eard of the _Scholles_?"

Gwynne laughed aloud. "If he has not, I should champion the octopus
proclivities of California."

"They are the very best draughtsmen in the world--"

But Paula had no intention that the conversation should be general. It
had been agreed that they should visit Chinatown, and she took Gwynne's
arm and led him up the hill; she found his cool impersonal manner almost
fascinating after a lifetime in a nest of horned egos. They walked up
through the semi-darkness to Clay Street and down to Portsmouth Square,
passing through an entirely disreputable region, but quiet at this hour.
As they crossed the Old Plaza--now Portsmouth Square--Isabel explained
that it had been the nucleus of the San Francisco of the Fifties, and
that people had crowded nightly against the great plate-glass windows on
one of the corners to watch the gamblers and the hillocks of gold on
every table; and that no doubt their common ancestor, who was a
convivial adventurous soul, had brawled here many a night. Mrs. Paula,
who knew absolutely nothing of the history of either California or San
Francisco, hastened her steps, and in consequence excited the always
smouldering jealousy of her husband. Stone had an exaggerated idea of
her beauty and youth, and felt his own power waning, moreover had all
the average American's Oriental instinct for exclusive possession.
Consequently, as they entered the flaming bit of Hong-Kong on the
opposite side of the square, Gwynne, infinitely to his satisfaction,
found that there had been a deft exchange of partners.

He had been in China, and the sudden entrance into an illusion more
complete than even the stage could achieve almost took his breath away.
There were the same crowds of stolid faces and dark-blue blouses,
relieved here and there with the rich garments of the merchants and the
women; the hundreds of tiny high balconies; the gorgeous windows filled
with embroideries and porcelain, Satsuma and bronzes. He was glad to
stroll with Isabel through a scene so like a picture-book, and to
exclaim with her over the novel sensation of passing from the
quintessence of the Western world into a bit of ancient civilization.
She realized the psychology of every violent contrast as no companion he
had ever known, and when she told him of the adjacent Spanish Town,
Little Italy, Nigger Town, Sailor Town, where representatives of the
scum of every clime were no doubt qualifying for purgatory at the
mo