But it was only a
passing thought, as he alighted from the train in the welcoming music of
many waters, which she hardly heard. Her attention was centred on picking
out Mrs. Harland and Falconer among the people who were waiting to meet
friends, and on seeing whether Nick Hilliard was with them.

There was a crowd on the platform. Pretty "summer girls" with bare heads,
over which they held parasols of bright green, or rose-red, that threw
charming lights and shadows on their tanned faces: brown young men in
khaki knickerbockers, shaking hands with paler men just coming from town,
and little children in white, laughing at sight of arriving "daddies".

Soon Falconer, towering over most others, appeared with his sister by his
side, and Carmen was pleased to see that Mrs. Harland's clothes could not
compare with hers. Having no idea of suiting her costume to the country,
she thought herself infinitely preferable in her Paris gown to Mrs.
Harland in a cotton frock, and shady straw hat. But no Nick was visible,
and Carmen's pleasure was dashed.

The brother and sister met her cordially, took her to look at the bubbling
spring in its kiosk, and then up the height on the scenic railway.
Presently they landed on the level of the parklike plateau, where a big
hotel and its attendant cottages were visible, with many golden dolomitic
peaks and great white Shasta itself peeping through the trees. Still
nothing had been said about Nick; and Carmen dared not ask. She feared
some disappointment, and shrank from the blow.

Mariette had brought coffee to her mistress's stateroom very early, but
Carmen was not averse to the suggestion of breakfast at the hotel before
motoring over the mountains. As they ate, they talked of impersonal
things: the colony under the trees; the making of the mountain road; and
Falconer told how Mount Shasta--long ago named by Indians "Iska, the
White"--was the abode of the Great Spirit; and how, in old, old times,
before the Indians, the sole inhabitants of the country were grizzly
bears. Carmen listened to the unfolding of the tale into a fantastic
love-story, saying, "Oh!" or "How interesting!" at polite intervals.
Always she asked herself, "Where's Nick? Hasn't he come yet? Is it
possible he's been prevented from coming at all?" She tried to brace
herself against disappointment and not show that she cared, but she turned
red and white when Mrs. Harland said at last, "We're so sorry Mr. Hilliard
couldn't