"What dreams he must have had for the upbuilding of that street he named for the one he loved," she said. "I imagine he little thought it was to become a business street, that he thought of it always as lined with quaintly beautiful Spanish homes, shaded and quiet, with couples strolling along it at twilight and rest and contentment everywhere." "That was his dream," he agreed. "The dream of a practical man--a surveyor and a soldier." "And after all," she said, "is it as you said once that it is only in books and plays that dreams come true?" Her chin resting in her hand, she gazed out the small chintz bordered window of the room, preoccupied. He noticed the daintiness of her profile, the placid sweetness of her face in repose. The silence was broken by a rap on the door that startled him. "Come in," she called. The door opened and on the threshold stood Gibson, the smile he had meant for her fading from his face. For a moment he paused, his hand still on the knob of the door, as if he hesitated to disturb them. Then, with the appearance of putting whatever thoughts he might have had from his mind, he strode in. "Well!" he exclaimed. "This is a surprise. How are you, Gallant? Haven't seen you since the night we had our little engagement with 'Red Mike,' who, I have just been told, will recover." "I'm so glad to hear that," said Consuello. "And so was I," Gibson said. "No, no, Gallant, stay where you are. I'll sit here." John had risen to offer Gibson the chair opposite Consuello. He sought a way of relieving the embarrassment he for one, felt when Gibson made his unexpected entrance. "Miss Carrillo has revealed herself to me as Jean Hope," he explained. "Until this afternoon I had no idea she played in pictures." Was it because she too, felt it necessary to make some explanation that she said: "You see, I realized that Mr. Gallant would eventually learn about it and I wanted to surprise him myself." "I'm proud of my Consuello," Gibson said, patting her hand and speaking to John. "She is famous--really, truly famous--far more, I'm afraid than you or I will ever be, Gallant. Still, she deserves it, and we don't--that is, I don't, at least. She is so famous that I find it difficult to keep myself from becoming jealous of her." "Jealous of my good luck?" she asked, smiling. "No, no; jealous of the admiration that is showered upon you and those who give it. You can understand why, can't you, Gallant?" While Gibson seemed absolutely frank and to have put the question only incidentally, John had a feeling that it was something more than a mere interrogation. He scanned Gibson's face for a trace of a betrayal of his purpose in putting the question to him. "Easily," he replied. "You are both more than kind to me," Consuello said. "Come, now that we three are together, let's talk of what you're doing, Reggie. It's far more interesting. I'll call for a fresh pot of tea." She pressed a button in the wall and a maid responded.