window giving a view of them, conspicuously herded at a large central
table, to interested passersby. To the right of the window was a door,
giving on a narrow staircase which led up to the second floor and what
Solari called his "banquet room." Here on state occasions the Bohemians
entertained celebrities, secretly fretted by the absence of their
accustomed audience. They had decorated the walls with samples of their
art, and when Eastern visitors came to Solari's, they were always taken
up there, and expected to say that San Francisco reminded them of Paris.
Mayer liked the place and had dined there several times with Pancha,
always in the banquet room. There were newspaper men among the Bohemians
who would have found material in the simultaneous appearance of the
picturesque Mr. Mayer and the Albion's star.

He had ordered the dinner, had the fire lighted and the table spread when
she came. She had run up the stairs and was out of breath, bringing in a
whiff of the night's fresh dampness, and childishly glad to be there. She
made no attempt to hide it, laughing as she slid out of her coat and
tossed her hat on a chair. With her feet in their worn, high-heeled shoes
held out to the fire, her hands rosily transparent against the blaze, she
filled the room with a new magic and charm, sent waves of well-being
through it. They warmed and lifted Mayer from his worries, and he was
nearly as glad that he had asked her to come as she was to obey his
summons. In his relief that she was able to dissipate his gloom, he
forgot his caution and laughed with her, the laugh of the lover rejoicing
in the sight of his lady.

The dinner was good and they were merry over it. Under the shaded light
above the table he could see her color fluctuate and the quick droop of
her eyes as they met his, and these evidences of his power added to his
enjoyment. The inhibition he had put upon himself was for the time