elf. I built a little house in one corner of the
garden for the caretakers. You should see that gold-of-Ophir rose,
Elizabeth; it has grown beyond belief."

When we reached Oakland--where our car had to be switched off and
attached to a coast line, train--we found we had four hours to kill,
so Dad and Blakely and I (it was Blakely's idea) caught the boat
across to San Francisco.

What do you suppose that dear boy wanted us to go over there for?
And where do you suppose he took us? He took us straight to
Shreve's, and he and Dad spent a beautiful two hours in choosing an
engagement ring for me. So when we finally landed in Santa Barbara I
was wearing a perfect love of a ruby on the third finger of my left
hand. I was wearing my heart on my sleeve, too; I didn't care if all
the world saw that I adored Blakely. We arrived in Santa Barbara in
the morning, and it was arranged that Blakely should lunch with his
mother and devote himself to her during the afternoon, but he was to
dine with us in our rooms. Naturally, I had a lot to do, supervising
the unpacking of my clothes, and straightening things about in our
sitting-room so that it wouldn't look too hotelish. Then Dad
wouldn't be happy till I'd inspected my new palace on the hill.

It was an alarming looking pile. If anybody but Dad had been
responsible for it, I should have said it was hideous. Poor old Dad!
He knows absolutely nothing about architecture. But of course I
raved over it, and, really, when I came to examine it closer, I
found it had its good points. Covered with vines, it would have been
actually beautiful. Virginia creeper grows like mad in California
and with English ivy and Lady Banksia roses to help out, I was sure
I could transform my palace into a perfect bower in almost no time.
I was awfully glad I had seen it first, for now. I could break the
bad news gently to Blakely. If I were a man, I couldn't love a girl
who owned such a hideous house.

But I didn't have a chance to talk house to Blakely for some time.
When he came in to dinner that night he looked awfully depressed; he
brightened up a lot, though, when he saw me. I had on my most
becoming gown, and Dad had ordered a grand dinner, including his own
special brand of Burgundy. If Dad knew as much about architecture as
he does about wine, they'd insist on his designing all the buildings
for the next world's fair.

All through dinner Blakely wasn't quite himself--I could see it; I
think Dad