the city. The shop windows on Montgomery Street were attractive with
the wares of Paris, but Madeleine coveted nothing in San Francisco.

She thought of Boston, New York, Washington, Europe, and for a
moment nostalgia overwhelmed her. If Howard would only take her home
for a visit! Alas! he was as little likely to do that as to give her
the companionship she craved.

But she had no intention of taking refuge in tears. Nor would she
stay at home and mope. Her friends were out of town. She made up her
mind to go for a walk, although she hardly knew where to go. Between
mud and dust and hills, walking was not popular in San Francisco.
However, there might be some excitement in exploring.

She looped her brown cloth skirt over her balmoral petticoat, tied a
veil round her small hat and set forth. Although the dust was flying
she dared not lower her veil until she reached the environs, knowing
that if she did she would be followed; or if recognized, accused of
the unpardonable sin. The heavy veil in the San Francisco of that
day, save when driving in aggressively respectable company, was
almost an interchangeable term for assignation. It was as
inconvenient for the virtuous as indiscreet for the carnal.

Madeleine reached the streets of straggling homes and those long
impersonal rows depressing in their middle-class respectability, and
lowered the veil over her smarting eyes. She also squared her
shoulders and strode along with an independent swing that must
convince the most investigating mind she was walking for exercise only.

Almost unconsciously she directed her steps toward the Cliff House