At the very hour that Gault was walking moodily across town from South Park, Letitia, the object of his thoughts, was rolling along the asphalted streets of the Western Addition in Mrs. Mortimer Gault's coupé. Her sister was with her, and both ladies were dressed with a rustling splendor which betokened festal doings. For they, too, were en route to the McCormick tea. This was, in fact, a large reception given by Mrs. McCormick to little Prince Dombroski, a gentleman who had come from Russia to wed a Californian heiress, and was receiving a helping hand from the McCormicks, who on this particular afternoon had gathered together all maiden and widowed San Franciscan wealth for his inspection. Letitia had dressed herself for the occasion with great care. When she had appeared at the front door and descended the stairs to the carriage, she had presented so dazzling a picture that even the coachman, a well-trained functionary imported from the East, could hardly forbear staring at her. She was regally clothed in a costume of bluish purple, with much yellow lace, fur, cream-colored satin, and glints of gold braiding about the front. There was a purple jewel at her throat, and a bunch of pale, crape-like orchids, that toned with the hue of her dress, was fastened on her breast. Clad thus in the proudest production of a great French modiste, Letitia was really too handsome to be quite in good taste. But she was used to sumptuous apparel, and carried it with the air of an actress who knows how to take the stage. Maud Gault was somewhat less punctual to-day than her sister. Letitia sat in the carriage waiting for her, and finally, by the brushing of silken skirts and an advancing perfume of wood-violet, was apprised of her sister's approach. The elder woman gave the address to the coachman and then sprang in. Hardly had the door closed when she looked at Letitia with a kindling eye, and said: "Oh, Tishy, I know the funniest thing!" Letitia knew that her sister had something of note to impart. Mrs. Gault's dark cheek was flushed a fine brick-red, her eye was alight. She was pulling on her gloves as she spoke. "Do you remember that night, only a few weeks ago, when you asked John about Colonel Reed's daughter?" "Yes." "And do you remember that he said he'd never seen her?" "No, he didn't say that," corrected Letitia; "he said he'd heard of her." "And what else?" asked the other, stopping in her glove-pulling to fix Letitia with a keen eye. "I don't think he said anything else. I don't remember anything." "But he certainly led us to believe that he didn't know her. Didn't he, now?" Letitia paled slightly. Her eyes, looking frankly troubled, were fastened on her sister. "Yes--I think so. Why?" "Well, my dear," said Mrs. Gault, bridling with the consciousness of her important announcement, "he knows her well. He goes there all the time. He's having a regular affair with her. Did you ever know anything to beat men?"