We could not decide which of the eight murals we liked best. Perhaps, after all, they could not be considered apart. Though each was in itself a unity, the eight completely expressed a big conception. And in detail each canvas was full of delightful bits. If you closed your hand and peered between your thumb and your fingers, you could see how beautifully the color had been applied and how, throughout the whole surface, the workmanship sustained itself. Never was there the sense of faltering or of petering out. And everywhere there were expressions of fine understanding and sympathy, in the study of a peasant mother holding her babe, nude boys flying kites, a happy face with the lips blowing a pipe, a muscular figure lifting a jar, all conveying abundant life and rich coloring. The painter finally ran away from us, apologizing for her enthusiasm. In discussing her opinions, the architect said: "Well, I don't altogether agree. But she may be right. She sees from the inside, which is very different from seeing from the outside. There is a great deal of artistic appreciation that can be felt only by the artist, by the fellow-craftsman. No wonder we go so far astray when we criticise aspects of art that we're only related to indirectly or not related at all." We walked to the Marina. From there we saw the sun, a great red ball, sinking behind the Golden Gate. XVII Watching the Lights Change "There probably never was an Exposition in a more magnificent setting," said the architect. "The stretch from here to the Golden Gate makes one of the most splendid bits of scenery in the whole world. It was a good idea on the part of the Exposition people to build the little railway here so that visitors should get a glimpse of all the beauty. But, ideally, the view ought to be seen from a height. The curve from here to the Cliff House makes our foreign visitors gasp. It also makes them wonder why our boasting over San Francisco doesn't include some of the things we have the best excuse to boast about." We stopped at one of the open-air restaurants, where we could eat and watch the fading light at the same time. Then we went to the lagoon, which the architect declared to be particularly interesting at this time of day. The rotunda and the colonnade began to take on a deeper mystery. Across the surface of the water ran a faint ripple. In the background, over the Golden Gate, the sky was turning to flame. Delicate, gray cobwebs seemed to float in the air like veils, dusk and fog intermingled. The light grew dim as we sauntered along the colonnade of the Palace. Through the columns we could see the Tower of Jewels, suddenly illuminated from inside, all in red, obscuring the sculptured figures and giving the lines greater unity and reach. In the red glow the Italian towers fairly leaped into the air. "It's curious how the light makes them taller," said the architect. Now the grounds were twinkling with a multitude of bulbs.