tears. The response was overwhelming. Something in that
vast human pack went out to the singer like a tidal wave. Not the
deafening fusilade of hand-clapping nor the shouted "Bravos!" It was
something deeper, subtler. Tetrazzini stepped forward. Tears streamed
from her eyes. She blew impulsive kisses to the crowd.

* * * * *

The pageant of the months went on. A coal merchant by the name of Rolph
had displaced P.H. McCarthy as Mayor of San Francisco. He had installed
what was termed "a business administration." San Francisco seemed
pleased with the result. Power of government had returned to the "North
of Market Street."

San Francisco had been selected by Congress as the site of the
exposition. It was scheduled for 1915 and the Panama Canal approached
completion.

Frank was living with his father at the Press Club. His mother was dead.
He had given up newspaper work, except for an occasional editorial.
Through his father's influence he had found publication for a novel. He
was something of a public man now, despite his comparative youth.

Occasionally he saw his Uncle Robert. Two of his cousins had married.
The third, an engineer, had gone to Colorado. Robert Windham and his
wife were planning a year of travel.

Sometimes Windham and his nephew talked of Bertha. It was a calmer, more
dispassionate talk as time went on, for years blunt every pain. One day
the former said, with tentative defiance, "I suppose you'll think
there's something wrong about me, boy.... But I loved her mother deeply.
Honestly--if one can call it that. If I'd had a certain kind of--well,
immoral--courage, I'd have married her.... Just think how different all
our lives would have been. But I hadn't the heart to hurt Maizie; to
break with her ... nor the courage to give up my position in life. So we
parted. I didn't know then--"

"That you had a daughter?" questioned Frank. His uncle nodded. "Perhaps
it would have made a difference ... perhaps not."

* * * * *

Aleta had a week's vacation. They were playing a comedy in which she had
no part. So she had gone to Carmel to visit her friend Norah France.

Frank decided to look in on them. He had been oddly shaken by the talk
with his uncle. What tragedies men hid beneath the smooth exteriors of
successful careers? He had always thought his uncle's home a happy one.
Doubtless it was--happy enough. Love perhaps was not essential to