e way from
San Francisco, a sufficient honor to justify any absence of formal
invitation," said Bradley, smiling.

"But he's only--I mean he's my father's banker," said Mainwaring,
correcting himself, "and--you don't keep a hotel."

"Not yet," returned Bradley, with a mischievous glance at the two women,
"but The Lookout is elastic, and I dare say we can manage to put him
up."

A silence ensued. It seemed as if some shadow, or momentary darkening
of the brilliant atmosphere; some film across the mirror-like expanse of
the open windows, or misty dimming of their wholesome light, had arisen
to their elevation. Mainwaring felt that he was looking forward with
unreasoning indignation and uneasiness to this impending interruption
of their idyllic life; Mrs. Bradley and Louise, who had become a
little more constrained and formal under Minty's freedom, were less
sympathetic; even the irrepressible Minty appeared absorbed in the
responsibilities of the dinner.

Bradley alone preserved his usual patient good-humor. "We'll take
our coffee on the veranda, and the ladies will join us by and by,
Mainwaring; besides, I don't know that I can allow you, as an invalid,
to go entirely through Minty's bountiful menu at present. You shall have
the sweets another time."

When they were alone on the veranda, he said, between the puffs of his
black brier-wood pipe,--a pet aversion of Mrs. Bradley,--"I wonder how
Richardson will accept Minty!"

"If I can, I think he MUST," returned Mainwaring, dryly. "By Jove, it
will be great fun to see him; but"--he stopped and hesitated--"I don't
know about the ladies. I don't think, you know, that they'll stand Minty
again before another stranger."

Bradley glanced quickly at the young man; their eyes met, and they both
joined in a superior and, I fear, disloyal smile. After a pause Bradley,
as if in a spirit of further confidence, took his pipe from his mouth
and pointed to the blue abyss before them.

"Look at that profundity, Mainwaring, and think of it ever being bullied
and overawed by a long veranda-load of gaping, patronizing tourists,
and the idiotic flirting females of their species. Think of a lot of
over-dressed creatures flouting those severe outlines and deep-toned
distances with frippery and garishness. You know how you have been
lulled to sleep by that delicious, indefinite, far-off murmur of
the canyon at night--think of it being broken by a crazy waltz or a
monotonous german--by