"Well, it's mine, too. But if you want me to stay home--"

"Oh, no! You are fond of society? Really, I mean? Why shouldn't you
be?--a young thing--"

"What else is there? Of course, I should enjoy it much more if you were
always with me. Shall we never have that year in Europe together?"

"God knows. Something is wrong with the world. It needs
reorganizing--from the top down. It is inhuman, the way even rich men
have to work--to remain rich! But sit down."

He led her over to a chair before the window. The storm was decreasing in
violence, the heavy curtain of rain was no longer tossed, but falling in
straight intermittent lines, and the islands were coming to life. Even
the high and heavy crest of Mount Tamalpais was dimly visible.

"It is the last of the storms, I fancy. Spring is overdue," said Price,
who, however, was covertly watching his wife's face. Her color had faded
a little, her lids drooped over eyes that stared out at the still
turbulent waters.

"I love these San Francisco storms," she said abruptly. "I am so glad we
have these few wild months. But Mrs. Thornton has worried and so have we.
Her fête at San Mateo comes off on the fourteenth, the first
entertainment she has given since her return, and it would be ghastly if
it rained. It should be a wonderful sight--those grounds--everybody in
fancy dress with little black velvet masks. Don't you think you can go?"