As Alexina followed her mother's eyes she flushed scarlet and turned away her head. A young man was coming up the avenue. He was a very gallant figure, moderately tall and very straight; he held his head high, his features were strong in outline. But the noticeable thing about him at this early hour of the morning and in the wake of a great disaster was his consummate grooming. "That--that--" stammered Alexina, "is Mr. Dwight. I met him last night at the Hofers'." The young man raised his hat and came forward quickly. "I hope you will forgive me," he said with a charming deference, "but I couldn't resist coming to see if you were all right. So many people are frightened of fire--in their own houses." "Mr. Dwight--my mother--" He lifted his hat again. Mrs. Groome in her chastened mood regarded him favorably, and for the moment without suspicion. At least he was a gentleman; but who could he be? "Dwight," she murmured. "I do not know the name. Were you born here?" "I was born in Utica, New York. My parents came here when I was quite young. We--always lived rather quietly." "But you go about now? To all these parties?" "Oh, yes. I like to dance after the day's work. But I am not what you would call a society man. I haven't the time." Mrs. Groome was not usually blunt, but she suddenly scented danger and she had not fully recovered her poise. "You are in business?" She disliked business intensely. All gentlemen of her day had followed one of the professions. "I am in a wholesale commission house. But I hope to be in business for myself one day." "Ah." Still, all young men in this terrible twentieth century could not be lawyers. Mrs. Groome knew enough of the march of time to be aware of the increasing difficulties in gaining a bare livelihood. Tom Abbott was a lawyer, like his father before him, and his grandfather in the fifties. It was one of the oldest firms in San Francisco, but she recalled his frequent and bitter allusions to the necessity of sitting up nights these days if a man wanted to keep out of the poorhouse. And at least this young man did not look like an idler or a wastrel. No man could have so clear a skin and be so well-groomed at six in the morning if he drank or gambled. Alexander Groome had done both and she knew the external seals. "Is Aileen Lawton a friend of yours?" she asked sharply. "I have met Miss Lawton at a number of dances but she has not done me the honor to ask me to call."