hite hair dressed in a manner becoming her age, and a severe gown
of black Chantilly net, relieved by the merest trifle of jet, looked the
reverse of the nondescript tourist. The girl wore white embroidered silk
muslin and a thin gold chain with a small ruby pendant. She was rather
above the average height, although not as tall as her mother, and if she
were as thin as fashion commanded, her bones were so small that her neck
and arms looked almost plump. Her expressive eyes were as black as her
hair, and her only large feature. Her skin was of a quite remarkably pink
whiteness, although there was a pink color in her lips and cheeks. The
older men stared at her more persistently than the younger ones, who
liked their own sort and not girls who looked as if they might be "booky"
and "spring things on a fellow."

There was a ball in the evening and once more mother and daughter sat
apart, while the flower of San Francisco--an inclusive term for the
select circles of Menlo Park, Atherton, Burlingame, San Mateo, far San
Rafael and Belvedere--romped as one great family. Newport, Ruyler
reflected for the twentieth time, did it no better. To the stranger
peering through the magic bars they were now as insensible as befitted
their code. These two people knew nobody and that was the end of it.

IV

But Price noted that now the girl's eyes were merely wistful, and once or
twice he saw them fill with tears. As three of the dowagers merely
sniffed when he sought possible information, he finally had recourse to
the manager of the hotel, D.V. Bimmer. They were a Madame and
Mademoiselle Delano from Rouen, and had been at the hotel for a
fortnight, not seeming to mind its comparative emptiness, but enjoying
the sea bathing and the drives. The girl rode, and went out every morning
with a groom.

"But didn't they bring any letters?" asked Ruyler. "They are ladies and
one letter would have done the business. That poor girl is having the
deuce of a time."

"D.V.," who knew "everybody" in California, and all their secrets, shook
his head. "'Fraid not. The French maid told the floor valet that although
the father was American--from New England somewheres--and the girl born
in California, accidentally as it were, she had lived in France all her
life--she's just eighteen--never crossed the ocean before. Can you beat
it? Until last month, and then they came from Hong Kong--taking a trip
round the world in good old style. The madame, who s