She looked up at him in wonder, and at his words life and hope came back
to her and shone in her eyes. She did not understand yet, but the
message was an elixir of joy to her. On the instant Gay and Miss
Cavendish joined them, chattering.
"Oh, Mr. Granthope," she said, "Mr. Summer and I have been wrangling all
this afternoon over a discussion, and we want your decision. You ought
to know, if anybody does. Which knows most about women--the man who
knows all about some woman, or the man who knows some about all women?"
Granthope laughed. "I think they'd be equally foolish. No man _knows_
anything about any woman."
"Of course that's the proper answer," said Miss Cavendish. "We're all
mysteries, aren't we?"
"Even to ourselves," Clytie offered.
"Oh, yes, women understand other women, but they never understand
themselves."
Gay P. Summer put in, "I don't think any man ever understands women who
hasn't had sisters. I never had one."
"That's true," said Granthope. He saw his chance, and turned to Clytie.
"I never had a sister, either," he said deliberately, catching her eye.
Clytie's eyebrows went up. He nodded. It was question and answer. She
moved toward him a little, unnoticed, and his hand touched hers.
Mr. Summer added: "I don't care, though, I prefer to have women
mysteries. It's more interesting."
Mrs. Page came up in time to hear the last words. "Oscar Wilde says that
women are sphinxes without secrets," she contributed.
"I wonder if any woman is happy enough not to have a secret," Clytie
said.
"I hope that yours will never make you unhappy," Granthope replied; and
added: "I don't think it will." He pressed her hand again, unobserved.
At this moment, Cayley returned.
"Something doing, Mr. Cayley?" said Miss Cavendish mischievously.
"Yes, unfortunately. It's a matter of business and important. I've got
to see a man to-morrow morning in the city. It's too bad, but I'll have
to go down to-night, after all."
"Why, the _idea_!" Mrs. Page cried indignantly. "You'll do no such a
thing! It's outrageous! We can't _possibly_ spare you, Blan; you'll
spoil the party!"
"It's my loss. I've got to go, really!" said Cayley. He turned to
Clytie. "I'll have to turn you over to Mr. Granthope, I'm afraid. I
don't want you to miss the time, of course."
Clytie looked at Granthope, puzzled.
"_You_ shan't go, anyway, Miss Payson!" Mrs. Page insisted. "Why, we're
going to get up and see the sunrise to-morrow morning! That's what we
came for. _Please_ don't break up the party," she begged.
Clytie smiled subtly, and hazarded another glance at Granthope.
"I really came up to bring Miss Payson home," he said, "but of course
I'll leave it to her. The fact is, I've brought her a message from her
father."
"Oh!" Mrs. Page exclaimed, "I do hope it isn't bad news."
"On the contrary, it's good, I think. Nevertheless, I'll have to break
it to her gently. And with your permission, I will, now."
A look at Clytie, and she walked off with him up toward the summit of
the mountain.
"What can it be, Francis?" she exclaimed. "I'm all at sea. But of
course I understood from what you said that it was, somehow, all right."
"Clytie," he said, "it _is_ all right--we've passed the last obstacle, I
think. But it's hard to know how to tell you. If you'll let me tell it
my way, I'll say that, of all the women I have ever known in my life,
the two whom I have loved best were--"
"Me--and--?" She held his hand tightly.
"You and your mother."
She seemed to be in no way surprised, new as the thought was to her. It
only struck her dumb for a while. Then she said:
"I must telephone to father at once. Oh, I must reassure him!"
"Shall we go back?" he asked.
She stood for a moment deliberating. Then she put her arm in his.
"I've seen the stars and moon," she said, "I've seen the lightning, I've
seen the false dawn. Let's stay, now, and see the sunrise!"
They walked, arm in arm, to the summit of the mountain, and sat down
upon a rock to gaze at the city, far away.
There it lay, a constellation of lights, a golden radiance, dimmed by
the distance. San Francisco the Impossible, the City of Miracles! Of
it and its people many stories have been told, and many shall be; but a
thousand tales shall not exhaust its treasury of Romance. Earthquake
and fire shall not change it, terror and suffering shall not break its
glad, mad spirit. Time alone can tame the town, restrain its wanton
manners, refine its terrible beauty, rob it of its nameless charm,
subdue it to the Commonplace. May Time be merciful--may it delay its
fatal duty till we have learned that to love, to forgive, to enjoy, is
but to understand!
*EPILOGUE*
It was quiet at Fulda's. The evening crowd had not yet begun to come.
The Pintos, however, had arrived early, and were at their central table
talking in low, repressed voices. Felix, at the front counter, looked
over at them occasionally under his eyebrows, as if there were something
unusual in their demeanor.
Mabel sat erect, her hands in her lap, looking straight before her,
speaking only in monosyllables. Elsie's smile had diminished to a set,
cryptic expression. She looked tired. Maxim leaned his heavy, leonine
head upon his hand, and drew invisible sketches with his fork upon the
table-cloth. Starr and Benton talked in an undertone.
"I didn't go over," said Starr, "I simply couldn't."
"Well, somebody had to see, so I went."
"Was it--bad?"