Magdalena sat amidst iridescent billows of ballgowns, dinner-gowns, tea-gowns, negliges, demi-toilettes, calling-frocks, street-frocks, yachting-frocks, summer-frocks. She had never seen so many clothes outside of a dry-goods shop, and marvelled that any one woman should want so many. They were on the bed, the chairs, the tables, the divan. Two mammoth trunks were but half unpacked. Others, empty, made the hall impassable. "I love dress," said Helena, superfluously. "And women forgive your beauty and brains so much more willingly if you divert their attention by the one thing their soul can admire without bitterness." "You have not grown cynical, Helena?" asked Magdalena, anxiously. "A little. It's a phase of extreme youth which must run its course with the down on the peach. I fought against it because I want to be original, but you might as well fight against a desire to sing at the top of your voice when you are happy. But, you darling! I'm so glad to see you again." She flung herself on her knees beside Magdalena and demanded to be kissed. Magdalena, who could hardly realise that she was back, and whose loves were as fixed as the roots of the redwoods, gave her a great hug. "Tell me, 'Lena, am I improved? Am I beautiful? Am I a great beauty?" "You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen. Of course I have not seen the great beauties of Europe--" "They are not a patch to ours. When I was presented, there were eight professionals standing round, and I walked away from the lot of them. Am I more beautiful than Tiny, or Ila, or Caro, or Mrs. Washington?" "Oh, yes! yes!" "How? They are really very beautiful." "I know; but you are--you know I never could express myself." "I am Helena Belmont," replied that young woman, serenely. "Besides, I've got the will to be beautiful as well as the outside. Tiny hasn't. I have real audacity, and Ila only a make-believe. Caro shows her cards every time she rolls her eyes, and Mrs. Washington never had a particle of dash. I'm going to be the belle. I'm going to turn the head of every man in San Francisco." "I'm afraid you will, Helena." "Afraid? You know you want me to. It wouldn't be half such fun if you weren't approving and applauding." "I don't want you to hurt anybody." "Hurt?" Helena opened her dark-blue pellucid eyes. "The idea of bothering about a trifle like that. Men expect to get a scratch or two for the privilege of knowing us. It will be something for a man to remember for the rest of his life that I've 'hurt' him." "I am afraid you're a spoilt beauty already, Helena." "I've got the world at my feet. That's a lovely sensation. You can't think--it's a wonderful sensation." "I can imagine it." Magdalena spoke without bitterness. Helena realised all her old ambitions but one, but she was too happy for envy. "Describe Mr. Trennahan all over again." "I am such a bad hand at describing."