The other regular caller was Ben Sansome. His attitude was in some sense detached. He was quietly, deeply sympathetic in his manner, never obtrusive, never even hinting in words at his knowledge of the state of affairs, but managing in some subtle manner to convey the impression that he alone fully understood. Nan found that, without her realization, almost in spite of herself, Sansome had managed to isolate her with himself on a little island of mutual understanding, apart from all the rest of the world. Her life was now becoming circumscribed. Household, books, some small individual charities, and long afternoon walks filled her days. At first Sansome had accompanied her on these tramps, but the unfailing, almost uncanny insight of the man told him that at such times her spirit really craved solitude, so he soon tactfully ceased all attempts to join her. Her usual walk was over the cliffs toward the bay, where, from some of the elevations near Russian Hill, she could look out to the Golden Gate, or across to Tamalpais or the Contra Costa shores. The crawl of the distant blue water, the flash of wing or sail, the taste of salt rime, the cañon shadows of the hills, the flying murk, or the last majestic and magnificent blotting out of the world as the legions of sea fog overtoiled it, all answered or soothed moods in her spirit. Sometimes she forgot herself and overstayed the daylight. At such times she scuttled home half fearfully for the great city, like a jungle beast, was most dangerous at night. One evening, returning thus in haste, she was lured aside by the clang of bells and the glare of a fire. No child ever resisted that combination, and Nan was still a good deal of a child. Almost before she knew, it she was wedged fast in a crowd. The pressure was suffocating; and, to her alarm, she found herself surrounded by a rough-looking set of men. They were probably harmless workingmen, but Nan did not know that. She became frightened, and tried to escape, but her strength was not equal to it. Near the verge of panic, she was fairly on the point of struggling, when she felt an arm thrown around her shoulder. She looked up with a cry, to meet Ben Sansome's brown eyes. "Don't be afraid; I'm here," he said soothingly. In the revulsion Nan fairly thrilled under the touch of his manly, protection. This impulse was followed instantly, by an instinct of withdrawal from the embrace about her shoulder, which was in turn succeeded by a fierce scorn of being prudish in such circumstances. Sansome masterfully worked her out through the press. At the last tactful moment he withdrew his arm. She thanked him, still a little frightened. "It was certainly lucky you happened to be here!" she ended. "Lucky!" he laughed briefly. "I knew that sooner or later you'd need me."