It was a pretty triangular valley lying at the foot of three sloping
mountains, dark with pines, and fantastic with madrono and manzanita.
Nestling against the mountain-side, the straggling buildings and long
piazza of the hotel glittered through the leaves, and here and there
shone a white toy-like cottage. Mr. Oakhurst was not an admirer of
Nature; but he felt something of the same novel satisfaction in the
view, that he experienced in his first morning walk in Sacramento. And
now carriages began to pass him on the road filled with gayly-dressed
women; and the cold California outlines of the landscape began to take
upon themselves somewhat of a human warmth and color. And then the long
hotel piazza came in view, efflorescent with the full-toiletted fair.
Mr. Oakhurst, a good rider after the California fashion, did not check
his speed as he approached his destination, but charged the hotel at a
gallop, threw his horse on his haunches within a foot of the piazza, and
then quietly emerged from the cloud of dust that veiled his dismounting.

Whatever feverish excitement might have raged within, all his habitual
calm returned as he stepped upon the piazza. With the instinct of
long habit, he turned and faced the battery of eyes with the same cold
indifference with which he had for years encountered the half-hidden
sneers of men and the half-frightened admiration of women. Only one
person stepped forward to welcome him. Oddly enough, it was Dick
Hamilton, perhaps the only one present, who by birth, education, and
position, might have satisfied the most fastidious social critic.
Happily for Mr. Oakhurst's reputation, he was also a very rich banker
and social leader. "Do you know who that is you spoke to?" asked
young Parker with an alarmed expression. "Yes," replied Hamilton with
characteristic effrontery. "The man you lost a thousand dollars to last
week. I only know him SOCIALLY." "But isn't he a gambler?" queried the