in front of the central pillar, but at the moment she believedthat they were either carrying out his body, or that a group of anarchistswas escaping. 

IV

Then one man lit a match. She saw a pale strained face, the eyes rovingexcitedly above the flickering flame. Then another match was struck, thenanother. Those that had no matches struck their briquets, and these burnedwith a tiny yellow flame. One or two took down candles and lit them. Allover the room, in little groups, or widely separated, Alexina saw faceafter face, white and anxious, appear. The bodies were invisible. The faceshung, pallid disks, in the dark. 

Her attention was suddenly arrested by a face above the small steady flameof a briquet. It was a thin worn face, probably that of an officer recentlydischarged from hospital. His expression was ironic and unperturbed and hiseyes flashed about the room exhibiting a lively curiosity. An Englishman, probably; nothing there of the severity of the American militarycountenance; although, to be sure, that had relaxed somewhat these lastweeks under the blandishments of Paris. Nevertheless. .. Quite apart fromthe military, there was the curious unanalyzable difference between theextremely well-bred American face and the extremely well-bred Englishface. It might be that the older civilization did not take itself quite soseriously. .. . 

V

Obeying an impulse, which, she assured herself later, was but the suddenreaction to frivolity from the horror that had possessed her, she took amatch unceremoniously from the hand of a neighbor, lit it and held it belowher own face. The man's eyes met hers instantly, opened a little wider, then narrowed. 

She looked at him steadily. .. Interested. .. Something. .. Somewhere. .. Stirring. The match burnt her fingers and was hastily extinguished. At the same timeshe became aware of a fuller effulgence just beyond the pillars and thatpeople were moving on, some retreating toward the hall. She was carriedforward and a little later turned her head, forgetting for a moment thehumorous face that still had seemed to beckon above the white disks thatinspired her with no interest whatever. 

Against the central pillar stood the King, and on either side of him twoofficers of his suite, as rigid as men in armor, held aloft each a greatcandelabra taken from the wall. All the candles in the branches had beenlit and shone down on the composed and somewhat expressionless face of theKing. The strange group looked like a picture in some old cathedral window. 

The scene lasted only a moment. Then the King, bowing courteously, left theroom, still between the candelabra; and, followed by his ambassador, whoseface was far paler than his, ascended the staircase. 

VI

A Frenchman beside Alexina cursed softly and she learned the meaning of thedramatic finale to a superb but rather dull function. There had been noattempt at assassination. A lead fuse had melted; the ambassador, who hadtaxed his imagination to honor his King, had forgotten to give the orderthat electricians remain on guard to avert just such a calamity as this. 

As the explanation ran round the room people began to laugh and chatterrapidly as if they feared the sudden reaction might end in hysteria. Butalthough all the candles had now been lit, the effort to revive the mildexhilaration of the evening was fruitless. They wanted to get away. Manystill believed that a plot had been balked, and that the assassins werelurking in one of the many rooms of the hotel. 

Alexina met Olive de Morsigny in the dressing-room, and found her white andshaking, although for four years she had proved herself a woman of strongnerves as well as of untiring effort. 

"Great heaven!" she whispered, as she helped Alexina on with her wrap. "Ifhe had been assassinated! In Paris! I thought André would faint. His lastwound is barely healed. Come, let us get out of this. Who knows?. .. InParis!. .. "

Their car had to wait its turn. As Alexina stood with her silent friends inthe porte cochère the certainty grew that some one was watching her. Thatofficer! Who else? She flashed her eyes over the crowd about her, then intothe densely packed hall behind. But she encountered no pair of eyes evenremotely humorous, no face in any degree familiar. .. . Later she whirledabout again. .. . There was a pillar. .. Easy to dodge behind it. .. . At thismoment André took her elbow and gently piloted her into the car. 

CHAPTER II

I

Alexina in the weariness of reaction climbed the long stairs of her pensionin Passy. 

Sibyl Bascom, whose husband being on government duty in Washington left herfree to go to France, and who rolled bandages all day long in the greathospital in Neuilly; Janet Maynard and Alice Thorndyke, who ran a canteenin the environs of Paris, and herself, had lived until the Armistice in acomfortable hotel not far from the house of Olive de Morsigny, and foundmuch solace together. But their hotel had been commandeered for one of theCommissions; Sibyl had taken refuge with her sister-in-law, and Alexina, Janet, and Alice had found with no little difficulty vacant rooms in asecond-rate pension in Passy. The food was even worse than at the hotel, the rooms were barely heated, and as trams at Alexina's hours were airlessand jammed, and taxicabs in swarming Paris as scarce as tiaras, withdrivers of an unsurpassable effrontery, she was forced to walk three milesa day in all weathers. It is true that she could have rented a limousinefor a thousand francs a month, but it was almost a religion with workers ofher class to economize rigorously and give all their surplus to the oeuvreof their devotion. Janet and Alice went back and forth in one of the supplycamions of the Y. M. C. A. 

II

Alexina passed Janet's room softly. She saw a light under the doorand inferred that she and Alice were playing poker and consuming manycigarettes, that being their idea of recuperation between one hard day'swork and the next. She was in no mood for talking. 

Her room was stuffy as well as cold; the furniture and curtains hadprobably not been changed since the second empire. She opened one of thelong windows and stepped out on the balcony. The Seine was nearly in floodafter the heavy rains, but it reflected the stars to-night and many longbanners of light from the almost festive banks. 

It was bitterly cold and she closed her window in a moment and moved abouther room. It was too cold to undress. She was inured to discomforts andthankful that she had been brought up in San Francisco, which is seldomwarm; but she longed for a few creature comforts nevertheless. During thewar she had sustained herself with the thought of the men in the trenches, but now that their lot was ameliorated she felt that she had a right towhat comforts she could find. The difficulty was to find them. With Parisoverflowing. Generals sleeping in servants' rooms under the roof, soldiers, even officers, picking up women on the streets if only to have a bed forthe night, and hotel after hotel being requisitioned for the various PeaceCommissions and their illimitable suites, conditions were likely to growworse. Olive de Morsigny had repeatedly offered hospitality, but shepreferred her independence. 

To leave was impossible. Her oeuvre must continue for several months. Sick and wounded men do not recover miraculously with the cessation ofhostilities. No doubt she should be grateful for this refuge, and now thatthe war was over it might be possible to buy petrol for an oil stove. 

Then she became aware that it was not only the cold that made her restless. The rigidly enforced calm of her inner life had received a shock to-nightand not from the imagined assassination of a king. 

She went suddenly to her mirror and looked at herself intently. .. Shook herhead with a frown. She had always been slim; she was now very thin. Theroundness and color had left her cheeks. They were pale--almost hollow. Janet and Alice had rejoiced in the lack of fats and sweets, both havinga tendency to plumpness had achieved without effort the most fashionableslenderness that anxious woman could wish. But she had not had a pound tolose. It seemed to her that she was almost plain. Her eyes retained theirdazzling brilliancy, a trick of nature that old age alone no doubt couldconquer, but there were dark stains beneath the lower lashes. 

She let down her hair. It was the same soft dusky mass as ever. Her teethwere as even and bright; her lips had not lost their curves, but they werepink, not red. She was anæmic, no doubt. Why, in heaven's name, shouldn'tshe be? Even Olive, whose major domo, driving a Ford, had paid daily visitsto the farms and brought back what eggs, chickens and other succulences thepeasants would part with for coin, had lost her brilliant color and thefull lines of her beautiful figure. She had rouged to-night and looked aslovely as when Morsigny had captured her, but her magnificent gown had beentoo hastily taken in by an elderly inefficient maid--her young one havingpatriotically deserted her for munitions long since, and sagged on herbones as she expressed it. Sibyl, who was in bed with the flu, had offeredto lend her one of the new ones she had had the forethought to buy in NewYork before sailing, and was only a year old, but Olive had feared thecritical eyes of French women who had not replenished their eveningwardrobe since nineteen-fourteen. 

Alexina did not feel particularly consoled because others had looked nobetter than she. Until to-night she had given little thought to her looks, but she now felt a renewed interest in herself, and the frown was as muchfor this revival as for her wilted beauty. 

Her evening wrap was very warm and she sat down in the hard arm-chair andhuddled into its folds, covering the lower part of her body with a hideousbrown quilt. No doubt the sheets were damp, and she knew that she could notsleep. Why shiver in bed?

III

Was it Gathbroke? It was long since she had thought of him. She had noteven seen his photograph for four or five years. If it were, he had changedeven more since that photograph had been taken than after she had dismissedhim at Rincona. 

She was by no means sore that it was he. The light of a briquet was notprecisely searching, and for the most part he had looked like more thanone war-worn British officer she had seen during her long residence inParis. .. . It was something in the eyes. .. She could have vowed they werehazel. .. Their expression had altered; it was that of a somewhat ironicman of the world, which had changed as she watched them to the piercingalertness of a man of action. .. But after. .. Was it perhaps an emanation ofthe personality that had so impressed her angry young soul and refused tobe obliterated?

But what of it? He might be married. Love another woman. All officers andsoldiers during the war had looked about eagerly for love, when not alreadysupplied, and given themselves up to it, indifferent as they may have beenbefore. .. . Life seemed shorter every time they went back to the front. 

And if not why should he be attracted to her again! He had loved her for amoment when she had been in the first flush of her exquisite youth. Thatwas twelve years ago. She was now thirty. True, thirty, to-day, was butthe beginning of a woman's third youth, and a few weeks in the Californiasunshine and nourished by the California abundance would restore her looks, no doubt of that. But she would look no better as long as she remained inParis. .. . Nor did she wish to return to California. .. And beyond all questionhe must have forgotten, lost all interest in her long since. 

Still--there had been an eager upspringing light in his eyes. .. Was itrecognition?. .. Merely the passing impulse of flirtation over a match and abriquet?. .. No doubt she would never see him again. 

CHAPTER III

I

Did she want to?

She had gone through many and extraordinary phases during these years ofclose personal contact with the martial history of Europe, as preciselydifferent from the first twenty-six years of her life as peace from war. 

During those months of nineteen-fifteen when she had worked in hospitalsclose to the front as auxiliary nurse, all the high courage of her naturewhich she had inherited from a long line of men who had fought in the CivilWar, the Revolution, and in the colonial wars before that, and the tribalwars that came after, and all that she had inherited from those foremotherswhose courage, as severely tested, had never failed either their men ortheir country; in short, the inheritance of the best American tradition;had risen automatically to sustain her during that period of incessantdanger and horror. She had been firm and smiling for the consolation ofwounded men when under direct shell fire. She had felt so profound a pityfor the mutilated patient men that it had seemed to cleanse her of everyselfish impulse fostered by a too sheltered life. She had bathed so manyhelpless bodies that she lost all sense of sex and felt herself a part ofthe eternal motherhood of the world. She had once thrown herself over thebed of a politely protesting poilu, covering his helpless body with herown, as a shell from a taube came through the roof. 

That had been a wonderful, a noble and exalted (not to say exhilarating)period; a period that made her almost grateful for a war that revealed toher such undreamed of possibilities in her soul. She might smile at it insatiric wonder in the retrospect, but at least it was ineradicable in hermemory. 

If it could but have lasted! But it had not. Insensibly she acceptedsuffering, sacrifice, pity, as a matter of course, even as danger anddeath. It had been the romance of war she had experienced in spite of itshorrors, and no romance lives after novelty has fled. For months nothingseemed to affect her bodily resistance to fatigue, and as exaltationdropped, as the monotony of nursing, even of danger, left her mind more andmore free, as war grew more and more to seem, the normal condition of life, more and more she became conscious of herself. 

II

Life at the front is very primitive. Social relations as the world knowsthem cease to exist. The habits of the past are almost forgotten. It isdeath and blood; shells shrieking, screaming, whining, jangling; the boomof great guns as if Nature herself were in a constant electrical orgasm;hideous stench; torn bodies, groans, cries, still more terrible silences ofbrave men in torment; incessant unintermittent danger. Above all, blood, blood, blood. She believed she should smell it as long as she lived. Sheknew it in every stage from the fresh dripping blood of men rushed from thefield to the evacuation hospitals, to the black caked and stinking bloodof men rescued from No Man's Land endless days and nights after they hadfallen. 

All that was elementary in her strong nature, inherited from strong, full-blooded, often reckless and ruthless men, gradually welled to thesurface. She was possessed by a savage desire for life, a bitter inordinatepassion for life. Why not, when life might be extinguished at any moment?What was there in life but life? Farcical that anything else could everhave mattered. 

Civilization--by which men meant the varied and pleasant times ofpeace--seemed incredibly insipid and out of date. It had no more relationto this war-zone than her youth to this swift and terrible maturity. 

She was in many hospitals--rushed where an indomitable and tirelessauxiliary nurse was most in demand--some under the direction of thenoblesse division of the Red Cross, others under the bourgeois; and in morethan one were English and American girls, long resident in France, or, inthe latter case, come from America like herself to serve the countryfor which they had a romantic passion. The majority, of course, wereFrenchwomen, young (in their first freedom), middle-aged, elderly. 

Of these some were placid, emotionless, extinguished, consistently noble, selfless, profoundly and simply religious, as correct in every thought anddeed as the best bourgeois peace society of any land. 

But others! Alexina had been horrified at first at the wanderings offafter nightfall of women who had nursed like scientific angels by day, accompanied by men who were never more men than when any moment mightturn them into carrion. But with her mental suppleness she had quicklyreadjusted her point of view. There is nothing as sensual as war. It isthe quintessential carnality. Renan once wrote a story of the FrenchRevolution, "The Abbess Juarre, " in which his thesis was that if warningwere given that the world would end in three days the entire population ofthe globe would give itself over to an orgy of sex; sex being life itself. It is the obsession of the doomed consumptive, the doomed spinster, thelast thought of a man with the rope round his neck. 

How much more under the terrific stimulation of war, the constant heedlessannihilation of life in its flower and its maturity? Man's inveterateenemy, death, shrieking its derision in the very shells of man's oneinviolable right, the right to drift into eternity through the peacefulcorridors of old age. War is a monstrous anachronism and a monstrousmiscarriage of justice. The ignorant feel it less. It is the enlightened, the intelligent, accustomed to the higher delights of civilization, to theperfecting of such endowments, however modest, as their ancestors havetransmitted and peace has encouraged, with ambitions and hopes and dreams, that resent however sub-consciously the constant snarling of death at theirheels. All the forces of mind and body and spirit become formidable in areckless hatred of the gross injustice of a fate that individually not oneof them has deserved. 

But the moment remains. They compress into it the desires of a lifetime. After years of proud individualism they have learned that they are atoms, cogs, helpless, the sport of iron and steel and powder and the ambitionsand stupidities of men whose lives are never risked. Very well, turn theego loose to find what it can. If all they have learned from civilizationis as useless in this shrieking hell, as impotent as the dumb resentment ofthe clod, they can at least be animals. 

To talk of the ennobling influences of war is one of the lies of theconventionalized mind anxious to avoid the truths of life and to extractgood from all evil--worthy but unintelligent. How can men in the trenches, foul with dirt and vermin, stench forever in their nostrils, callous todeath and suffering, wallowing like pigs in a trough, compulsorily obscene, be ennobled? Courage is the commonest attribute of man, a universal gift ofNature that he may exist in a world bristling with dangers to frail humanlife; never to be commended, only to be remarked when absent. If men loseit in the city, the sedentary life, they recover it quickly in the camp. The exceptions, the congenital cowards, slink out of war on any pretext, but if drafted are likely to acquit themselves decently unless neurotic. The cases of cowardice in active warfare are extremely rare; a mechanicalchattering of teeth, or shaking of limbs, but practically never a refusalto obey the command to advance. But it is this very courage which breedscallousness, and, combined with bestial conditions, inevitably brutalizes. 

When good people (far, oh far, from the zones of danger) can no longer inthe face of accumulating evidence, cling to their sentimental theory thatwar ennobles, they take refuge in the vague but plausible substitute thatat least it makes the good better and the bad worse. Possibly, but it is tobe remembered that there is bad in the best even where there is no good inthe worst. 

Indubitably it leaves its indelible mark in a collection of hideousmemories, on the just and the unjust, alike; as it is more difficult(Nature having made human nature in an ironical mood) to recall thepleasant moments of life than the poignantly unpleasant, so is it far moredifficult to recall the moments of exaltation, of that intense spiritualdesire which visits the high and low alike, to give their all for thesafety of their country and the honor of their flag. Moreover, the sublimeindifference in the face of certain death often has its origin in a stilldeeper necessity to relieve the insufferable strain on scarified nerves, and forever. As for the much vaunted recrudescence of the religious spiritwhich is one of the recurring phenomena of war, it is merely an instinctof the subtle mind, in its subtlest depths called soul, to indulge in thecowardice of dependence since the body must know no fear. 

If men who have been temperate and moral all their lives, or at the worstindulging in moderation, spend their leaves of absence from the front likeswine, it is not a reaction from the monotony of trench life, or fromthe nerve-racking din of war, but merely an extension of the fearfulstimulation of a purely carnal existence, even where the directing mind isever on the alert. 

The aggressors of war should be pilloried in life and in history. Men mustdefend their country if attacked; to do less would be to sink lower thanthe beasts that defend their lairs; and for that reason all pacifists, andconscientious objectors, are abject, mean, and shabby. In times of nationaldanger no man has a right to indulge his own conscience; it merges, if hebe a normal courageous man, into the national conscience. But that veryfact lowers the deliberate seekers of war so far below the high plane ofcivilization as we know it, that they should be blotted out of existence. 

III

As regards women Alexina was not likely to remain shocked for long at anyerratic manifestations of temperament. Pride and fastidiousness and thesteel armor fused by circumstances had protected her heretofore from anydivagations of her own; nor had crystallized temptation ever approachedher. 

But her education had been liberal. Several of her intimate friends andmore that she associated with daily made what she euphemistically termed acult of men. The naïve deliberate immorality of young things not only inthe best society but in all walks of life is far more prevalent than thegood people of this world will ever believe. Those with much to loseseldom lose it; the instinct of self-protection envelops them as a mantle;although in small towns, where concealments are less simple, the majorityof scandals are not about married women as in a less sophisticated era, butabout girls. 

Alexina had possessed numerous confidences, helped more than once to throwdust, amiably replaced the post. She had never approved, but she wasphilosophical. She took life as she found it; although the fact stood outthat Aileen, who was indifferent to men, remained always her favoritefriend. 

An individualist, she felt it no part of her philosophy to criticize theacts of women with different desires, weaknesses, temptations, equipmentfrom her own; all other things being equal. That was the point. These girlswho made use of their most secret and personal possession as they saw fitwere as well-bred as herself, honorable in all their dealings with oneanother and with society at large, generous, tolerant, exquisite in theirhabits, often highly intelligent and studious. Sex was an incident. 

With the peccadillos of married women who were wives she had littletolerance as they were a breach of faith, a deliberate violation ofcontract, and indecent to boot. She was quite aware that Sibyl for all herposturings, and avidness for sex admiration, and "acting oriental" as thephrase went, was entirely devoted to Frank. Such of her married friends ashad severed all but the nominal and public bond with their legal husbands, she placed in the same category as girls as far as her personal attitudetoward them went. 

IV

Therefore not only did she understand these young women driven by thehorrid stimulus of war; women (or girls) heretofore sheltered, virtuous, romantic, sentimental, now merely filled with the lust of life. They were, like herself, devoted and meticulous nurses, brave, high-minded, tender;practically all, if not from the upper, at least from the educated ranks oflife. But they lived under the daily shadow of death. Even when safe fromthe shells of the big guns, the murderous aircraft paid them daily visits, singling out hospitals with diabolical precision. They were in dailycontact with young torn human bodies from which had gone forever thepurpose for which one generation precedes another. Life was horror. Bloodand death and shattered bodies were their daily portion. No matter howbrave, they heard death scream in every shell. The world beyond existed asa mirage. No wonder they became primeval. 

Alexina had met Alice Thorndyke in one of these hospitals and observed herwith some curiosity. But Alice was, to use her own vernacular, the bestlittle bourgeoise of them all. She had had her fling. Men repelled her. Shenever meant to marry, even for substance. When the war was over she shouldlive the completely independent life. Nobody would care what economicliberties a woman took in the new era. The war had liberalized the mostconservative old bunch of relatives a girl was ever inflicted with. 

V

As Alexina sat huddled in her warm coat--the periwinkle blue to which shewas still faithful--her dark fine hair, hanging about her, a mantle initself, she recalled those days when she, too, had vibrated to that savagelust for life; those days of concentrated egoism, of deep and powerfulpassions whose existence she had only dimly begun to suspect after shedismissed her husband. 

What had held her back? She had had a no more fastidious inheritance thanmost of those women, a no more cultivated intelligence, nor proud instinctof selection, nor ingrained habit of self-control. 

She had put it down at first to fastidiousness, possibly a still lurkingdesire to be able to give all to one man; that hope of the complete matingwhich no woman relinquishes until toothless, certainly not in the mere zoneof death. 

She had concluded that it was neither of these, or at least that they hadbut played a part, and alone would never have won. It was a furiousmental revolt at the terrific power of the body, the mind, frightened andcornered, determined to dominate; a fierce delight in the battle ragingbehind her serene and smiling mask to the accompaniment of that vulgarblare of war where mind over matter was as powerless in the death throe asincantations during an eruption of Vesuvius. 

This internal silent warfare between her long reed-like body as littlesensible to fatigue as if made of flexible steel and her extremely coldproud chaste-looking head had grown to be of such absorbing interest thatthe knowledge of its cessation was almost a shock. It was after a prolongedexperience in a hospital where they were short of nurses and rest wasalmost unknown and the inroads upon her vitality so severe and menacingthat she was finally ordered to Paris to rest, and there found a completechange of habit in an oeuvre founded by the equally exhausted but alwaysvaliant Olive de Morsigny, that she suddenly realized that somewheresometime the battle had finished and mind and body were acting in completeharmony. 

VI

To-night she wondered if her imagination, turned loose, stimulated, hadnot missed the whole point. There had been no man who had made the directirresistible appeal. No concrete temptation. .. . She had after all been adegree too civilized. .. Or. .. Romantic idealism?

There had been little to stimulate and excite since she had settled down tooffice work in the summer of nineteen-sixteen. Her nerves, always strong, had become too case-hardened to be affected by avions or the immenseuncertainties of Big Bertha; although the light on the horizon at nightduring the last German Drive and the bellow of the guns had shaken her witha sort of reminiscent excitement. 

But for the most part she had felt frozen, torpid, a cog in the vastmilitary machine of France, dedicating herself like hundreds of otherwomen to the succor of men she never saw. That extraordinary abominableexperience at the front was overlaid, almost forgotten. And such news asone had in Paris was quite enough to exercise the mind. .. . There had beenthe downfall of the Russian dynasty. .. The still more sinister downfall ofthe true revolutionists. .. The Bolshevik monster projecting its murderousshadow over all Europe, exposing the instability of the entire socialstructure. .. . 

VII

Was it? Could such an experience ever be forgotten? The grass might growover the dead on the battlefields, but the corruption fed the wheat, andthe peogle of France ate the bread. This uninvited thought had intrudeditself the first time she had driven by the Marne battlefields and seen thenumberless crosses in the rich abundant fields. 

She smiled, a small, secret, ruthless smile. .. . That was her residue:ruthlessness. She may have left behind her in the turbulent war-zone thesavage elementary lust for living at any cost, but she had ineradicablylearned the value of life, its brevity at best, the still more tragicbrevity of youth; she had a store of hideous memories which could only besubmerged first in the performance of duty if duty were imperative; then, duty discharged and finished, in the one thing that during its brief timegave life any meaning, made this earthly sojourn bearable. If she met theman she wanted she would have him if she had to fight for him tooth andnail. 

It was four o 'clock. She went to bed. 

CHAPTER IV

I

The next day Alexina found herself suddenly free of office duty, A veryhandsome and wealthy American woman who had not been able to visit herbeloved Paris since the beginning of the World's War, and finding theState Department obdurate to the whims of pretty women, had induced Mrs. Ballinger Groome, on one of whose committees she had worked faithfully, toask her sister-in-law to inform the Department of State that her servicesat the oeuvre in Paris were indispensable. 

Alexina had passed the letter on to the President, Madame de Morsigny, andforgotten the incident. Olive wrote the necessary letter promptly. Not onlydid she believe that the time had come for Alexina to rest, but she longedfor a fresh access of energy in the office that would in a measure relieveherself. Moreover, Mrs. Wallack was wealthy and had many wealthy friends. That meant more money for the oeuvre, always in need of money. Olive hadgiven large sums herself, but the president of a charity is yet to be foundwho will not permit its constant demands to be relieved by the generouspublic. Mrs. Wallack had not only promised a substantial donation at once, but a monthly contribution. This had not been named, but Madame de Morsignymeant that it should be something more than nominal. She could do so muchfor Mrs. Wallack socially, now that it was possible to entertain again, that she felt reasonably confident of rousing the enthusiasm of anyambitious New Yorker. Moreover, Olive had a very insinuating way with her. 

II

Mrs. Wallack presented herself at the imposing headquarters of the oeuvre, radiant, fresh, energetic, beautifully dressed. The war had interested herand commanded her sympathies to some purpose, but nothing short of personalaffliction could subdue that inexhaustible vitality, and she seemed tobring into the dark and solemn rooms something of the atmospheric gayetyand sunshine of a land that had done much but suffered little. 

By no one was she received with more warmth of welcome than by Alexina. Thesudden release made her realize sharply her lowered vitality. Moreover, thesemi-yearly income which had just arrived from California was her own nowand she could replenish her wardrobe and feel feminine and irresponsibleonce more. The reaction was so violent that after inducting Mrs. Wallackinto the mysteries of her desk she remained in bed, prostrate, for twodays. Then, feeling several years younger, she sallied forth in search ofmany things. 

III

There is no such antidote to the migraines of the woman soul as clothes. Their only rival is travel and there are cases where they know none. Sometimes women remember to pity men, that have no such happy playground. 

Alexina for all her ramifications, some of them too deep, had a light andfeminine side. During the following fortnight she gave it full rein; shewas absorbed, almost happy. She spent quite recklessly and after the yearsof economy and self-denial this alone gave her an intense satisfaction. Inaddition to her income forwarded by Judge Lawton, who had charge of heraffairs, her brother Ballinger, who was as fond of her as of his ownchildren, and very proud of her--she had received two decorations--sent hera large check with the mandate to spend it on herself. 

IV

Even so, she was not always in the shops and the dressmakers' ateliers. Shefound much amusement in strolling up and down the arcades of the Rue deRivoli, watching the odd throngs at which Paris herself seemed, to bend herhead and stare. 

Some poet had called Paris the mistress of Europe. She looked like an oldtrollop. She was dirty and dreary, unpainted and unwashed. The rainwas almost incessant and the shop windows were soon denuded of the fewattractive novelties scrambled together to meet the sudden demand after thelong drought. 

But under the long arcades the curious sauntering throngs were shelteredfrom the rain and found all things in Paris novel. Men in the Americankhaki, from generals to striplings, were there by the hundred; endlessstreams of young women in the uniform of the Red Cross, the Y. M. C. A. , theSalvation Army; British and American nurses; members of the fashionableoeuvres artlessly watching this novel phase of Paris; the beautiful violetuniform of Le Bien-Être du Blessé; girls with worn faces and relaxed bodiesfresh from the front, hundreds of them, arriving daily in camions and cars, thanking heaven for the sudden cessation of work, sleeping heaven knewwhere. The American women of the Commission, and others who, like Mrs. Wallack, had invented a plausible excuse to get to Paris and looked almostanachronistic in their smart gowns, their fresh faces, their bright, curious, glancing eyes. 

There were also officers in the uniform of Britain, and Alexina regardedthem frankly, with no effort to deceive herself. The spirit of adventurewas awake in her, now that the dark mood had passed, or slept. She hoped tomeet the man of the embassy again, whether he were Gathbroke or another. She had liked his eyes. 

She had met many charming and interesting men during the last two anda half years at Olive de Morsigny's table, especially when André, convalescent, was at home. But their eyes had said nothing to her whatever, if not for the want of trying. Alexina's imagination, torpid for manymonths, ran riot. This man might disappoint her, might have nothing in himfor her, but she refused for more than a moment to contemplate anything soflat. Something must come of that adventure, that vital intensely personalmoment when their eyes had met above flames so tiny the wonder was theycould see anything but a white blur on the dark. She was as sure of meetinghim again as that she trod on air after she had ordered a new gown orbrought an inordinately becoming hat. She had forgotten Mortimer'sexistence. 

CHAPTER V

I

One day at the Hotel Crillon she thought she had found him. 

She had passed the portals of that fortress with some delay, for theAmerican Commission protected itself as if it dwelt under the shadow ofimminent assassination and theft; whereas it was merely exclusive. Thesentries at the door demanded her permit, and passed her in with intensesuspicion to the inner guard. This was composed of three polite but veryyoung lieutenants in smart new uniforms with no blight of war on them, andflagrantly of the American aristocracy. 

With these she had less trouble, for they recognized her social status andaccepted her explanation that she had been invited for tea with one of theladies of the Commission. Nevertheless, they knew their duty and Alexinawas followed up to the door of her hostess' suite by another young guardianwho watched her entrance through the sacred door as carefully as if hesuspected her of carrying a bomb in her muff. 

II

The party numbered about thirty, and Alexina, after chatting with the fewshe knew, was standing apart by a small table drinking a cup of teawith three lumps of sugar in it and consuming cakes like a greedyboarding-school girl home for the holidays, when she caught sight of aman in the British khaki, a major by his insignia, a tall man, thin andstraight, standing with his back to her at the opposite end of the room. Hewas talking to the host and a small group of men. She glimpsed somethinglike half of his profile when he turned from the host for a moment. Likeall men in khaki, when not pronounced brunettes, his complexion and hairlooked the same color as his uniform. 

Nevertheless. .. If she could only see his eyes. .. He turned his fullprofile. .. She had never glanced at Gathbroke's profile; he had given her noopportunity!. .. Certainly she had not the faintest idea whether the man ofthe embassy had had a snub nose or the thin straight feature of this manwho would have attracted her attention in any ease if only because he didnot carry his shoulders with the disillusioning obliquity of the BritishArmy. .. Why did he not turn round? Alexina felt an impulse to throw her cupstraight across the room at the back of that well-shaped head. 

Suddenly he shook hands with his host, nodded to the others and left theroom. 

III

Alexina set her cup and saucer down on the table, forebore to interrupt herhostess, who was known to talk steadily in order to avoid questions, andwalked quickly and deliberately out after him. It is a primitive instinctin woman to chase the male; but civilization having initiated her into theart of permitting him to chase her, Alexina was merely bent upon givingthis man his chance if the interest had been mutual and existed beyond themoment. 

One lift was descending as she reached the outer corridor and the otherwas closed. She ran down the wide staircase as rapidly as a woman infashionable skirts may. There was no British uniform in the hall below. 

IV

She stood for a quarter of an hour under the arcade before the Crillonwaiting for a taxi, staring out into the dreary mist of rain, at the roundsoft blurs of light in the Place de la Concorde, but in no wise depressed. What did it matter if she had not met him to-day? The conviction that sheshould meet him before long was as strong as if she were ever hopefulsixteen. .. . That was the real secret of her elation. She felt very young andentirely carefree. She reflected that if she had met Gathbroke, or whoeverhe might be, during the last three years of the war she would have feltneither joy nor elation, however interested she might have been. To loveand dream and enjoy when men were falling every minute, writhing in agony, gasping out their life, would have seemed to her grossly unæsthetic ifnothing worse. It was not in the picture. The primal impulses she hadexperienced at the front to that harsh music of Death's orchestra werenatural enough; but safe (comparatively!) in Paris, certainly quiet, theromance of love would have been as incongruous and heartless as to go outto the great hospital at Neuilly and tango through a ward of dying men. 

But now! She had done her part. She could do no more. Men still must die, but in every comfort, with every consolation. And there would be no morerecruits. 

She was free. She was young, young, young again. 

And at this moment her heart emptied itself of song and sank like leadin her breast. She pressed her muff against her face to hide the suddengrimace she was sure contorted it; there had been few moments in her lifewhen she had not been mistress of her features, but this was one of them. 

Gora Dwight was walking rapidly toward her. 

CHAPTER VI

I

Gora did not see her sister-in-law for a moment and Alexina had time torecover her poise and make sharp swift observations. She had not seen Gorafor four years, nor exchanged a line with her. She had almost forgottenher. The changes were more striking than in herself, who had been alwaysslight. Gora's superb bust had disappeared; her face was gaunt, throwinginto prominence its width and the high cheek bones. Her eyes were enormousin her thin brown face; to Alexina's excited imagination they looked likepolar seas under a gray sky brooding above innumerable dead. There werelines about her handsome mouth, closer and firmer than ever. How she musthave worked, poor thing! What sights, what suffering, what despair. .. Fourlong years of it. But she had evidently had her discharge. She wore anextremely well-cut brown tailored suit, good furs, and a small turban witha red wing. 

What was she in Paris for?. .. What. .. What. .. 

II

Gora saw her and almost ran forward, that brilliant inner light that hadalways been her chief attraction breaking through her cold face. .. Sunlightsparkling on polar seas. .. Oh, yes, Gora had her charm!

"Alexina! It isn't possible! I was going to ask at the American Embassy foryour address. I only arrived last night. "

Alexina had lowered her muff and her face expressed only the warmestsurprise and welcome. "Gora! It's too wonderful! But I suppose you couldn'tgo home without seeing Paris?"

"Rather not! It's the first chance I've had, too. Where can we have atalk?"

"It's too late for tea. Come out to my pension and spend the night. Janetand Alice have gone to Nice for a few days' rest. You'll be hideouslyuncomfortable--"

"Not any more than where I am--sharing a room with three others. Where canI telephone? In here?"

"Good heavens, no. Take a liberty with a duke, but with the Americanaristocracy, never. Come down to the Meurice. Perhaps we can find a cabthere. This seems to be hopeless. Everybody comes to the Crillon in aprivate car or a military automobile. Taxis appear to avoid it. "

III

It only took half an hour to get the telephone connection and another toseize by force a taxi, which, however, deposited them at the Étoile. Thedriver explained unamiably that he wanted his dinner; and a bribe, unlessunthinkable, would have been useless. In these days taxi drivers made fiftyfrancs a day in tips, and, as a Frenchman knows exactly what he wants andcalculates to a nicety when he has enough, valuing rest and nutriment aboveeven the delights of gouging foolish Americans, Alexina knew that it wouldbe useless to argue and did not even waste energy in announcing her opinionof him for taking a fare under false pretenses. There was no other cabin sight and they walked the rest of the way. But both were inured tohardships and took their mishap good-naturedly, trudging the long distanceunder their umbrellas. 

IV

After a very bad dinner in an airless room as frugally lighted they madethemselves comfortable in Alexina's room over the oil stove she had bought, and supplied through Olive's influence with the higher powers. She tookoff her street clothes and put on a thick dressing gown, giving hersister-in-law a quilted red wrapper of Janet's, which threw some warmthinto Gora's pale cheeks. She looked comfortable, almost happy, as shesmoked her cigarette in the arm-chair. 

Alexina curled up on the bed. 

"Now, Gora, " she said brightly, "give an account of yourself. "

Gora did not reply for a moment and Alexina examining her again came to theconclusion that she had been spared some of the horrors of the front. As ahead nurse her responsibilities had been too heavy for philanderings, andhaving the literary imagination rather than the personal she had no doubtconsigned it to a water-tight compartment and converted herself into amachine. 

"I don't know that I can talk about it, " she said. "I feel much like themen. It is too close. I am thankful that I Had the experience: not only tohave been of actual service, indispensable, as every good nurse was, but tohave been a part of that colossal drama. But I am even more thankful thatit is over and if I can possibly avoid it I'll never nurse again. "

"I suppose you have had no time to write?"

"I should think not! During the brief leaves of absence I spent most of thetime in bed. But I have an immense amount of material. I have no idea howmuch fiction has been written about the war; there might have been none, sofar as I have had time to discover. I've barely read a newspaper. "

"The only reason I want to go back to America is to hear the news. I see aNew York newspaper once in a while, and it is plain they have it all. Wehave next to none in Europe, in France at all events. Shall you write yourstories here or go back to California? That would give you the necessaryperspective, I should think. "

Alexina's eyes were fixed upon an execrable print many inches above thefootboard, and Gora, glancing at her, reflected that she was as beautifulas ever in spite of her loss of flesh and color. Any one would be with eyesthat were like stars when they looked at you and a Murillo madonna's whenshe lifted them the fraction of an inch. Astute as she was she had neverpenetrated below the surface of Alexina, nor suspected the use she made ofthose pliable orbs. Alexina had such an abundance of surface it occurred tofew people that she might be both subtle and deep. 

"I. .. Don't know. .. . I rather fear losing the atmosphere. .. The immediatestimulation. Shall you go home, now that you are free?"

"I wonder. Could I stand it? I have longed for a rest--ached would be abetter word. .. . This last year has been full of both nervous strain anddesperate monotony. Nineteen-seventeen was bad enough in another way: theinternal defeatist campaign, the constant menace of mutiny, soviets in thearmy, strikes in the munition towns, --all the rest of it. .. . But could onestand California after such an experience? I know they have done splendidwork since we entered the war, but I know also that they will immediatelysubside into exactly what they were before, settle down with a long sighof relief to enjoy life and forget that war ever was. It could not beotherwise in that climate. With that abundance. That remoteness. .. . Thereseems no place out there for me. A decorator after this! What funny littleresources we thought out in those days. .. . I do not see myself fitting inanywhere. Tom wants to buy Ballinger House for Maria and I fancy I'll lethim have it. I can't keep it up unaided and I might as well sell as rentit. He and Judge Lawton would invest the money and I should have quite adecent income. As for Mortimer I never want to see him again. He has notdone one thing for this war--he is utterly contemptible--

"I've long since given up criticizing Mortimer. My father once sized himup. He hasn't an ounce of brain. He'd like to be quite different, but youcan stretch Nature's equipment so far and no farther. He stretched hisuntil it suddenly snapped back and found itself shrunken to less than halfits natural size. Vale Mortimer. Let him rest. Why don't you divorce him?No doubt he has found some one else--

"I couldn't divorce him on that count, for I told him repeatedly to consolehimself. It wouldn't be playing the game. Of course there are othergrounds. It would be easy enough. But our family has a strong aversion todivorce. And a unique record. .. . Not that that would stop me if I found anyone I really wanted to marry. Nothing would stop me, in fact. "

Gora glanced at her quickly, arrested by something in her voice. She hadalready noticed that Alexina's limpid musical tones had deepened. Just nowthey rang with something of the menace of a deep-toned bell. 

"Have you found him?" she asked smiling. "If there are obstacles, so muchthe more interesting. I don't fancy that romantic streak in your naturewhich permitted you to idealize Mortimer has quite dried up. Once romanticalways romantic--I deduce from human nature as I have studied it, "

"Well. .. I am rather afraid of romance. Certainly I'd never be blindedagain. A man might be nine parts demi-god and if I knew--and I shouldknow--that there was no companionship in him for me I wouldn't marry him. "

"That I believe. " Alexina was once more regarding the print. Gora wonderedif sex would influence her at all. 

"But have you met him? You were always an interesting child and you'veroused my curiosity. "

"No. .. Yes. .. I don't know. .. Later perhaps I'll tell you something. But I'mfar more interested in you. Have you been in France all this time?"

"Oh, no. I was in Rouen for a year. Then I was in hospitals in Englanduntil the German Drive began in. March when I was sent over again. Oh, God!what sights! what sounds! what smells!" She huddled into her chair andstared at the dull flame behind the little door of the stove. 

"Oh, I know them all. Think of something else. Surely you met--butliterally--hundreds of officers, and some must have interested you. TheBritish officer at best is a superb creature--if he would only stand upstraight. I saw one at the Crillon to-day whose good American shouldersmade me stare at him quite rudely. "

"Who was he?"

"Haven't the faintest idea. I only saw his back, anyway. Surely you musthave been more than passing interested in one or two. "

"I am not susceptible. And nursing is not conducive to romance. "

"But you never were romantic, Gora dear. And you are good-looking in yourodd way. And that was your great, chance. "

"Well, I'm afraid I was too busy or too tired to take it. Now. .. Perhaps. .. But I'm afraid I don't inspire men with either romanceor passion. They like me and are grateful--that is, as grateful as anEnglishman can be; they take most things for granted. "

"The French are so grateful, poor dears. I loved them all. Afterall. .. Frenchmen. .. . " Her voice grew dreamy. 

Again Gora threw her an amused glance. "You must have met many of them atyour friend, Madame de Morsigny's, and under far more attractive conditionsthan any man can hope for in a sick bed. .. . I can't imagine any moreappropriate destiny for you. .. You should be Madame la duchesse at the veryleast. "

"Not money enough, and besides they've all grown so religious, or thinkthey have, they wouldn't stand for divorce. Anyhow it would be so hard on'The Family'!. .. Still. .. . But why, Gora dear, do you depreciate yourself?It seems to me that you are just the type that a certain sort of man wouldappreciate--fall in love with. I've heard even American men who play aboutin society comment on your looks, different as you are from sport and fluffand come-hitherness; and you only need a few months' rest to look like yourold self. I should think that a highly intelligent Englishman would findyou irresistible, especially if you had shown your womanly side when he hadholes in him. I've always had an idea that Englishmen weren't nearly asafraid of intellectual women as American men are. "

"That's true enough. But I doubt if there are any men more susceptible tobeauty, or quite as lustful after it, no matter how romantic they may thinkthey are feeling. I've talked to a good many of them in the past fouryears, and for six months I was in charge of a convalescent hospital inKent. I think I've pretty thoroughly plumbed the Englishman. They found mesympathetic all right, forgot their racial shyness and inadvertently gaveme much valuable material. But I saw no indication that I made any sexappeal to them whatever. "

"Not one? Not ever?"

Gora gave a slight withdrawing movement as if something sacred had beentouched. But she answered: "Oh. .. Some day I may have something to tellyou. .. . You said much the same thing to me a little while ago. Tell menow. "

Alexina turned over on her elbow to beat up her pillows. Then she answeredlightly but firmly: "Not unless you promise to do likewise. Mine is such alittle thing anyhow. I know by the expression of your face--just now--that, yours is the real thing. Is he in Paris?"

"I'm. .. Not sure. .. . Yes, there is something. .. The conditions are verypeculiar. .. Not at all what you think. .. There is so much more to it. .. . No, Idon't think I can tell you. "

A fortnight ago Alexina could have lifted her eyes and uttered Gathbroke'sname as if groping through a jungle of memories. But she could no moreforce his name through her lips now than she could have laid bare all thatwas in her tumultuous soul. It was, in fact, all she could do to keep fromscreaming. For a moment her excitement was so intense that she jumped fromthe bed and ran over and opened the window. 

"This room gets intolerably stuffy. That is the worst of it--freeze orstifle. "

"Oh, I have been cold so long! Please don't leave it open. That's adarling. "

V

Alexina closed it with an amiable smile. "What would you do, Gora, if youwere really mad about a man? Have him at any cost? Annihilate anything thatstood in your way? Anybody, I mean. "

An appalling light came into Gora's pale eyes as she turned them, at firstin some surprise, on her sister-in-law: "Yes, if I thought he cared. .. Couldbe made to care if I had the chance. .. If another woman tried to get himaway. .. Yes, I don't fancy I'd stop at anything. .. . Even if I finally wereforced to believe that he never could care for me in that way, the only waythat counts with men--at first, anyway. .. Well, I believe I'd fight to thedeath just the same. When you've waited for thirty-four years. .. Well, youknow what you want! Better die fighting than live on interminably fornothing. .. Less than nothing. .. . I can't tell you any more. Please don't askme. "

"Of course not. I'll tell you my little story. " And she gave a rapid vividaccount of the remarkable scene at the Embassy. She concluded abruptly: "Doyou think one could tell that a man's eyes were hazel--the golden-brownhazel--across a pitch dark room above the flame of a briquet?"

"Hazel?" Alexina was standing behind Gora. She saw her body stiffen. 

"I could have vowed they were hazel. And that he was English. He alsoreminded me of some one I must have met somewhere or other. .. One meets somany. .. Possibly it was only a fancy. "

"You didn't see him after the lights went on again?"

"They didn't. Only candles. We were all too anxious to get away, anyhow. Ifancy the King was in a hurry to get the ambassador upstairs and tell himwhat he thought of him--"

"Don't be flippant. You always did have a maddening habit of being flippantat the wrong time. Haven't you seen him again anywhere?"

"I've walked the Rue de Rivoli and lunched at the Ritz looking for him;but I've never had even a glimpse--unless that was his back I saw at theCrillon to-day. If I saw his eyes I'd know in a minute. "

"Why should you think it was his back?"

"Some men have expression in the back of their head. And I just hadan idea--fantastic, no doubt--that my particular Englishman stands upstraight. "

"Yours?"

"Yes, I'm feeling quite too fearfully romantic. I'm sure he's looking forme as hard as I am for him. And if I find him I'll keep him. "

She saw Gora's long brown hands slowly clench until they looked like steel. She glanced at her own slim white hands. They were quite as strong if moreornamental. She yawned politely. 

"I'm not so romantic as sleepy. I know that you must be dead after yourjourney. They say it's more trouble to travel to Paris from London thanfrom New York. The girls won't be back for a week. You must get yourthings to-morrow and come out here. I won't hear of your living in Parisdiscomfort with three two empty rooms. "

"That is good of you. Yes, I'll come. And perhaps your landlady, orwhatever they call them here, could put me up later. Now that I have cometo Paris I intend to see it. I believe some of the great galleries andmuseums are to be reopened. "

"André will arrange it if they're not. How you will enjoy it with yoursensitiveness to all the arts. Take this candle in ease the bulb is burntout. It usually is. "

VI

Gora had risen. Her face wore an expression both puzzled and grim; but sheand Alexina as they said good-night looked full into each other's eyeswithout faltering. And Alexina had never looked more ingenuous. 

Perhaps that dim idea. .. That she had thrown down a challenge. .. Had comeout in the open for a moment. .. Insolently?. .. Honestly?. .. She _must_ becompletely fagged out after that abominable trip to have such absurdfancies. She took her candle; and disposed herself in Janet's bed, betweenfour walls that gave her an unexpected and heavenly privacy, with a deepsigh of gratitude, dismissing fantasies. 

VII

During the next ten days Alexina kept as close to Gora as was possible inthe circumstances. She had made many engagements and not all of them weresocial; there were still gowns to be fitted, committee meetings to attend. Twice Gora appeared to have risen with the dawn, and she vanished for theday. Nevertheless, it grew increasingly evident to Alexina's alert andpenetrating vision that Gora was neither peaceful nor happy; therefore itwas safe to assume that she had not found Gathbroke. For some reason shehad not inquired at the British Embassy. Or a letter to its care had failedto reach him. Possibly he was enjoying himself without formalities. 

She took Gora twice to the Ritz to luncheon and on several afternoons totea. But it was a mob of Americans and members of the various Commissions. A brilliant sight, but not in the least satisfactory. It was quite patentfrom Gora's ever traveling eyes that she sought and never found. 

Therefore when Olive asked Alexina to go to one of the towns where theoeuvre had a branch and attend to an important matter that Mrs. Wallackwas far too much of a novice to be entrusted with, she agreed at once. Sheexperienced a growing desire to get away by herself--away from Paris--awayfrom Gora. She wanted to think. What if Gora did meet him first? Shewould be but the more certain to meet him herself. Moreover. .. Give Gora asporting chance. 

Janet and Alice had written from Nice that they might be detained for sometime. Gora unpacked her trunk and settled down in the pension with that airof indestrucible patience that had always made her formidable. She was notone of Life's favorites, but she had wrung prizes from that unamiable deitymore than once. 

Alexina speculated. Gora had all the brains that Mortimer lacked andcommanding traits of character. She was so striking in appearance even nowthat people often turned and stared at her. But unless she possessed thepotent spell of woman for man all her gifts would avail her nothing in thistragic crisis of her life. Did she possess it I No woman could answer. Certainly Alexina had never seen evidence of it even in Gora's youth;although to be sure her opportunities had been few. Still. .. When a womanpossesses the most subtle and powerful of all the fascinations men aredrawn to it, no matter how dark the sky or high the barriers. Nothing iskeener than the animal essence. Still. .. She had heard that some womendeveloped it later than others. Alexina feared nothing else. 

She fancied that Gora took leave of her with a little indrawn sigh ofrelief. It was with difficulty that she repressed her own. 

CHAPTER VIII

I

"Can this be Lieutenant James Kirkpatrick?"

Kirkpatrick wheeled about and snatched off his cap. 

"Mrs. Dwight, by all that's holy! I never expected any such luck as this!"

They shook hands warmly in the deserted square which had been a shamblesduring the first battle of the Marne, and in the days of Cæsar and Attila, of Napoleon the Great and Napoleon the Little. To-day it was as gray andpeaceful, its houses as aloof and haughty as if war had never been. It wasa false impression, however, for it was the paralysis of war it expressed, not even the normal peace of a dull provincial town. 

"I've often wondered about you, " said Alexina. "But I've been working withthe French Army and had no way of finding out. You don't look as if you hadbeen wounded. "

"Nary scratch, and in the thick of it. My, but it's good to sec you again. "He stared at her, his face flushed and his breath short. Then he askedabruptly: "When do you think we're goin' home?"

Alexina laughed merrily. "That is the first question every officer orprivate I have met since the Armistice has asked me. I should feel greatlyflattered, but I fancy the question, being always on the top of your minds, simply babbles off. "

"You bet. But--Jimminy! I'm glad to see you. You're lookin' thin, though. Been workin', too, I'll bet. "

"Oh, yes--and all your old class has worked; most of them over here. Mrs. Cheever couldn't come, as her husband is in the army. But she's worked hardin California. "

"I believe you. The women have come up to the scratch, no doubt of that. Although some of them! Good Lord! This isn't my usual language whenspeaking of them. But if some came over to do just about as they damnplease, the others strike the balance, and on the whole I think more ofwomen than I did. "

"That's good news. But you mustn't blame them too severely. I mean thosethat really came over with a single purpose and were not proof against theforcing house of war. As for the others. .. Well, a good many followed theirmen over, others came after excitement, others, as you say, to do asthey pleased, with no questions asked--possibly! I shouldn't take enoughinterest in them to criticize them if they hadn't used the war-relieforganizations, from the Red Cross down to the smallest oeuvre, as a pretextto get over, and then calmly throw us down--the oeuvres, I mean. Mine was'done' several times. But let us be good healthy optimists such asour country loves and remind ourselves that the worthy outnumber theunworthy--and that the really bad would have gone the same way sooner orlater. "

"It goes. Optimism for me for ever more once I get out of France. "

II

They had crossed the square and were walking down a narrow crooked streetas gray as if the dust of ages were in its old walls. Alexina looked athim curiously. He had never had what might be called a soft and tendercountenance, but now it looked like cast-iron covered with red rust, andhis eyes were more like bits of the same metal, blackened and polished, than ever. His youth had gone. There were deep vertical lines in his face. His mouth was cynical. His bullet head, shaved until only a cap of blackstiff hair remained on top, and presumably safe from assault, by no meansadded to the general attractiveness of his style. He was straighter, morecompact, than before, however, and his uniform at least did not have thetruly abominable cut of the private. 

"What do you think of war as war?" she asked. 

"Sherman for me. Not that I didn't enjoy sticking Germans with the best of'em when my blood was up. But the rest of it--God Almighty!"

They stopped before a solid double door in a high wall. "Will you come andtake tea with me this afternoon? I am staying here for a few days. I'mafraid I can't offer you sugar, or cakes--"

"I'll bring the sugar along. I'm in barracks just outside and solid with, the commissary. "

"Heavens, what a windfall! You'll be sure to come?"

"Won't I, just? Expect me at four-thirty. " He lifted his cap from hiscomical head, then sainted, swung on his heel and marched off, swingingboth arms from the shoulders and looking a fine martial figure of a man. 

"But still the same old Kirkpatrick, " thought Alexina. "I wonder if he willgo Bolshevik?"

III

Her ring was answered by the old woman who toot care of the house andAlexina entered the wild garden. There was an acre of it, but it had beenso long uncared for that it looked like a jungle caught between four highgray walls. It was the property of one of the French members of the oeuvreand was used as a storehouse for hospital supplies and as headquarters forAlexina when business brought her to this part of the Marne valley. She hadbeen here several times during the siege of Verdun in nineteen-sixteen whenher bed had quivered all night, and once a big gun had been trained on thecity and a shell had fallen near the headquarters of the staff. Last nightshe had lain awake wondering if she did not miss the sound of the distantguns, as she had in Passy where there was no noisy traffic to take theirplace. There is a certain amount of morbidity in all highly strungimaginative minds, and although she had developed no love for Big Berthanor for the sound of high firing guns attacking avions in the middle of thenight, there had been something in that steady boom of cannon whose glarestained the horizon that had thrilled and excited her. 

IV

On the right of the main hall of the house was the room she used as anoffice; the dining-room was opposite; the salon ran the whole length at theback. This was quite a beautiful room furnished in the style of the lastBourbons, and its long windows opened upon a stone terrace leading downinto what was still a picturesque garden in spite of its neglect. Therewere three fine oaks, and the chestnut trees along the wall shut off thetown from even the upper windows. 

The oeuvre always managed to keep a load of wood in the cave and to-day theconcierge had raised the temperature of the salon to sixty-five degreesFahrenheit Alexina cleared a table and told the woman to set it for tea, then went upstairs to change her dress. As she had made her trip in oneof the automobiles belonging to the oeuvre she had been able to bring herlittle stove, and her bedroom was also warm. 

She had also brought one of her new gowns, knowing that she should receivevisits from several French officers, and she concluded to put it on forKirkpatrick. He was worth the delicate compliment; moreover it almostobliterated the ravages of war, for it was of periwinkle blue velvet edgedwith fur about the high square of the neck and at the wrists of the longsleeves: in these days it was wise to revert to the fashions of thecenturies when palaces and houses alike were cold and gowns were made forcomfort as well as fashion. To complete the proportions it had a train andthe sleeves were slightly puffed. Alexina was quite aware that she "lookedlike a picture" in it. 

She still wore her hair brushed softly back and coiled low at the base ofher beautiful curved head. Her pearls were the only jewels she had broughtto France and she always wore them. She sighed as she looked at the visionin the mirror. For Kirkpatrick! But she was used to the irony of life. 

CHAPTER IX

I

He arrived promptly at half-past four and in his capacious hands were threepackages which arrested her eyes at once. He presented them one by one. 

"Sugar. Loaf of white bread. Candy--I'm also solid with one of thedoctors. "

"I feel like pinching myself. White bread!--I've only tasted it twice intwo years-both times at the Crillon. And candy--not a sight of it for morethan that. I don't like the heavy French chocolates, which were all onecould get when one could get anything. I shall eat at least half and takethe other half back to Gora. "

"Miss Dwight? She's done good work, I'll bet. Just in her line. Somehow, Idon't see you--What did you do?"

He watched her hungrily as she made the tea, sitting in a gilt and brocadedchair, whose high tarnished back seemed to frame her dark head. 

"Oh, Lord!" he sighed. 

"What is it?"

"Don't ask me. What've you been doing? Yes, I'll drink tea to please you. "

"I nursed at first--as an auxiliary, of course--what is the matter?"

"Can't bear to think of it. I hope you've not been doin' that for fouryears!"

"Oh, no. I've been at work with a war-relief organization in Paris most ofthe time. That was too monotonous to talk about, and, thank heaven, thiswill probably end my connection with it. I am much more interested to knowhow the war has affected you. Are you still a socialist?"

"Ain't I!"

"Not going Bolshevik, I hope. "

"Not so's you'd notice it. I want changes all right and more'n ever, but I've had enough of blood and fury and mix-ups without copying themmurdering skally-wags. That's all they are. Just out for loot and revengeand not sense enough to know that to-morrow there'll be no loot, andrevenge'll come from the opposite direction. I may have been in hell but myhead's screwed on in the same place, "

"I wondered. .. I've heard so many stories about the grievances of thesoldiers. "

"Every last one of 'em got a grievance. Hate their officers, and oftenreason enough. Hate the discipline. Hate the food. Hate the neglect inhospital when the flu is raging. Hate gettin' no letters, and as like asnot no pay and no tobacco. Hate bein' gouged by the French like they wereby the good Americans when they were in camp on the other side. Hate everylast thing a man just naturally would hate when he is livin' in afilthy trench, or even camp, and homesick in the bargain. .. . But as formass-dissatisfaction--not a bit of it. Loyal as they make 'em. Laugh atBolshevik propaganda just like they laughed at Hun propaganda. They justnaturally seem to hate every other race, allied or enemy, and that makesthem so all-fired American they're fit to bust. Of course there's plentyof skallywags--caught in the draft--and just waitin' to get home and turnloose on the community. But in the good old style: burglars, highwaymen, yeggs. Not a new frill. Europe hasn't a thing on the good old Americancriminal brand. They fought well, too. Any man does who's a man at all. ButLord! they'll cut loose when they get back. Every wild bad trait they wasborn with multiplied by one hundred and fifty. .. Before I go any further Iwant to warn you that I'm liable to break out into bad language any minute. It gets to be a kind of habit in the army to swear every other word like. "

"Don't mind me, " said Alexina dryly. "After I was put out of my hotel Imanaged to get a room in one of the hotels on the Rue de Rivoli for twonights before I found my pension in Passy. The walls were thin. The roomnext to mine was occupied by two American officers and the one beyond bytwo more. They talked back and forth with apparently no thought ofthe possibility of being overheard. Such language! And not only swearwords--although one of these to two of any. Such adventures as theyrelated! Such frankness! Such plain undiluted Anglo-Saxon! Fancy a girlwith all her illusions fresh, and worshiping some heroic figure in khaki, listening to such a revelation of the nether side of man's life!"

"Men are hogs, all right. I don't like the idea of your having heard suchthings. " Kirkpatrick scowled heavily. 

"Nor did I. But I had no cotton to put in my ears. I couldn't sleep in thestreet. Nor could I ask them to keep quiet and admit I had heard them. "

"Well, I guess you can forget anything you have a mind to. You couldn'tlook like you do--a kind of princess out of a fairy tale and an angelmixed, if you couldn't. "

"A black-haired angel! And all the princesses of legend had golden hair. "

"Well, that's just another way you're different. " He changed the subjectabruptly. "What you goin' to do now!"

"I wish I knew. "

"Goin' back to California?"

"If I knew I would tell you. But I don't. You see. .. . Well, I shall not livewith Mr. Dwight again. We had been really separated a long while before Ileft--and then he has done nothing for the war. That is only one reason. What should I do there? I had thought of going into business before I left. But I shall have a good income, and what right have I to go into businessand use my large connection to get customers away from those that need themoney for their actual bread?"

"Not the ghost of an excuse. Farce, I call it. As long as the presentsystem lasts women of your class better be ornamental and satisfied withthat than take the bread out of mouths that need it. "

"I could not settle down to the old life. It isn't that I'm in love withwork. For that matter I'm only too grateful to be able to rest. But I mustfill in, some way. Possibly I could do that better in France or England, where vita! subjects are always being discussed--and happening!--where Iwould not only be interested but possibly useful in many ways. I shouldfeel rather a brute, knowing the conditions of Europe as I do, to go backand settle down on the smiling abundance of California. And bored todeath. "

"Then you think you'll stay?. .. You'd be wasted there--at present--sureenough. "

"Sometimes I think I'll buy this house. I could for a song. Heavens! _How_I have longed for solitude in the last four years! I could have it herewith my books, and go to Paris as often as I wished. It would be an ideallife. I could afford a car, and to make this house very livable. And thatgarden. .. Between those gray high walls. .. In there. .. That would. .. . "

She had forgotten Kirkpatrick and was staring through the long windows atthe dripping trees and the riot of green. "There is something about the oldworld. .. In its byways like this. .. Not in its hateful capitals. .. . "

"Do you mean there's something you want to forget? That this place would beconsolin' like?"

She met Kirkpatrick's sharp dilated eyes with smiling composure. "This war, and much that has happened--incidental to it; yes. "

"You could forget it easier in California. "

"I should forget too much. "

"It's awful to think of you not comin' back, though I understand wellenough. Europe suits you all right. But. .. But. .. . "

He rose abruptly almost overturning his fragile chair. 

"Good-by, and as I guess it _is_ good-by I'll tell you something I wouldn'tif there was any chance of my seein' you like I used to. It's this: If I'mmore of a socialist than ever it's because of _you_! If my class hatred'sblacker than ever _you're_ the cause! _You'd_ have made me a socialist ifI wasn't one before. _Jesus Christ_! When I think what I might have had ifwe'd all been born alike! Had the same chances! If you hadn't been born atthe top and I down at the bottom. .. Common. .. Not even educated except bymyself after I was too old to get what a boy gets that goes to school longenough. I wouldn't mind bein' born ugly. There's plenty of men at the topthat's ugly enough, God knows. But just one generation with money irons outthe commonness. That's it! I'm common! Common! Common. _Democracy_! Oh, God!"

He caught up his cap and rushed out of the room, Alexina ran after him and caught him at the garden door. Like all beautifulwomen who have listened to many declarations of love (or avoided them) shewas inclined to be cruel to men that roused no response in her. But shefelt only pity for Kirkpatrick. 

She had intended merely to insist upon shaking hands with him, but when shesaw his contorted face she slipped her arm round his neck and kissed himwarmly on the cheek. 

Then she pushed him gently through the door and locked it. 

CHAPTER X

I

Alexina had finished giving tea to two officers, a surgeon and a médecinmajor, and, enchanted almost as much by the sugar and the white bread asby their hostess, refreshingly beautiful and elegant in her velvet gown ofpervenche blue, they had lingered until nearly six. As the concierge hadgone out on an errand of her own Alexina had opened the garden door forthem, and after they disappeared she stood looking at the street, whichalways fascinated her. 

It was very narrow and crooked and gray. Her house was the only one with agarden in front; the others rose perpendicularly from the narrow pavement, tall and close and rather imposing. Each was heavily shuttered, theshutters as gray as the walls. The town had been evacuated during thefirst Battle of the Marne and only the poor had returned. The well-to-doprovincials in this street had had homes elsewhere, perhaps a flat inParis; or they had established themselves in the south. 

The street had an intensely secretive air, brooding, waiting. Soon allthese houses would be reopened, the dull calm life of a provincial townwould flow again, the only difference being that the women who went in andout of those narrow doors and down this long and twisted street wouldwear black; but for the most part they would sit in their gardens behind, secluded from every eye, as indifferent to their neighbors as of old, withthat ingrained unchangeable bourgeois suspicion and exclusiveness; and thefaçades, the street itself, would look little less secretive than now. 

II

Nowhere could she find such seclusion if she wished for it. This house wasthe only one in the street that belonged to a member of the noblesse, andthe bourgeoisie had as little "use" for the noblesse as the noblesse forthe bourgeoisie. 

For the moment Alexina felt that the house was hers, and the street itself. She was literally its only inhabitant. As she stood looking up and downits misty grayness she felt more peaceful than she had felt for many days. There were certain fierce terrible emotions that she never wanted to feelagain, and one of them was ruthlessness. She had done much good in the pastfour years; she had been, for the most part, high-minded, self-sacrificing, indifferent to the petty things of life, even to discomfort, and it hadgiven her a sense of elevation--when she had had time to think about it. Itwas only certain extraordinary circumstances that brought other qualitiesas inherent as life itself surging to the top. It was demoralizing even tofight them, for that involved recognition. Better that she protect herselffrom their assaults. True, she was young, but she had had her fill ofdrama. All her old cravings, never satisfied in the old days of peacewithout and insurgence within, had been surfeited by this close personalcontact with the greatest drama in history. 

Why return to Paris at all? Why not settle down here at once, live a lifeof thought and study, and give abundant help where help was needed? Therewere villages within a few miles where the inhabitants were living in theruins. (The Germans in their first retreat had been too hard pressed tolinger long enough to set fire to this large town and they had not beenable to reach it during their second drive. )

That had been a last flicker of romance at the embassy. .. A last resurgenceof the evil the war had done her, as she sat in her cold room. .. A lastblaze of sheer femininity when she discovered that Gora had come to Parisin search of Gathbroke. .. . 

She felt as if she had escaped from a bottomless pit. .. . Assuredly she hadthe will and the character to make herself now into whatever she chose tobe. .. Let Gora have him if she could find him and keep him. .. . Better thatthan hating herself for the rest of her life. .. Love, far from beingennobling, seemed to her the most demoralizing of the passions. .. There hadbeen something ennobling, expanding, soul-stirring in hating the brutalmediæval race that had devastated France. .. But in the reaction from herfierce registered vow to snatch a man from a forlorn unhappy woman nomatter what her claims and have him for her own, she had shrunk from thisnew revelation of her depths in horror. .. . One could not live with that. .. . 

III

A man in khaki was walking quickly down the long crooked street. As heapproached she saw the red on his collar. He was a British officer. Inanother moment she was shaking hands with Gathbroke, She was far more composed than he, although she felt as if the world hadturned over, and there was a roar in her ears like the sound of distantguns. She had a vague impression that the war had begun again. 

"You are the last person I should have expected to meet here. There is noBritish--"

"I came here to see you. I got your address from Madaine de Morsigny. I sawher last night at a reception and recognized her. She was at that ball inSan Francisco. I introduced myself at once and asked her if you were inParis. I was sure it was you. .. That night. .. . "

"Will you come in!"

He followed her into the salon, softly lit by candles. She felt thatfate for once had been kind. It was difficult to imagine surroundings orconditions in which she would look lovelier, be seen to greater advantage. But her hands were cold. 

"It is too late for tea but perhaps you will share my frugal supper. "

"If it won't inconvenience you too much. Thanks. "

She sat down in the wide brocaded chair with its tarnished back. He stoodlooking at her for a moment, then took a turn up and down the long room. 

Certainly she could not object to him to-day on the score of youth andfreshness. His hair had lost its brightness. His face was very brown andthin and the lines if not deep were visible even in the candle light. Hisnose and mouth had the hard determination that life, more especially lifein war time, develops; it was no casual trick of Nature with him. His eyeswere still the same bright golden hazel, but their expression was keenand alert, and commanding. She fancied they could look as hard as thosefeatures more susceptible to modeling. 

IV

"Smoke if you like. "

"Thanks. I don't want to smoke. "

Finally when Alexina was gripping the arms of the chair he began to speak. 

"I feel rather an ass. I hardly know how to begin. I'm no longertwenty-three. I've lived several lifetimes since this war began, and madeup my mind twice that I was going out. I should feel ninety. Somehow Idon't feel vastly different from that day when I grabbed you like a brutebecause I wanted you more than anything on earth. .. . 

"I don't pretend that I've thought of you ever since. I've forgotten youfor years at a time. But there have been moments when you have simplyprojected yourself into me and been closer than any mortal has ever been. You were there!

"I felt there was some meaning in those sudden secret wonderful visits ofyour soul to mine--I hate to say what sounds like sentimental rotting, but that exactly expresses it. They belonged to some other plane ofconsciousness. It takes war to shift a man over the border if only for amoment. It kept me--lately--from. .. Never mind that now. When I saw youreyes above that tiny yellow flame. .. It wasn't only that your eyes are notto be matched anywhere. .. It seemed to me that I saw myself in them, Theycame as dose as that! Laugh if you like. "

He stood defiantly in front of her. 

"God! You look as if you never had had an emotion, never could have one. But you had once, if only for a moment!"

"I have never had one since--for any one, that is. I hear the concierge. I'll tell her to set a place for you. "

V

She left the room and he stared after her. Her words had been full ofmeaning but her voice had been even and cold. 

She returned and asked: "Are you in any way committed to Gora Dwight?"

"No. .. Yes. .. That is. .. Why do you ask me that?"

"Are you engaged to her?"

"I am not. But I came very close--that is, of course if she would have hadme. She nursed me after I was wounded and gassed. She was a wonderful nurseand there was something almost romantic in meeting her again. .. As if shehad come straight out of the past. We had an extraordinary experience asyou know. I was not in the least drawn to her at that time. You filled, possessed me. "

He hesitated. But it was a barrier he had not anticipated and it must godown. Moreover, it was evident that she wouldn't talk, and he was tooexcited for silence on his own part. 

"She was there. .. When a man is weakest. .. When he values tenderness aboveall things. .. When he does little thinking on either the past or the future. 

"She has a queer odd kind of fascination too, and any man must admire awoman so clever and capable and altogether fine. Several times I almostproposed to her. But there is no privacy in wards. I was sent back toEngland and went to my brother's house in Hertfordshire. It was then thatyou began to haunt me. She had rejuvenated that California period in mymind--resuscitated it. .. But both express what I am trying to say. We hadoften talked about California and the fire. She alluded to you, casually, of course, more than once; but as I looked back I gathered that yourmarriage had been a mistake and that you had known it for a long time. 

"She did not come to England until four months later, and then she wasin charge of a hospital. I took her out occasionally--she was very muchconfined. I liked her as much as ever. But _I didn't want her_. It seemedtragic. There was one chance in a million that I should ever meet youagain. Once I deliberately drew her on to talk of you and asked why youdid not divorce your husband. She commented satirically upon the intenseconservatism of your family and of your own inflexible pride. She addedthat you were the only beautiful woman she had ever known who seemed to bequite indifferent to men--sexless, she meant! But no woman knows anythingabout other women. I knew better!

"As I said it was rather tragic. To be haunted by a chimera! I liked her somuch. Admired her. Who wouldn't? If she had been able to take me home, toremain with me, there is no doubt in the world that I should have marriedher if she would have had me. .. . I prefer now to believe that she wouldn't. Why should she, with a great career in front of her?

"No doubt I should have loved her--with what little love I had to give. Butthose months had taught me that I could do without her, although I enjoyedher letters. Even so. .. 

"It was after she came to London that I felt I had to talk to some one andI went down, to the country to see Lady Vick-Elton Gwynne's mother. She hadfounded a hospital and run it, and was resting, worn out. She is a hardnut, empty, withered, arid. Nothing left in her but noblesse oblige. Butthere is little she doesn't know. She was smoking a black cigar that wouldhave knocked me down and looked like an old sibyl. I told her the wholestory--all of it, that is that was not too sacred. She puffed such, a cloudof smoke that I could see nothing but her hard, bright, wise, old eyes. 'Goafter her, ' she said. 'Find her. Divorce her. Marry her. That's where youmen have the advantage. You can stalk straight out into the open and demandwhat you want point blank. No scheming, plotting, deceit, being one thingand pretending another, in other words ice when you are fire. Beastly rôle, woman's--' I interrupted to remind her that it was twelve years since Ihad seen you; that you had thrown me down as hard as a man ever got it andmarried another man. There was no more reason to believe that I could winyou now. Then she asked me what I had come to see her and bore her to deathfor when she was trying to rest. 'If you want a thing go for it and get it, or if you can't get it at least find out that you can't. Also see her againand find out whether you want her or not, instead of mooning like a sillyass. '

"The upshot was I made tip my mind to go to California as soon as I couldobtain my discharge. It never occurred to me that you were in Paris. ThenI was sent to Paris with the Commission. I have certain expertknowledge. .. . For some reason I didn't tell Miss Dwight. .. . I wrote her ahurried note saying that I was obliged to go to Paris for a few weeks. 

"The night after I arrived I saw you at the Embassy. That finished it. If Ihadn't been sent back to England for some papers--twice--I'd have found youbefore this. "

CHAPTER XI

I

The concierge announced supper. Alexina had brought food with her and thelittle meal was good if not abundant. The dining-room was very dreary, although warmed by the petrol stove. It was a long dark room, paneled tothe ceiling, and the two candles on the table did little more to definetheir lineaments to each other than the flames of briquet and match. 

The concierge served and they talked of the Peace Conference and ofthe general pessimism that prevailed. Same old diplomacy. Same olddiplomatists. Same old ambitions. Same old European policies. An idealisthad about as much chance with those astute conventionalized brains dyed inthe diplomatic wiles and methods of the centuries as an unarmed man onfoot with a pack of wolves. .. . At the moment all the other Commissions werecursing Italy. .. . She might be the stumbling block to ultimate peace. .. . Asfor the League of Nations, as well ask for the millenium at once. Human, nature probably inspired the creed: "As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, " etc. "What we want" (this, Gathbroke), "is an alliancebetween Great Britain, and the United States. They could rule the world. Let the rest of everlastingly snarling Europe go hang. " Elton Gwynne wouldwork for that. He had already obtained his discharge and returned toAmerica. He, Gathbroke, 'd work for it too. So would anybody else in thetwo countries that had any sense and no personal fish to fry. 

II

When they returned to the salon he smoked. Alexina was thankful that it wascigarettes. Mortimer had made her hate cigars. If, like most Englishmen, heloved his pipe, he had the tact to keep it in his pocket. 

It was she who reopened the subject that filled him. 

"I feel sorry for Gora. Her life has been a tragedy in a way. Of course shehas had her successes, her compensations. But it isn't quite everythingto be the best of nurses, and I don't know that even writing could filla woman's life. Not unless she'd had the other thing first. I am afraidshe'll never be very popular anyhow. There are only small groups here andthere in America than can stand intellect in fiction. .. . It seems to me thatshe would make a great wife. I mean that. It is a great rôle and she couldfill it greatly. I don't know, of course, whether she cares for you or not. I am not in her confidence. She is staying at my pension in Passy and I sawher constantly for ten days before I came here, but she did not mentionyour name. .. . If she does she's the sort that would never marry any one elseand her life would be spoilt. I don't mean to say she would give up, butshe would just keep going. That seems to me the greatest tragedy of all. .. . 

"No! Why should there be any of this conventional subterfuge. I believethat she does care for you. I believed so long ago. I was jealous of her. I don't mean, to say that I was in love with you. I--perhaps forced myselfnot to be. It seemed too silly. Too utterly hopeless. .. . Besides I kneweven then the danger of letting myself go. .. Of the unbridled imagination. Probably love is all imagination anyhow. French marriages would seem toprove it. But we--your race and mine--have fallen into a sublime sort oferror, and we'll no more reason ourselves out of it than out of the sextyranny itself. .. . I don't see how I could be happy with the eternalknowledge that Gora was miserable--that she would be happy if I hadremained in California. .. . "

"I have just told you that I should have gone to California as soon as Iwas free. "

III

The air between them quivered and their eyes were almost one. But heremained smoking in his chair and continued:

"I marry you or no one. A man well and a man ill are two different beings. In illness sex is dormant. When a man is well he wants a woman or hedoesn't want her. It may be neither his fault nor hers. But if she hasn'tthe sex pull for him, doesn't make a powerful insistent demand upon hispassion, there is nothing to build on. I haven't come out alive from thatshrieking hell to be satisfied with second-class emotions. I lay one nightunder three dead bodies, not one over twenty-five. I knew them all. Eachwas deeply in love with a woman. .. . Well, I knew the value of life thatnight if I never did before. And life was given to us, when we can hold onto it, for the highest happiness of which we are individually capable, nomatter what else we are forced to put up with. Happiness at the highestpitch, not makeshifts. .. . The horrors, the obstacles, the very demons in ourown characters were second thoughts on the part of Life either to satisfyher own spite or to throw her highest purpose into stronger relief. I'llhave the highest or nothing. "

"But that is not everything. There must be other things to make it lasting. Gora would make a great companion. "

"Not half so great--to me--as you would and you know it. I hope you willunderstand that I dislike extremely to speak of Miss Dwight at all. If youhad not brought her name into it I never should have done so. But now Ifeel I must have a complete understanding with you at any cost. "

He dropped his cigarette on the table. He left his chair swiftly andsnatched her from her own. His face was dark and he was trembling even morethan she was. 

"I'll have you. .. Have you. .. . "

She nodded. 

CHAPTER XII

I

Gora entered her room at the pension, mechanically lit the oil stove thatAlexina had procured for her, threw her hat on the bed, sat down in the lowchair and thrust her hands info the thick coils of hair piled as always ontop of her head. As she did so she caught sight of herself in the mirrorand wondered absurdly why she should have kept all her hair and lost somuch of her face. She looked more top-heavy than ever. Her face was a smalloblong, her eyes out of all proportion. She thought herself hideous. 

She had heard two hours before that Gathbroke was in Paris attached tothe British Commission. She had met an old acquaintance, a San Francisconewspaper man, who had taken her to lunch and spoken of him casually. Gathbroke had good-naturedly given him an Interview when other members ofthe Commission had been inaccessible. 

Gathbroke had told her nothing of a definite object when he wrote her thathe was off for Paris. Nor had he mentioned it in the note he had writtenher after his arrival. This had been merely to tell her that he was feelingas well as he ever had felt in his life and was enjoying himself. Politeadmonition not to tire herself out. He was always hers gratefully and herdevoted friend. 

He had written the note at the Rite Hotel, but when, assuming this washis address, she had called him up on her arrival, she had received theinformation that he was not stopping there, nor had been. 

Gora was very proud. But she was also very much in love; and she had beenin love with Gathbroke for twelve years. For the greater part of that timeshe had believed it to be hopeless, but it had always been with her, a sadbut not too painful undertone in her busy life. It had kept her from evena passing interest in another man. She had even felt a Somewhat ironicgratitude to him and his indifference, for all the forces of her nature, deprived of their natural outlet, went into her literary work, informing itwith an arresting and a magnetic vitality. She had believed herself to bewithout hope, but in the remote feminine fastnesses of her nature she hadhoped, even dreamed--when she had the time. That was not often. Her life, except when at her desk with her literary faculty turned loose, had beenpractical to excess. 

She would have offered her services in any case to one of the warringallies, no doubt of that; the tremendous adventure would have appealed toher quite aside from the natural desire to place her high accomplishment asa nurse at the disposal of tortured men. Nevertheless she was quite awarethat she went to the British Army with the distinct hope of meetingGathbroke again; quite as, under the cloak of travel, she would have goneto England long since had she not been swindled by Mortimer. 

Until she found him insensible, apparently at the point of death, after theterrible disaster of March, nineteen-eighteen, she had only heard of himonce: when she read in the _Times_ he had been awarded the D. S. O. 

She knew then where he was and maneuvered to get back to France. She foundhim sooner than she had dared to hope. And she believed that she had savedhis life. Not only by her accomplished nursing. Her powerful will hadthrown out its grappling irons about his escaping ego and dragged it backand held it in its exhausted tenement. 

He had believed that also. He had an engaging spontaneity of nature andhe had felt and shown her a lively gratitude. He was restless and franklyunhappy when she was out of his sight. He had a charming way of Bayingcharming things to a woman and he said them to her. But he was also as fullof ironic humor as in his letters and "ragged" her. And he talked to hereagerly when he was better and she had gone with him to a hospital far backof the lines. There were intervals when they could talk, and the other menwould listen. .. And had taken things for granted. 

So had she. He had not made love to her. There was no privacy. Moreover, she guessed that his keen sense of the ridiculous would not permit him tomake love to any woman when helpless under her hands. 

But how could there be other than one finale to such a story as theirs?What was fiction but the reflection of life? if she had written a storywith these obvious materials there could have been but one logicalending--unless, in a sudden spasm of reaction against romance, she hadkilled him off. 

But he would live; and not be strong enough to return to the front formouths. .. The war _must_ be over by then. .. . As for romance, well, she was inthe romantic mood. It was a right of youth that she had missed, but a womanmay be quite as romantic at thirty-four as at eighteen, if she has sealedher fountain instead of splashing it dry when she was too young to knowits preciousness. Once before she had surrendered to romance, fleetingly:during the week that followed the night she had sat on Calvary withGathbroke and watched a sea of flames. 

The mood descended upon her, possessed her. She had other patients. Therewere the same old horrors, the same heart-rending duties; but the moodstayed with her. And after he left, for England. She knew there could, bebut one ending. Her imagination had surrendered to tradition. 

Moreover, she was tired of hard work. She wanted to settle down in a home. She wanted children. She must always write, of course. Writing was asnatural to her as breathing. And she had already proved that a woman coulddo two things equally well. 

II

She never thought of trying to follow him back to England, to shirk theincreasing terrible duties behind the reorganized but harassed armies. Thewounded seemed to drop through the hospital roof like flies. 

Nevertheless when she was abruptly transferred to London she went withoutprotest! It was then that she began to have misgivings. She was givencharge of a large hospital just outside of London and her duties wereconstant and confining. But she managed to go out to lunch with him twiceand once to dine; after which they drove back to the hospital in a slow andbattered old hansom. 

She returned a few weeks before the Armistice. She had not seen him forfour months. He was well and expecting to be sent back to the front anyday. At present they were making use of him in London. 

If anything he appeared to admire her more than ever, to be more solicitousfor her health. He lamented personally her exacting duties. But it was thealmost exuberant friendliness of one man for another, for a comrade, a goodfellow; although he often paid her quick little diagnostic compliments. Ifshe hadn't loved him she would have enjoyed his companionship. He had readand thought and lived. Before the war he had been in active public life. Hehad far greater plans for the future. 

He had been almost entirely impersonal. It had maddened her. Even the nightthey had driven through the dark streets of London out to her hospital, although he had talked more or less about himself, even encouraged her totalk about herself, there had not been one instant of correlation. 

But she had made excuses as women do, in self-defense. He assumed thathe might easily go back to the front just in time to get himself killed, although the end of the war was in sight. .. . Her utter lack of experiencewith men in any sex relation had made her stiff, even in her letters;afraid of "giving herself away. " She had no coquetry. If she had, pride would have forbidden her to use it. Her ideals were intenselyold-fashioned. She wanted to be pursued, won. The man must do it all. Herwritings had never been in the least romantic. Well, she was, if romancemeant having certain fixed ideals. 

One thing puzzled her. When she wrote she manipulated her men and women intheir mutual relations with a master-hand. But she had not the least ideahow to manage her own affair. What was genius? A rotten spot in the brain, a displacement of particles that operated independently of personality, ofthe inherited ego? Possession? Ancestors come to life for an hour in thesubliminal depths? But what did she care for genius anyhow!

One thing she would have been willing to do as her part, aside from meetinghim mentally at all points and showing a brisk frank pleasure in hissociety: give him every chance to woo and win her, to find her more andmore indispensable to his happiness. But she was no woman of leisure. Shecould not receive him in charming toilettes in an equally seductive room. She had nothing for evening wear but an old black satin gown. After herarrival in London she had found time to buy a smart enough tailored coatand skirt, and a hat, but nothing more. 

And after the Armistice was declared she only saw him once. 

Then came his abrupt departure for Paris. His noncommittal note. Even thenshe refused to despair. It would be an utterly impossible end to such astory. .. After twelve years. .. Not for a moment would she accept that. 

III

She applied for her discharge. During her long stay in the British serviceshe had made influential friends. She had also made a high record not onlyfor ability but for an untiring fidelity. Her vacations had been few andbrief. She obtained her discharge and went to Paris. Her pride would permither to telephone. What more natural? Nothing would have surprised him morethan if she had not. She had little doubt of his falling into the habit ofdaily companionship. He knew Paris and she did not. He would have seen herdaily in London if she had been free. 

Something, no doubt of that, held him back. He was discouraged. .. Or notsure of himself. .. . She had assumed as a matter of course that he was at theRitz. When she found that he was not, had not been, she realized that hehad omitted to give her an address. 

That might have been mere carelessness. .. . But to find him in Paris! She hadnot visualized such swarms of people. She might almost have passed him onthe street and not seen him. But not for a moment did she waver from herpurpose. She held passionately to the belief that were they together dayafter day, hours on end. .. . 

Unbelievable. 

IV

She had telephoned an hour ago to the hotel where he was staying with othermembers of the British Commission and been told that he was out of town, but might return any moment. 

There was nothing to do but write him a note and wait. She was not equalto the humiliation of telephoning a third time. She wrote it at the hotelwhere her English friends were staying and sent it by messenger, havingheard of the idiosyncracies of the Paris post. 

Hastings, her newspaper friend, had been altogether a bird of ill omen. Hehad told her that the American market was glutted with "war stuff. " Thepublic was sick of it. Some of the magazines were advertising thatthey would read no more of it. She had told him that her material wasmagnificent and he had replied: "Can it. Maybe a year or two fromnow--five, more likely. I'm told over here that the war fiction we've hadwished on us by the ton resembles the real thing just about as much asmaneuvers look like the first Battle of the Marne, say, when the Germansdidn't know where they were at; went out quail hunting and struck a junglefull of tigers. .. . Why not? When most of 'em were written by men of middleage snug beside a library fire with mattresses on the roof--in America noteven a Zeppelin to warm up their blood. But that doesn't matter. The publictook it all as gospel. Ate it up. Now it is fed up and wants somethingelse. "

What irony!

And what a future if he--but that she would not face. 

CHAPTER XII

I

She heard Janet Maynard, who had returned alone the day before fromNice, enter the next, room. She kept very still; she had no desire forconversation. But Janet tapped on her door in a moment and entered lookingvery important. 

"I've something to tell you, " she announced. "You'd never guess in athousand years. Don't get up. 111 sit on the bed-used to any old place. Only too thankful it isn't a box, or to sit down at all. Try one of mine?Don't you feel well?"

"I've a rotten headache. "

"Oh. .. Mind my smoking?"

"Not a bit. What did you have to tell me?"

"Well, 'way back in ancient times, B. W. , nineteen hundred and six, a youngEnglishman named Gathbroke came to California after his sister, who wasill. " She was blowing rings and did not see Gora's face. When she leveledher eyes Gora was unbuttoning her gaiters. "It seems she died some timeduring the fire and he had a perfectly horrid experience getting the bodyout to the cemetery. But that has nothing to do with the story. He metOlive and the rest of us--_and Alexina_--the night of the Hofer ball. I hadforgotten the whole thing until Olive reminded me that we had joked Alexafterward about the way she had bowled him over. His eyes simply followedher, but Mortimer gave him no chance. 

"Then. I remembered something else. Isabel Gwynne once told me that herhusband was sure Gathbroke had proposed to Alex one day when he took himdown to Eincona. He was in a simply awful state of nerves afterward. Johnthought he was going out of his mind. Now, here's the point. Night beforelast Olive was at a, ball and who should come up to her and introducehimself but Gathbroke. He's changed a lot but she recognized him. Well, hehardly waited to finish the usual amenities before he asked her plump outif Alex was in Paris, said he was positive he had seen her at that embassyball where all the lights went out and they expected a riot. He turnedwhite when he did it, but he was as direct as chain lightning. He wantedher address. Of course he got it. Olive was thrilled. It's safe to assumethat he's with Alex at the present moment. At any rate Olive called him upthis morning intending to ask him to dinner, and was told he was out oftown. Now, isn't that romance for you?"

"Rather. "

"Twelve years! Fancy a man being faithful all that time. Hadn't got what hewanted, that's probably why. Have you ever heard Alex speak of him? Thinkshe'll divorce Mortimer?"

"I asked her the other night why she didn't. She said it was against thetraditions of the family. But--I recall--she said--it seemed to me therewas a curious sort of meaning in her voice--that if she wanted to marry aman nothing would stop her. "

"And it wouldn't. Nothing would stop Alexina if anything started her. Thetrouble always was to start her. She's indolent and unsusceptible andfastidious. But deep and intense--Lord! Mark my words, she saw him at theEmbassy. If she did and the thing's mutual she'll give poor old Maria sucha shock that the war will look like ten cents. "

"Possibly. "

"You look really ill, Gora. No wonder you have headaches with that hair. It's magnificent--but! Go to bed and I'll send up your dinner. Got anyaspirin?"

"Yes, thanks. "

"Au 'voir. "

CHAPTER XIII

I

The day was fine and Alexina took advantage of the brief interval of graceand went for a walk. Gathbroke was in Paris but might come out any moment. She wore a coat and skirt of heavy white English tweed with a silk blouseof periwinkle blue. The same soft shade lined her black velvet hat. 

She had a number of notes changed at the bank and struck out for one of theruined villages. She was in a mood to distribute happiness, and only silvercoin could carry a ray of light into the dark stupefied recesses of thosemiserable wretches living in the ruins of homes haunted by memories oftheir dead. 

She felt a very torch of happiness herself. Her body and her brain glowedwith it. The currents of her blood seemed to have changed their pace andtheir essence. The elixir of life was in them. She felt less woman thangoddess. 

She knew now why she had been born, why she had waited. As long as thisterrible war had to be she was thankful for her intimate contact with thevery martyrdom of suffering; never else could she have known to the fullthe value of life and youth and health and the power to be triumphantlyhappy in love. She would have liked to wave a wand and make all the worldhappy, but as this was as little possible as to remake human nature itselfshe soared into an ether of her own to revel in her astounding goodfortune. 

II

The village she approached was picturesque in its ruin for it climbed theside of a hill, and although the Germans had set fire deliberately to everyhouse the shells for the most part remained. Along the low ridge was a rowof brick walls in various stages of gaunt and jagged transfiguration. Theylooked less the victims of fire than of earthquake. 

The narrow ascending street was filled with rubble. She picked her way andpeered into the ruins. At first she saw no one; the place seemed to bedeserted. Then some one moved in a dark cellar, and as she stood at the topof the short flight of steps a very old woman came forward into the light. There were two children at her heels. 

Alexina suddenly felt very awkward. She had always thought the mere handingout of money the most detestable part of charity. But there was nothinghere to buy. That was obvious. 

The old woman however relieved her embarrassment. She extended a skinnyhand. The poor of France are not loquacious, but like all their compatriotsthey know what they want, and no doubt feel that life is simplified whenthey are in a position to ask for it. 

Alexina gratefully handed her a coin and hurried on. Her next experiencewas as simple but more delicate. A younger woman had fitted up a corner ofher ruin with a petticoat for roof and a plank supported by two piles ofbrick for counter and had laid in a supply of the post cards that picturedwith terrible fidelity the ruins of her village. Alexina bought the entirestock, "to scatter broadcast in the United States, " and promised to sendher friends for more; assuring the woman that when the tourists came toFrance once more these ruined villages would be magnets for gold. 

She managed to get rid of her coins without much difficulty, althoughcomparatively few of the village's inhabitants had returned, and these bystealth. Many of them had trekked far! Others were still detained at thehostels in Paris and other cities where they could be looked after withouttoo much trouble. 

Several had set up housekeeping in the cellars in a fashion not unlike thatof their cave dwelling ancestors, and a few had found a piece of roof aboveground to huddle under when it rained. Some talked to her pleasantly, somewere surly, others unutterably sad. None refused her largesse, and she wasamused to look back and see a little procession making for the town, nodoubt with intent to purchase. 

In one side street less choked with rubbish small boys were playing at war. But for the most part the children looked very sober. They had been sparedthe horrors of occupation but they had suffered privations and beensurrounded by grief and despair. 

III

When she had exhausted her supplies she took refuge in the church. It wasat the end of the long street on the ridge and after she had rested shecould leave the village by its farther end, and by making a long détouravoid the painful necessity of refusing alms. 

There was no roof on the church; otherwise it would have been the generalrefuge. Part of it including the steeple was some distance away and lookedas if it had been blown off. The rest had gone down with one of the walls. It was a charred unlovely ruin. Saints and virgins sometimes defied theworst that war could do, but all had succumbed here. The paneless windowsin the walls that still remained precariously erect framed pictures of aquiet and lovely landscape. The stone walls were intact about the farms inwhich moved a few old men and women in faded cotton frocks that looked likesoft pastels. The oaks were majestic and serene. The hills were lavender inthe distance. But the farm houses were in ruins and so was a château ona hill. Alexina could see its black gaping walls through the grove ofchestnut trees withered by the fire. 

She wandered about looking for a seat however humble but could find nothingmore inviting than piles of brick and twisted iron. She noticed an openplace in the floor and went over to it and peered down. There was a flightof steps ending in cimmerian darkness. Doubtless the vaults of the greatfamilies of the neighborhood were down there. She wondered if the spite ofthe Huns had driven them to demolish the very bones of the race they wereunable to conquer. 

IV

Suddenly she stiffened. A chill ran up her spine. She had an overwhelmingsense of impending danger and stepped swiftly away from the edge of theaperture; then turned about, and faced Gora Dwight. 

CHAPTER XIV

I

"Oh, " she said calmly, although her nerves still shuddered. "You must walklike a fairy. I didn't hear you. "

"One must pick one's way through rubbish. "

"Ghastly ruin, isn't it?"

"Life is ghastly. "

Alexina made no reply lest she deny this assertion out of the wonder of herown experience. She guessed what Gora had come for and that she was feelingas elemental as she looked. She herself had recovered from that suddenaccess of horror but she moved still further from, that black and waitinghole. 

"Are you going to marry Gathbroke?"

The gauntlet was down and Alexina felt a sharp sense of relief. She was inno mood for the subtle evasion and she had not the least inclination toturn up her eyes. She made up her mind however to save Gora's pride as faras possible. 

"Yes, " she said. 

"You dare say that to me?"

Alexina raised her low curved eyebrows. She seldom raised them but when shedid she looked like all her grandmothers. 

"Dare? Did you expect me to lie? Is that what you wish?"

Gora clutched her muff hard against her throat. (Alexina wondered if shehad a pistol in it. ) Her eyes looked over it pale and terrible. Alexina hadthe advantage of her in apparent calm, but there was no sign of confusionin those wide baleful irises with their infinitesimal pupils. 

"You knew that I loved him. That I had loved him for twelve years. "

"I _knew_ nothing of the sort. You had his picture on your mantel and youcorresponded with him off and on but you never gave me a hint that youloved him. Twelve years! Good heaven! A friendship extending over such aperiod was conceivable; natural enough. But a romance! When such an ideadid cross my mind I dismissed it as fantastic. You always seemed to me theembodiment of common sense. "

"There is no such thing. It is true--that I hardly believed itthen--admitted it. But I knew we should meet again. He never had married. It looked like destiny when I did meet him. I nursed him--"

She paused and her eyes grew sharp and watchful, Alexina's face showed nounderstanding and she went on, still watching. 

"I nursed him back to life. Through a part of his convalescence. A woman_knows_ certain things. He almost loved me then. If we could have beenalone he would have found out--asked me to marry him. We should be marriedto-day. If I could have seen him constantly in London it would have beenthe same. " She burst out violently: "I believe you wrote to him to come toParis. "

"My dear Gora! Keep your imagination for your fiction. I had forgotten hisexistence until I saw him, for a few seconds, at a reception. Don't forgetthat he came to Paris under orders from his Government. "

"But you recognized him that night. You came down here to meet him, to getaway from me. "

"Far from coming here to meet him I had given up all hope of ever seeinghim again. He found out my address and followed me. You also seem to forgetthat you never mentioned his name to me in Paris. How was I to know thatyou were still interested in him?"

"That first night. .. You guessed it. .. You threw down a sort of challenge. Deny that if you can!"

"No! I'll not deny it. I wanted him as badly as you did if with lessreason. Nevertheless. .. Believe it or not as you like. .. I came down hereas much to leave the field clear to you as for my own peace of mind. Ithink. .. I fancy. .. I decided to leave the matter on the knees of the gods. "

"Do you mean to tell me that if I had met him while we were together inParis, and you knew the truth, that you would not have tried to win himaway from me?"

"I wonder! I have asked myself that question several times. I like tothink that I should have been noble, and withdrawn. But I am not at allsure. .. . Yes, I do believe I should, not from noble unselfishness, oh, notby a long sight, but from pride--if I saw that he was really in love withyou. I'd never descend to scheming and plotting and pitting my fascinationsagainst another woman--"

"Oh, damn your aristocratic highfalutin pride. I suppose you mean thatI have no such pride, having no inherited right to it. Perhaps not or Iwouldn't be here to-day. At least I wouldn't be talking to you, " she added, her voice hoarse with significance. 

Once more Alexina eyed the muff. "Did you come here to kill me?"

"Yes, I did. No, I haven't a pistol. I couldn't get one. I trusted toopportunity. When I saw you standing at the edge of that hole I thought Ihad it. "

Alexina found it impossible to repress a shiver but in spite of thosedreadful eyes she felt no recurrence of fear. 

"What good would that have done you? Murderesses get short shrift inFrance. There is none of that sickening sentimentalism here that we arecursed with in our country. "

"Murders are not always found out. If you were at the bottom of that holeit would be long before you were found and there is no reason why I shouldbe suspected. I didn't come through the village. I didn't even inquire atyour house. I saw you leave it and followed at a distance. If I'd pushedyou down there I'd have followed and killed you if you were not deadalready. "

Alexina wondered if she intended to rush her. But she was sure of herown strength. If one of them went down that hole it would not be she. Nevertheless she was beginning to feel sorry for Gora. She had neversensed, not during the most poignant of her contacts with the war, such stark naked misery in any woman's soul. Its futile diabolism butaccentuated its appeal. 

"Well, you missed your chance, " she said coldly. Gora was in no mood toreceive sympathy! "And if you hadn't and escaped detection I don't fancyyou would have enjoyed carrying round with you for the next thirty or fortyyears the memory of a cowardly murder. Too bad we aren't men so that wecould have it out in a fair fight. My ancestors were all duellists. Nodoubt yours were too, " she added politely. 

"Perhaps you are right. " For the first time there was a slight hesitationin Gora's raucous tones. But she added in a swift access of anger: "Isuppose you mean that your code is higher than mine. That you are incapableof killing from behind. "

"Good heavens! I hope so!. .. Still. .. I will confess I have had myblack moods. It is possible that I might have let loose my own devilif--if--things had turned out differently. "

"Oh, no, you wouldn't! Not when it came to the point. You would haveelevated your aristocratic nose and walked off. " She uttered this dictumwith a certain air of personal pride although her face was convulsed withhate. 

"Gora, you are really making an ass of yourself. If you had taken moretime to think it over you wouldn't have followed me up with any suchmelodramatic intention as murder. Good God! Haven't you seen enough ofmurder in the past four years? I could readily fancy you going in for somesort of revenge but I should have expected something more original--"

"Murder's natural enough when you've seen nothing else as long as I have. And as for human life--how much value do you suppose I place on it afterfour years of war? I had almost reached the point where death seemed morenatural than life. "

"Oh, yes. .. But later. .. . There are tremendous reactions after war. Settleddown once more in our smiling land my ghost would be an extremelyunpleasant companion. You see, Gora, you are just now in that abnormalstate of mind known as inhibition. But, unfortunately, perhaps, in spiteof the fact that you have proved yourself to be possessed of a violence ofdisposition--that I rather admire--you were not cut out to be the permanentvillain. You have great qualities. And for thirty-four years of your lifeyou have been a sane and reasonable member of society. For four of thoseyears you have been an angel of mercy. .. . Oh, no. If you had killed me youwould have killed yourself later. You couldn't live with Gathbroke for youcouldn't live with yourself. Silly old tradition perhaps, but we are madeup of traditions. .. . That was one reason I left Paris, gave up trying tofind him. .. . I knew that I could have him. But I also knew that you had hadsome sort of recent experience with him, that you had come to Paris tofind him, that possibly if left with a clear field you could win him. Iknew--Oh, yes, I knew!--that he would know instantly he was mine if wemet. But. .. Well, I too have to live with myself. It might be that he wascommitted to you, that if he married you, you would both be happy enough. "When he did come nothing would have tempted me to accept him if I hadstill believed--"

"Did he tell you? Tell you how close he came? Tell you that I was in lovewith him?"

"My dear Gora, I fancy that if he were capable of that you would not becapable of loving him. I certainly should not. " There was a slight movementin her throat as if she were swallowing the rest of the truth whole. Shehad adhered to it where she could but Gora's face must be saved. "Your namewas not mentioned. I asked him no questions about his past. I am not theheroine of a novel, old style. He told me that he loved me, that he hadnever loved any other woman, never asked any other woman to marry him. That was enough for me. I had no place in my mind for you or any one else. Perhaps you don't know--how could you--that years ago, when he was inCalifornia, he asked me to marry him. "

"Calf love! If you had not been here now--"

"He would have gone to California as soon as he could get away. He had madeup his mind to that before he came to Paris. "

"What!"

Gora's arms dropped to her sides and she stared at the floor. Thenshe laughed, "O God, what irony! I talked of you more or Jess as wasnatural. .. And he remembered. .. We had recalled the past vividly enough. .. . Why couldn't one of those instincts in which we are supposed to be prolifichave warned me?. .. . Much fiction is like life!. .. Any heroine I could havecreated would have had it. .. Had more sense. .. . I have botched the thing frombeginning to end. "

She raised her head and stared at Alexina with somber eyes; the insanelight had died out of them. They took in every detail of that enhancedbeauty, of that inner flame, white hot, that made Alexina glow like atransparent lamp. 

She also recalled that she had watched her pack her bags. .. That pervenchevelvet gown. .. Alexina had described the quaint old salon. .. . Herimagination, flashed out that first interview with Gathbroke with atormenting conjuring of detail. .. . 

"Yon are one of the favorites of life, " she admitted in her bitter despair. "You have been given everything--"

"I drew Mortimer, " Alexina reminded her. 

"True. But you dusted him out of your life with an ease and a thoroughnessthat has never been surpassed. Think what you might have drawn. No, youare lucky, lucky! The prixes of life are for your sort. I am one of theoverlooked or the deliberately neglected. Not a fairy stood at my cradle. All things have come to you unsought. Beauty. Birth. Position. Sufficientwealth. Power over men and women. An enchanting personality. All the socialgraces. You have had ups and downs merely because after all you area mortal; and as a matter of contrast--to heighten your powers ofappreciation. No doubt the worst is over for you. I have had to take lifeby the throat and wring out of her what little I have. That is what makeslife so hopeless, so terrible. No genius for social reform will evereliminate the inequality of personality, of the inner inheritance. Naturemeant for her own sport that a few should live and the rest should diewhile still alive. "

"Gora, I don't want to sound like the well-meaning friends who tell amother when she loses her child that it is better off, but I can't helpreminding you that a very large and able-bodied fairy presided at yourcradle. You have a great gift that I'd give my two eyes for; and you knowperfectly well--or you will soon--that you will get over this and forgetthat Gathbroke ever existed, while you are creating men to suit yourself. "Her incisive mind drove straight to the truth. "You will write better thanever. Possibly the reason that you have not reached the great public isbecause your work lacks humanity, sympathy. You never lived before. Youwere all intellect. Now you have had a terrific upheaval and you seem tohave experienced about everything, including the impulse to murder. Mostwriters would appear to live uneventful lives judging from their extremelydull biographies. But they must have had the most tremendous inneradventures and soul-racking experiences--the big ones--or they couldn'thave written as they did. .. . This must be the more true in regard to women. "

Gora continued to stare at her. The words sank in. Her clear intellectappreciated the truth of them but they afforded her no consolation. Allemotion had died out of her. She felt beaten, helpless. 

She was obliged to look up as she watched Alexina's subtly transfiguredface, fascinated. It made her feel even her physical insignificance; themore as she had lost the flesh that had given her short stature a certainmajesty. 

"Oh, life is unjust, unjust. " She no longer spoke with bitterness, merelyas one forced to state an inescapable fact. "Injustice! The root of allmisfortune. "

"Life is a hard school but where she has strong characters to work on sheturns out masterpieces. You will be one of them, Gora. And I fancy thatwomen born with great gifts were meant to stand alone and to be trained inthat hard school. It is only when women of your sort have a passing attackof the love germ that they imagine they could go through life as a halfinstead of a whole. When you are in the full tide of your powers withthe public for a lover I fancy you will look back upon this episode withgratitude, if you remember it at all. "

"Perhaps. But that, is a long way off! I have just been told that the orderof fiction with which my mind is packed at present is not wanted. It hasbeen contemptuously rejected by the American public as 'war stuff. '"

"Good heaven! That _is_ a misfortune!"

For a moment Alexina was aghast. Here was the real tragedy. She almostprayed for inspiration, for it lay with her to readjust Gora to life. To noone else would Gora ever give her confidence. 

"I don't believe for a moment, " she said, "that the intelligent publicwill ever reject a great novel or story dealing with the war. The masterlytreatment of any subject, the new point of view, the swift compellingbreathless drama that is your peculiar gift, must triumph over any mood ofthe moment. Moreover, when you are back in California you will see theselast four years in a tremendous perspective. And no contrast under heavencould be so great. You probably won't hear the war mentioned once amonth. No doubt much that crowds your mind now will cease to interest theproductive tract of your brain and you will write a book with the war asa mere background for your new and infinitely more complete knowledge ofhuman psychology. No novel of any consequence for years to come will bewritten without some relationship to the war. Stories long enough to beprinted in book form perhaps, but not the novel: which is a memoir ofcontemporary life in the form of fiction. No writer with as great a gift asyours could have anything but a great destiny. Go back to California andbang your typewriter and find it out for yourself. "

For the first time something like a smile flitted over Gora's drawn face. "Perhaps. I hope you are right. I don't think I could ever really losefaith in that star. " She was thinking: Oh, yes! I'll go back to Californiaas quickly as I can get there--as a wounded animal crawls back to its lair. 

She would have encircled the globe three times to get to it. _Her state_. To her it was what family and friends and home and children were toanother. It was literally the only friend she had in the world. She wouldhave flown to it if she could, sure of its beneficence. 

"I shall go as soon as I can get passage, " she said. "And you?"

"I must go too unless I can get a divorce here. I shall know that in a fewdays. "

"Well, we travel on different steamers if you do go! I shall stop off atTruckee and go to Lake Tahoe. It will be a long while before I go to anyplace that reminds me of you. I no longer want to kill you but I want toforget you. Good-by. "

CHAPTER XV

When she reached the foot of the hill she turned and looked back. Alexinawas standing in one of the jagged window casements of the church. Thebright warm sun was overhead in a cloudless sky. Its liquid careless raysflooded the ruin. Alexina's tall white figure, the soft blue of her hatforming a halo about her face, was bathed in its light; a radiant vision inthat shattered town whose very stones cried out against the injustice oflife. 

Alexina, who was feeling like anything but a madonna in a stained glasswindow, waved a questing hand. 

"The fortunate of earth!" thought Gora. 

She set her lips grimly and walked across the valley with a steady stride. At least she could be one of the strong. 

THE END