er a haze of golden sunshine. The Carews' pretty house, with
its lawn and garden, was almost the last on River Street, and stood on
the slope of a hill that commanded all Santa Paloma Valley. Below it,
the wide tree-shaded street descended between other unfenced lawns and
other handsome homes.

This was the aristocratic part of the town. The Willard Whites' immense
colonial mansion was here; and the Whites, rich, handsome, childless,
clever, and nearing the forties, were quite the most prominent people
of Santa Paloma. The Wayne Adamses, charming, extravagant young people,
lived near; and the Parker Lloyds, who were suspected of hiding rather
serious money troubles under their reckless hospitality and unfailing
gaiety, were just across the street. On River Street, too, lived
dignified, aristocratic old Mrs. Apostleman and nervous, timid Anne
Pratt and her brother Walter, whose gloomy, stately old mansion was one
of the finest in town. Up at the end of the street were the Carews, and
the shabby comfortable home of Dr. and Mrs. Brown, and the neglected
white cottage where Barry Valentine and his little son Billy and a
studious young Japanese servant led a rather shiftless existence. And
although there were other pretty streets in town, and other pleasant
well-to-do women who were members of church and club, River Street was
unquestionably THE street, and its residents unquestionably THE people
of Santa Paloma.

Beyond these homes lay the business part of the town, the railway
station, and post-office, the library, and the women's clubhouse, with
its red geraniums, red-tiled roof, and plaster arches.

And beyond again were blocks of business buildings, handsome and
modern, with metal-sheathed elevators, and tiled vestibules, and heavy,
plate-glass windows on the street. There was a drug store quite modern
enough to be facing upon Forty-second Street and Broadway, instead of
the tree-shaded peace of Santa Paloma's main street. At its cool and
glittering fountain indeed, a hundred drinks could be mixed of which
Broadway never even heard. And on Broadway, three thousand miles away,
the women who shopped were buying the same boxed powders, the same
bottled toilet waters, the same patented soaps and brushes and candies
that were to be found here. And in the immense grocery store nearby
there were beautifully spacious departments worthy of any great city,
devoted to rare fruits, and coffees and teas, and every pickle that
eve