brought me at the beginning of the week has turned beautifully
sour,--a 'lovely curd' as our cook at home used to say--, and with
that 'lovely curd' and plenty of fruit I'm living in luxury." Here
he felt in his pockets and took out a handful of coins. "That's
right, isn't it?"

She counted them over as he gave them to her--bit one with her
strong white teeth and nodded.

"You don't pay ME"--she said, emphatically--"It's the Plaza you
pay."

"How many times will you remind me of that!" he replied, with a
laugh--"Of course I know I don't pay YOU! Of course I know I pay the
Plaza!--that amazing hotel and 'sanatorium' with a tropical garden
and no comfort--"

"It is more comfortable than this"--she said, with a disparaging
glance at his log dwelling.

"How do YOU know?" and he laughed again--"What have YOU ever
experienced in the line of hotels? You are employed at the Plaza to
fetch and carry;--to wait on the wretched invalids who come to
California for a 'cure' of diseases incurable--"

"YOU are not an invalid!" she said with a slight accent of contempt.

"No! I only pretend to be!"

"Why do you pretend?"