"I am simply dying to see you again. If you don't mind--I like you better than any one I ever met. You combine everything, and although you make me feel as fresh as paint and as Irish as Paddy Murphy's pig, still you always put me in a better humor with myself than ever. How do you do it? You suggest all sorts of things that I can't define at all. Comes of living alone and making a success of it, I suppose, getting ahead of mere femininity and all the pettinesses of life. That's flying rather high for me, so I'd better come down. Please _make_ Mr. Gwynne come to my party. I intend that party to be the greatest thing ever given in California--since the old Monte Cristo Ralston days, anyhow: and have all sorts of surprises that I won't tell even you. The ballroom is quite finished and is a perfect success. It is _too_ fine to think that you will make your formal debut in it. Everybody is coming. Mr. Gwynne simply must. I know of about a dozen girls who would have given him the _cotillon_ if he had asked them, and even now, when they are all engaged, I know of at least two who would not hesitate to throw their men over. We all like him tremendously, the men as well as the women. Mr. Hofer and I--do you know, we have just a dark suspicion--where _is_ Elton Gwynne, anyway? That would be too good to be true. He could own the town. We know an _individual_ when we see one, and wouldn't we appreciate the compliment! We'd like him all the better for having accepted him when he was plain John Gwynne, and we'd like ourselves better still. You know how we make up our own minds out here. Look at the famous actors and singers we've rejected, and the reputations we've made. Not like New York, that never expresses an opinion until a sort of consensus has sweated up to the surface. I hate New York. Can't you come down and pay me a visit of a week? I should love it. Call me up on the telephone." * * * * * Isabel pondered over this missive for a few moments and then reread parts of a long letter she had received the day before from Flora Thangue. * * * * *