asleep under a haze of golden sunshine. The Carews' pretty house,
with its lawn and garden, was almost the last on River Street, and
stood on the slope of a hill that commanded all Santa Paloma Valley.
Below it, the wide tree-shaded street descended between other
unfenced lawns and other handsome homes.

This was the aristocratic part of the town. The Willard Whites'
immense colonial mansion was here; and the Whites, rich, handsome,
childless, clever, and nearing the forties, were quite the most
prominent people of Santa Paloma. The Wayne Adamses, charming,
extravagant young people, lived near; and the Parker Lloyds, who
were suspected of hiding rather serious money troubles under their
reckless hospitality and unfailing gaiety, were just across the
street. On River Street, too, lived dignified, aristocratic old Mrs.
Apostleman and nervous, timid Anne Pratt and her brother Walter,
whose gloomy, stately old mansion was one of the finest in town. Up
at the end of the street were the Carews, and the shabby comfortable
home of Dr. and Mrs. Brown, and the neglected white cottage where
Barry Valentine and his little son Billy and a studious young
Japanese servant led a rather shiftless existence. And although
there were other pretty streets in town, and other pleasant well-to-
do women who were members of church and club, River Street was
unquestionably THE street, and its residents unquestionably THE
people of Santa Paloma.

Beyond these homes lay the business part of the town, the railway
station, and post-office, the library, and the women's clubhouse,
with its red geraniums, red-tiled roof, and plaster arches.

And beyond again were blocks of business buildings, handsome and