ted, Annixter convincing them both of his sincerity in wishing to
make Hilma his wife. Hilma, however, refused to see him. As soon as
she knew he had followed her to San Francisco she had been unwilling
to return to the hotel and had arranged with her cousin to spend an
indefinite time at her house.

She was wretchedly unhappy during all this time; would not set foot out
of doors, and cried herself to sleep night after night. She detested the
city. Already she was miserably homesick for the ranch. She remembered
the days she had spent in the little dairy-house, happy in her work,
making butter and cheese; skimming the great pans of milk, scouring the
copper vessels and vats, plunging her arms, elbow deep, into the white
curds; coming and going in that atmosphere of freshness, cleanliness,
and sunlight, gay, singing, supremely happy just because the sun shone.
She remembered her long walks toward the Mission late in the afternoons,
her excursions for cresses underneath the Long Trestle, the crowing of
the cocks, the distant whistle of the passing trains, the faint sounding
of the Angelus. She recalled with infinite longing the solitary expanse
of the ranches, the level reaches between the horizons, full of light
and silence; the heat at noon, the cloudless iridescence of the sunrise
and sunset. She had been so happy in that life! Now, all those days were
passed. This crude, raw city, with its crowding houses all of wood
and tin, its blotting fogs, its uproarious trade winds, disturbed and
saddened her. There was no outlook for the future.

At length, one day, about a week after Annixter's arrival in the city,
she was prevailed upon to go for a walk in the park. She went alone,
putting on for the first time the little hat of black straw with its
puff of white silk her mother had bought for her, a pink shirtwaist, her
belt of imitation alligator skin, her new skirt of brown cloth, and her
low shoes, set off with their little steel buckles.

She found a tiny summer house, built in Japanese fashion, around a
diminutive pond, and sat there for a while, her hands folded in her lap,
amused with watching the goldfish, wishing--she knew not what.

Without any warning, Annixter sat down beside her. She was too
frightened to move. She looked at him with wide eyes that began to fill
with tears.

"Oh," she said, at last, "oh--I didn't know."

"Well," exclaimed Annixter, "here you are at last. I've been watching
that blamed hous