giving eyes, "though, as you see, I 've got a temper."
He gave her hand a little pressure and relinquished it, taking up his hat.
"Accept a hundred apologies from me for my rudeness. Good-by."
"You were disagreeable," she admitted, as they went together into the hall. "You seemed as if you did n't believe half I said to you, and actually as if our good luck made you angry."
Gault had opened the door, and his face was turned from her.
"Oh, don't think that," he answered, as he stepped out on to the porch; "whatever gives you happiness adds to mine. Adios, señorita."
The door closed after him, and Viola stood alone in the hall, smiling to herself. She made as if to watch him through one of the narrow panes of glass which formed small windows on either side of the portal, then suddenly drew back and shook her head.
"That would be bad luck," she said, "and I 'm too happy to risk bad luck."
It was a few days later than this that an opera
company of some fame in southern France was
encouraged by a successful Mexican season to
run up to San Francisco. Californians are notoriously
fond of music, and the small opera
