TRANSPLANTED BY MRS. ATHERTON Historical The Conqueror A few of Hamilton’s Letters California: _An Intimate History_ War Book The Living Present Fiction _California_ Rezánov The Doomswoman The Splendid Idle Forties (_1800-46_) A Daughter of the Vine (_The Sixties_) Transplanted (_The Eighties_) The Californians (_Companion Volume to Transplanted_) A Whirl Asunder (_The Nineties_) Ancestors (_Present_) The Valiant Runaways; A Book for Boys (_1840_) _In Other Parts of the World_ The Avalanche The White Morning Mrs. Balfame Perch of the Devil (_Montana_) Tower of Ivory (_Munich and England_) Julia France and Her Times (_B. W. I. and England_) Rulers of Kings (_Austria, Hungary and the Adirondacks_) The Travelling Thirds (_Spain_) The Gorgeous Isle (_Nevis, B. W. I._) Senator North (_Washington_) Patience Sparhawk and Her Times (_California and New York_) The Aristocrats (_The Adirondacks_) The Bell in the Fog (_Short Stories of various Climes and Places_) TRANSPLANTED A NOVEL _By_ GERTRUDE ATHERTON _Author of “The Conqueror,” “Tower of Ivory,” etc._ [Illustration] NEW YORK: DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1919 COPYRIGHTED, 1898 BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY As “American Wives and English Husbands” New and revised edition Copyrighted, 1919 By Gertrude Atherton _TO THE LADIES OF RUE GIROT BOIS GUILLAUME_ TRANSPLANTED TRANSPLANTED [Illustration] PART ONE CHAPTER I Mrs. Hayne’s boarding-house stood on the corner of Market Street and one of those cross streets which seem to leap down from the heights of San Francisco and empty themselves into the great central thoroughfare that roars from the sandy desert at the base of Twin Peaks to the teeming wharves on the edge of the bay. On the right of Market Street, both on the hills and in the erratic branchings of the central plain, as far as the eye can reach, climbs and swarms modern prosperous San Francisco; of what lies beyond, the less said the better. On the left, at the far southeast, the halo of ancient glory still hovers about Rincon Hill,[A] growing dimmer with the years: few of the many who made the social laws of the Fifties cling to the old houses in the battered gardens; and their children marry and build on the gay hills across the plain. In the plain itself is a thick-set, low-browed, dust-coloured city; “South of Market Street” is a generic term for hundreds of streets in which dwell thousands of insignificant beings, some of whom promenade the democratic boundary line by gaslight, but rarely venture up the aristocratic slopes. By day or by night Market Street rarely has a moment of rest, of peace; it is a blaze of colour, a medley of sound, shrill, raucous, hollow, furious, a net-work of busy people and vehicles until midnight is over. Every phase of the city’s manifold life is suggested there, every aspect of its cosmopolitanism.