"I wish, in all seriousness, you'd tell me about it," she said. "I
am really interested. If I buy this place, it will mean that we come
here to stay for years perhaps, and I have some money I want to
invest here. I had thought of real estate, but it needn't
necessarily be that. It sounds to me as if you really ought to make
an effort to buy the paper, Barry, Have you thought of getting
anyone to go into it with you?"

The man laughed, perhaps a little embarrassed.

"Never here, really. I went to Walter Pratt about it once," he
admitted, "but he said he was all tied up. Some of the fellows down
in San Francisco might have come in--but Lord! I don't want to
settle here; I hate this place."

"But why do you hate it?" Her honest eyes met his in surprise and
reproof. "I can't understand it, perhaps because I've thought of
Santa Paloma as a sort of Mecca for so many years myself. My visit
here was the sweetest and simplest experience I ever had in my life.
You see I had a wretchedly artificial childhood; I used to read of
country homes and big families and good times in books, but I was an
only child, and even then my life was spoiled by senseless
formalities and conventions. I've remembered all these years the
simple gowns Mrs. Holly used to wear here, and the way she played
with us, and the village women coming in for tea and sewing; it was
all so sane and so sweet!"

"Our coming here was the merest chance. My father and I were on our
way home from Japan, you know, and he suddenly remembered that the
Hollys were near San Francisco, and we came up here for a night.