oint covering a cotton belt,
and diamond-buckled shoes slipped on to torn stockings, made her beauty
more piquant, as she sat watching the work of her lovers, on her throne by
the sea. No wonder that the men who adored such a woman were brave as she!
generous and reckless as she, and on fire with energy and courage.

"But the beautiful woman worked, too, to help her lovers," Nick answered
Angela's little allegory. "When she was wounded, she said, 'Just give me a
hand up and I won't die. You shall have a big reward for all you do--only
hurry, for I can't bear to be seen like this by any one but you.'"

"And what did her lovers say?" Angela asked.

"'We'll die for you, gladly. You have our hearts. You can have our hearts'
blood.'" And his eyes spoke to her of himself.

* * * * *

The first day was tiring, nevertheless Angela went out to Oakland that
night to the Greek theatre, where a classic tragedy was to be performed;
and next day it was the Presidio and Golden Gate Park. They lunched at the
Cliff House, and fed the barking sea-lions on the seal rocks. Then came a
few hours' rest: and Chinatown was saved as a _bonne-bouche_ for the
evening. They dined in the most stately and expensive of the Chinese
restaurants--"no chop suey house," as their waiter said, where they
entered through the kitchen to see cakes being baked, and pots of rice in
the act of cooking. Upstairs the walls were adorned with golden flowers,
panel paintings by artists of China, and strange dragons, and Buddhas
that nodded on shelves. There were open-work screens, and tables and
chairs of black, carved teakwood. Angela would have been aghast had she
dreamed that the queer dinner, which she liked and laughed at, cost Nick
more than a hundred dollars, but luckily she was not initiated in the
rarity of bird's-nest soup or other Chinese delicacies.

It was half-past eight when they finished dining, the hour when Chinatown
begins to be most lively, most ready to amuse itself and, incidentally,
strangers. Therein lay the kernel of the nut, the blossom of the clove:
that this bit of the old, old East, inlaid in the heart of the new West
was not an "exhibition" like "Japan in London," but a large, busy town,
living for itself alone. The big posters in Chinese characters, pasted on
the walls, were for Chinese eyes; not meant to amuse foreigners. The two
or three daily papers printed in Chinese, and filled with advertisements,