The artist could find no words that would answer. In silence, the two men
turned away from the mountains, and started back along the avenue by which
they had come.

When they had walked some little distance, the young man said, "This is
your first visit to Fairlands, Mr. Lagrange?"

"I was here last year"--answered the other--"here and in the hills yonder.
Have _you_ been much in the mountains?"

"Not in California. This is my first trip to the West. I have seen
something of the mountains, though, at tourist resorts--abroad."

"Which means," commented the other, "that you have never seen them at
all."

Aaron King laughed. "I dare say you are right."

"And you--?" asked the novelist, abruptly, eyeing his companion. "What
brought you to this community that thinks so much more of its millionaires
than it does of its mountains? Have _you_ come to Fairlands to work?"

"I hope to," answered the artist. "There are--there are reasons why I do
not care to work, for the present, in the East. I confess it was because I
understood that Fairlands offered exceptional opportunities for a portrait
painter that I came here. To succeed in my work, you know, one must come
in touch with people of influence. It is sometimes easier to interest them
when they are away from their homes--in some place like this--where their
social duties and business cares are not so pressing."