At one of those artistic
manifestations Mrs. Ashwood laid her slim gloved fingers lightly but
unwittingly on John Milton's arm, and withdrew them, however, with a
quick girlish apology and a foolish color which annoyed her more than
the appearance of familiarity. But they were now getting well down into
the valley; the court of the little hotel was already opening before
them; their unconventional relations in the idyllic world above had
changed; the new one required some delicacy of handling, and she had an
idea that even the simplicity of the young stranger might be confusing.
"I must ask you to continue to act as my escort," she said, laughingly.
"I am Mrs. Ashwood of Philadelphia, visiting San Francisco with my
sister and brother, who are, I am afraid, even now hopelessly waiting
luncheon for me at San Mateo. But as there seems to be no prospect of my
joining them in time, I hope you will be able to give me the pleasure
of your company, with whatever they may give us here in the way of
refreshment."
"I shall be very happy," returned John Milton with unmistakable candor;
"but perhaps some of your friends will be arriving in quest of you, if
they are not already here."
"Then they will join us or wait," said Mrs. Ashwood incisively, with
her first exhibition of the imperiousness of a rich and pretty woman.
Perhaps she was a little annoyed that her elaborate introduction of
herself had produced no reciprocal disclosure by her companion.
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