"But go on."

"Until a few days ago I was never west of New York, never in my whole life, you understand. Been about New England a bit, and abroad a few times, but the West--"

"I know. It didn't interest you."

"I wouldn't say that," protested John Quincy with careful politeness. "But there was such a lot of it--exploring it seemed a hopeless undertaking. And then--the family thought I ought to go, you see--so I rode and rode on trains and was--you'll pardon me--a bit bored. Now--I come into this harbor, I look around me, and I get the oddest feeling. I feel that I've been here before."

The girl's face was sympathetic. "Other people have had that experience," she told him. "Choice souls, they are. You've been a long time coming, but you're home at last." She held out a slim brown hand. "Welcome to your city," she said.

John Quincy solemnly shook hands. "Oh, no," he corrected gently. "Boston's my city. I belong there, naturally. But this--this is familiar." He glanced northward at the low hills sheltering the Valley of the Moon, then back at San Francisco. "Yes, I seem to have known my way about here once. Astonishing, isn't it?"

"Perhaps--some of your ancestors--"

"That's true. My grandfather came out here when he was a young man. He went home again--but his brothers stayed. It's the son of one of them I'm going to visit in Honolulu."

"Oh--you're going on to Honolulu?"

"To-morrow morning. Have you ever been there?"

"Ye--es." Her dark eyes were serious. "See--there are the locks--that's where the East begins. The real East. And Telegraph Hill--" she pointed; no one in Boston ever points, but she was so lovely John Quincy overlooked it--"and Russian Hill and the Fairmont on Nob Hill."

"Life must be full of ups and downs," he ventured lightly. "Tell me about Honolulu. Sort of a wild place, I imagine?"

She laughed. "I'll let you discover for yourself how wild it is," she told him. "Practically all the leading families came originally from your beloved New England. 'Puritans with a touch of sun,' my father calls them. He's clever, my father," she added, in an odd childish tone that was wistful and at the same time challenging.

"I'm sure of it," said John Quincy heartily.