He escorted her into the dark old house with glowing eyes. He had seen so
little of the world that he was still very young at thirty and his nature
was sanguine, but he had never dared to dream of even difficult access to
this most exclusive home in San Francisco. Its gloom, its tastelessness,
relieved only by the splendid Italian pieces, but served to accentuate
its aristocratic aloofness from those superb but too recently furnished
mansions of which he knew so little outside of their ballrooms.

And he was breakfasting with the sequestered Mrs. Groome and the loveliest
girl he had ever seen, at seven o 'clock in the morning.

He looked about eagerly as they entered the dining-room.. It was long and
narrow with a bow window at the end. The furniture was black walnut; two
immense sideboards were built into the walls. It looked Ballinger, and it
was.

It was heavily paneled; the walls above were tinted a pale buff and set
with cracked oil paintings of men in the uniforms of several generations.
The ceiling was frescoed with fish and fowl. There had been a massive
bronze chandelier over the table. It now lay on the floor, but as James had
turned off the gas in the meter while the earthquake was still in progress
the air of the large sunny room was untainted, and the windows were open.

The breakfast was smoked but not uneatable and the strong coffee raised
even Mrs. Groome's wavering spirits. They were all talking gayly when James
entered abruptly. He was very pale.

"City's doomed, ma'am. Thirty fires broke out simultaneous, and the wind
blowing from the southeast. A chimney fell on the fire-chief's bed and he
can't live. People runnin' round like their heads was cut off and thousands