their doctor. He would never speak to one of them again if they
insulted his wife. But a Bostonian, a possible nobody! And homely, of
course. Angular. Who had ever heard of a pretty woman raised on
beans, codfish, and pie for breakfast?

Finally Mrs. McLane had announced that she should not make up her
mind until the couple arrived and she sat in judgment upon the woman
personally. She would call the day after they docked in San
Francisco. If, by any chance, the woman were presentable, dressed
herself with some regard to the fashion (which was more than Mrs.
Abbott and Guadalupe Hathaway did), and had sufficient tact to avoid
the subject of the war, she would stand sponsor and invite her to the
first reception in the house on Rincon Hill.

"But if not," she said grimly--"well, not even for Howard Talbot's
sake will I receive a woman who is not a lady, or who has been
divorced. In this wild city we are a class apart, above. No loose
fish enters our quiet bay. Only by the most rigid code and
watchfulness have we formed and preserved a society similar to that
we were accustomed to in the old South. If we lowered our barriers we
should be submerged. If Howard Talbot has married a woman we do not
find ourselves able to associate with in this intimate little society
out here on the edge of the world, he will have to go."




II