But he followed."Don't talk in that way,Loo!Don't look in that way,dear!"he said,taking her hand gently,yet not without a sense of some inconsistency in her conduct that jarred upon his own ****** directness."You know that nothing can part us now.I was wrong to let my little girl worry herself all alone here,but I--I--thought it was all so--so bright and free out on this hill,--looking far away beyond the Golden Gate,--as far as Cathay,you know,and such a change from those dismal flats of Tasajara and that awful stretch of tules.But it's all right now.And now that I know how you feel,we'll go elsewhere."She did not reply.Perhaps she found it difficult to keep up her injured attitude in the face of her husband's gentleness.Perhaps her attention had been attracted by the unusual spectacle of a stranger,who had just mounted the hill and was now slowly passing along the line of cottages with a hesitating air of inquiry."He may be looking for this house,--for you,"she said in an entirely new tone of interest."Run out and see.It may be some one who wants"--"An article,"said Milton cheerfully."By Jove!he IS coming here."The stranger was indeed approaching the little cottage,and with apparently some confidence.He was a well-dressed,well-made man,whose age looked uncertain from the contrast between his heavy brown moustache and his hair,that,curling under the brim of his hat,was almost white in color.The young man started,and said,hurriedly:"I really believe it is Fletcher,--they say his hair turned white from the Panama fever."It was indeed Mr.Fletcher who entered and introduced himself,--a gentle reserved man,with something of that colorlessness of premature age in his speech which was observable in his hair.He had heard of Mr.Harcourt from a friend who had recommended him highly.As Mr.Harcourt had probably been told,he,the speaker,was about to embark some capital in a first-class newspaper in San Francisco,and should select the staff himself.He wanted to secure only first-rate talent,--but above all,youthfulness,directness,and originality.The "Clarion,"for that was to be its name,was to have nothing "old fogy"about it.No.It was distinctly to be the organ of Young California!This and much more from the grave lips of the elderly young man,whose speech seemed to be divided between the pretty,but equally faded,young wife,and the one personification of invincible youth present,--her husband.
"But I fear I have interrupted your household duties,"he said pleasantly."You were preparing dinner.Pray go on.And let me help you,--I'm not a bad cook,--and you can give me my reward by letting me share it with you,for the climb up here has sharpened my appetite.We can talk as we go on."It was in vain to protest;there was something paternal as well as practical in the camaraderie of this actual capitalist and possible Maecenas and patron as he quietly hung up his hat and overcoat,and helped to set the table with a practiced hand.Nor,as he suggested,did the conversation falter,and before they had taken their seats at the frugal board he had already engaged John Milton Harcourt as assistant editor of the "Clarion"at a salary that seemed princely to this son of a millionaire!The young wife meantime had taken active part in the discussion;whether it was vaguely understood that the possession of poetical and imaginative faculties precluded any capacity for business,or whether it was owing to the apparent superior maturity of Mrs.Harcourt and the stranger,it was certain that THEY arranged the practical details of the engagement,and that the youthful husband sat silent,merely offering his always hopeful and sanguine consent.
"You'll take a house nearer to town,I suppose?"continued Mr.
Fletcher to the lady,"though you've a charming view here.Isuppose it was quite a change from Tasajara and your father-in-law's house?I daresay he had as fine a place there--on his own homestead--as he has here?"Young Harcourt dropped his sensitive eyelids again.It seemed hard that he could never get away from these allusions to his father!
Perhaps it was only to that relationship that he was indebted for his visitor's kindness.In his ****** honesty he could not bear the thought of such a misapprehension."Perhaps,Mr.Fletcher,you do not know,"he said,"that my father is not on terms with me,and that we neither expect anything nor could we ever take anything from him.Could we,Loo?"He added the useless question partly because he saw that his wife's face betrayed little sympathy with him,and partly that Fletcher was looking at her curiously,as if for confirmation.But this was another of John Milton's trials as an imaginative reporter;nobody ever seemed to care for his practical opinions or facts!
"Mr.Fletcher is not interested in our little family differences,Milty,"she said,looking at Mr.Fletcher,however,instead of him.
"You're Daniel Harcourt's SON whatever happens."The cloud that had passed over the young man's face and eyes did not,however,escape Mr.Fletcher's attention,for he smiled,and added gayly,"And I hope my valued lieutenant in any case."Nevertheless John Milton was quite ready to avail himself of an inspiration to fetch some cigars for his guest from the bar of the Sea-View House on the slope of the hill beyond,and thereby avoid a fateful subject.Once in the fresh air again he promptly recovered his boyish spirits.The light flying scud had already effaced the first rising stars;the lower creeping sea-fog had already blotted out the western shore and sea;but below him to the east the glittering lights of the city seemed to start up with a new,mysterious,and dazzling brilliancy.It was the valley of diamonds that Sindbad saw lying almost at his feet!Perhaps somewhere there the light of his own fame and fortune was already beginning to twinkle!
