She was about to mention this to June, when the various young men, who had detached themselves from other groups at the appearance of the Misses Allen, bore down upon them, fluttering programs. A wall of black coats formed about the girls, and the Colonel, seeing the intricate rites of program comparing fairly inaugurated, backed away from them and leaned against the door frame, idly surveying the scene. A hand on his shoulder made him start and turn, and then break into the broad smile of fellowship he reserved for just a few people. “Rion, old son!” he exclaimed grasping the hand of his friend, “what brings you here, floundering round among all these trains and frills?” The other laughed. He had not been in San Francisco for nearly a year. He was a little leaner, harder and tougher than he had been on his last visit, when the Colonel had only seen him once or twice and he had refused an invitation to dine in Folsom Street. “I’m down to escort my niece. Dan couldn’t come, so I was offered up. Mercedes had a notion she had to have the males of her family grouped round her to-night and telegraphed up for one of us. Dan would rather shut down the Cresta Plata than disappoint her, so as he couldn’t come I had to.” “You’re being broken in early. At my age it’s about all a fellow’s good for. I take the girls wherever they go, and what’s more, I enjoy it. Have you seen them yet?” [Illustration: MERCEDES] He indicated the white-robed figures of June and Rosamund in front of him. Rion nodded. Before he had spoken to the Colonel he had stood just behind him watching June. Her back was toward him but as she turned he caught glimpses of her profile. He had not dared to speak to her. His stop with the Colonel was a half-way halt, a pause to gain courage, cheered by a hope that the older man might break the ice of their meeting. “How are they?” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, while his heart pounded with mingled hope and dread of June’s turning and seeing him. “Well, very well,” said the other briskly. “Rosamund’s a perfect picture of health and happiness. And June--well, perhaps she’s a little thin and not quite up to her usual spirits. But she looks very pretty to-night.” He waited to see what Rion would say to this. The Colonel had wondered of late if his friend had heard any gossip of June and Barclay. He knew the mining man led a simple life of engrossing work among men, far from the circles where the meaner spirits of the world seek to unveil the hidden wounds of their fellows. Rion’s answer struck upon his complacency with an impact of disturbing surprise. “Do you know if Barclay’s here yet? Have you seen him? Mercedes sent me to find out if he’d come. He said he’d be late, and she seems to think it’s about time for him to illuminate the place by his presence. But I can’t find him.”