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THE musicians were tuning their instruments somewhere behind the palms
in the hotel courtyard. It was one of the older hotels of San Antonio,
much sought by Northern tourists on account of that same inner garden,
around which the big building stretched itself. The rooms opening on to
it had vine-covered balconies, and, looking down from them into the
tropical growth of pal... More

THE musicians were tuning their instruments somewhere behind the palms
in the hotel courtyard. It was one of the older hotels of San Antonio,
much sought by Northern tourists on account of that same inner garden,
around which the big building stretched itself. The rooms opening on to
it had vine-covered balconies, and, looking down from them into the
tropical growth of palms and banana trees and roses, one felt that it
was summer time, no matter what the calendar said.

It was on one of the second floor balconies at the close of a November
day that Mary Ware stood looking around her with eager eyes. Queen's
wreath and moon-vines made such a thick screen that no one could see
her, so she might lean over the railing as far as she pleased to watch
the brilliantly lighted scene below. Electric bulbs were strung through
the cacti and devil's ivy like elfin lamps. There was a shine of brass
buttons as colored bell boys scudded across the open space with clinking
ice-pitchers or jingling keys, and through the glass doors beyond came
the gleam of silver and flowers where the waiters were arranging the
tables for dinner.

There was to be a military banquet in one of the private dining-rooms,
and already the guests were beginning to arrive for the reception which
was to precede it. So much bunting was draped over the arch between the
office corridors and this inner court, that the view was somewhat
obscured, but, by leaning dangerously far over the railing, Mary could
catch a glimpse of the legs of a uniform now and then, strolling along
beside the trailing skirt of a dainty evening gown.

All this warmth and life and color was in sharp contrast to the dreary
solitudes of the snow covered mining camp which she had just left. It
had been winter for nearly a month up in the hills of Arizona, and Lone
Rock in the winter was such a barren waste socially that her present
surroundings seemed wildly exciting. In Lone Rock it was a matter of
comment whenever a human being passed the house, and even a stray mule,
stumbling along with a bell on its neck, was enough to call one to the
windows.

The orchestra behind the palms having finished its tuning, swung into a
gay two-step. At the sudden burst of music Mary drew a long breath and
stood up straight, her pulses a-tingle. Something delightful was
beginning to happen. Two girls, one in white and one in pale
lemon-yellow, attended by a young lieutenant and a still younger man in
civilian's evening dress, came out under the bunting-draped arch and
strolled along past the banana trees to the garden seat just below her.

From her hiding place behind the moon-vines, Mary watched them as only a
sociable little soul could watch, who for months had been hungering for
such companionship. She clutched the railing with both hands, hoping
fervently that they would stop.

They did pause for a few moments, just under the balcony, so near that
for the little while they stood there she could almost feel herself to
be one of the party. She could even smell the white violets that the
girl in white wore on her corsage, and was close enough to see that an
amber comb was slipping out of the soft auburn-bronze hair arranged so
becomingly on the graceful little head. Each laugh and gesture sent it
slipping lower and lower till involuntarily Mary's hand went out to stop

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