the publicity man should
be the greatest actor living."

"I don't pay much attention to pictures, but I can't remember ever
having seen your name or photograph in the advertisements," he said.

"Have you ever noticed the name of Jean Hope?"

"Often."

"That is the name I took when I had advanced far enough to be featured.
It was suggested to me by the publicity man, who insisted upon it being
short and snappy, as he said, something that would be easy to remember
and easy to put into type. Of course, I am not obscured to my friends,
who all know that I am Jean Hope. Only once have I had to be positively
firm with the publicity man and that was when he wanted to make me the
subject of a newspaper story that society girls, as he called them, were
intent upon becoming motion picture actresses. That, for the sake of my
friends, I simply had to refuse."

"I think," he said slowly, "that the name your father calls you is the
prettiest of them all."

"Mi Primavera?"

"Yes, does anyone else call you that?"

"Only father," she said. "That is his pet name for me--'My Springtime.'"

"You know," he said, "the story you told me of the naming of Spring
street; how Ord, the surveyor, named it for his sweetheart, whom he
called 'Mi Primavera,' is incomplete. Tell me, if you know, did he
eventually marry the beautiful Senorita Trinidad de la Guerra?"

"I have often wondered that, myself," she said. "Whether they were
married or not--what a gallant, romantic thing it was for him to do."

"And how few know the story!" he added.

"What dreams he must have had for the upbuilding of that street he named
for the one he loved," she said. "I imagine he little thought it was to
become a business street, that he thought of it always as lined with
quaintly beautiful Spanish homes, shaded and quiet, with couples
strolling along it at twilight and rest and contentment everywhere."

"That was his dream," he agreed. "The dream of a practical man--a
surveyor and a soldier."

"And after all," she said, "is it as you said once that it is only in
books and plays that dreams come true?"

Her chin resting in her hand, she gazed out the small chintz bordered
window of the room, preoccupied. He noticed the daintiness of her
profile, the placid sweetness of her face in repose.

The silence was broken by a rap on the door that startled him.

"Come in," she called.

The door opened and on the threshold stood Gibson, the smile he had
meant