The luxurious touring car sped away. In the tonneau Mrs. Hartley and madame chatted with no suspicion of Ned's unhappy state. The morning was glorious.

"Please come," the boy had begged; then added, "if you don't, 'the mater' will want to know the reason why."

"We must be the best of friends," Isabel whispered, as she took her place in front.

"Is ze country not de-vine?" cried the old French woman. "So like La Riviera! my southern France!"

Mrs. Hartley coughed. "The dust is a drawback," she complained.

"But it does not rise in ze nostril—drive upon ze face; there is no wind to make rough ze flesh," the other argued. "At San Francisco ze little stone rise from ze ground, hit ze eye! And in Chicago ze wind blow fierce, make sore ze throat." Mrs. Hartley tightened her veil. "Ze south California is good—dear Madame Hartley—good beyond every land but France." Madame Sabot laughed like a happy child. "Am I not blessed to stay in ze paradise? To live wis my angel children? Since ten years I have no home—only trouble. Tes grande!" she cried, "ze tree; I forget ze name."

"Eucalyptus," prompted Isabel, turning backward.

"U-ca-lip-tus," madame repeated. "Not trim like ze Lombardy poplar, but so tall! so tall!"

The giant stood by the wayside. The round, smooth trunk, expanding each year from beneath girders of loosening bark, lifted a weight of inaccessible white blossoms to the sky. Peeled to a shining mauve, the mighty stalk shot up to swaying, dull green branches. From lower irregular limbs long ribbons of sloughing fiber hung in the gentle breeze, until rain or a transient gust sent them rattling to the ground. When threatening moisture lay along the range the giant eucalyptus loved to plunge into inky clouds, to bend anon, a towering helmet of sable plumes. This every artist saw; and in her own excitable way the French woman felt the passion of the wayside monarch.

"Tres grande!" she cried, with parting wave of her hand.

"I see no beauty in a eucalyptus," said Mrs. Hartley. "If I had a place here I should not have one of them about—such untidy trees! It would drive me distracted to see loose strings swinging overhead. Then when the fiber drops it is even more annoying. Falling leaves are bad enough, but falling bark! I could never endure that. At Lakeside—our country place—Mr. Hartley and Ned rave over dried maple leaves; but I assure you I have them raked up each morning. I really could not endure the autumn if I permitted myself to be buried under dead leaves. I should be too blue. With rheumatic gout I am miserable enough."

"But ze California will make ze cure. Not one bad head since I find ze happy land," old madame declared.

The chatter at the back of the car made rare entertainment for Isabel, who listened by reason of Ned Hartley's unsociable mood. The boy was deep in sulks. He ran the machine so carelessly that his mother began to complain.

"Don't be cross; please be nice," Mrs. Doan begged, softly.

They were skirting the foothills, headed for an upland ranch.

"Won't you prepare me a little for what I am to see—tell me about the horses?" she coaxed.

"There isn't much to tell," Ned answered, out of gloom. "I just happened to notice the span in town; then I traced their owner through a livery stable groom. You may not like them," he added, with trying unconcern.

"I am sure that I shall love them. And it was good of you to go to so much trouble." The boy's rudeness should be ignored. "Did you know that I have always been wild about horses?" He made no response and she went on. "Ever since I was a small girl I have loved to gallop over the country. Now I am going to indulge myself; have not only a carriage span, but two saddle horses—the very best ones we can find."

"I presume Reginald is about to mount?" Ned was madly jealous. The question brought a flush to Isabel's cheeks.

"I expect him to ride," she answered, "but of course on a pony."

The automobile landed in a rut, then bounded upward and onward. "Why, Ned!" cried Mrs. Hartley. "What is the matter? If you can't run the machine more evenly you had better bring Adolph when next we come out." The rebuke was smothered in a rhapsody by madame. "Behold!" she cried, "behold ze landscape!" But the too evident attempt to allay the mother's criticism fell flat. The lady continued to suffer with every jar. Neither the dazzling contour of the lifting range, nor a wonderful valley, sweeping from foothills to the distant, glistening sea, could distract her mind from personal complaints.

It was a relief when a sudden detour landed the machine on a cross way, leading through interlacing pepper trees, to a small but attractive bungalow. A pretty, neatly dressed young woman sat on the porch sewing. She rose as the car stopped.

"Good morning," she said, "my husband is with the horses." She pointed to whitewashed paddocks at the left some distance beyond the peppers. "Please keep going, the road leads straight; my husband will hear the machine."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Doan. "You are fortunate to have such a location for your home. You must enjoy living here?"

"Oh, we do. Of course not every one cares for a foothill ranch, but we are never lonely." She had a flowerlike face and her simple refinement was charming. "I hope you will like the horses," she went on. "Now that we have decided to let two of them go, the quicker the better." She laughed musically, then explained. "My husband has often refused to part with his famous four, since they won the chariot race, two years ago. You have heard about New Year's Day in Pasadena? All strangers look forward to the flower parade, followed by genuine Roman chariot races. And the running of thoroughbreds, four abreast, is fine!" Her blue eyes kindled.

"I should think your husband would try again," said Ned.

"Oh, he will, but with a different four. He does not wish to repeat his victory with the same horses, for last year there was trouble."

"Possibly he might part with the noted quartette? If two of them answered for the saddle—are not too wild," Mrs. Doan added.

"Oh, no," the young wife answered. "Hawley would never consider selling Delia or her running mate. We could not let those two go." She flushed with her ingenuous confidence. "Delia is named for me. A little romance in which she took leading part must always insure her pasture on our ranch."

"Come with us in the machine," said Mrs. Hartley. "Do be good enough to show us 'Delia,'" said Mrs. Doan. "We are now doubly interested in your husband's horses."

Isabel smiled in her rare way. The woman of the foothills had once been a school teacher and felt the irresistible charm of the beautiful stranger's manner. To peer at life below the mesa was an opportunity, and the rancher's young wife threw aside a fresh gingham apron and entered the car. She sat in the center, half turned in a revolving chair, where her eyes covertly caught the elegant but simple effect of Mrs. Doan's morning toilet. She had never seen any one so neatly put up against ravages of wind and dust. Isabel's earlier freshness remained; and the large purple hat securely veiled for touring seemed duly created to protect her golden hair. The older ladies were kind and the little woman of the foothills enjoyed the short spin through the avenue of peppers to paddocks beyond.

"You never lock your door?" Mrs. Hartley questioned.

"No, indeed. No one would think of stealing up here! Every one is honest where every one sleeps, eats, and lives out of doors."

"Of course," said Isabel. "How wonderful this upland country is; I envy you a home beneath the mountains. How close they are!" She swept the range in contemplative joy; then her eyes dropped to paddocks, outlined by whitewashed fences, but naturally adorned within with huge live oaks. The spreading trees made shelter for all seasons. "Happy horses!" she exclaimed. "I am not surprised they won the chariot races."

The rancher's wife looked pleased. "My husband is very proud of his stock," she answered; "and here he is."

Cole met them, tall and sun browned.

Without further pleasantry the party plunged into business. The little woman who had brought the strangers thither realized an impending sacrifice. To part from any one of a noted "four" was hardly to be borne. Then she remembered that Hawley needed money; that lithe, slender "Delia" and her running mate were not to be sold. When a purchase price became definite she smiled, although she felt like crying. The trade assumed reality; and Ned Hartley, emerging from sulks, became interested. But his good nature did not last, for soon he understood that Isabel Doan was about to buy thoroughbred horses for the enjoyment of another man. The boy was mad with jealousy. He was sorry that he had urged the trip to the foothills. Then all at once he felt superior, very like a martyr, in view of all that he suffered and proposed to suffer for years to come. Meantime Cole put his horses through telling paces. No points of the beautiful pair were overlooked. Mrs. Doan acknowledged her wish to close the bargain, but the rancher evinced no haste. Finally it was agreed that the span should go to town for a week. A friend of Cole's would take care of them, while Mrs. Doan might drive each day, with the privilege of returning them. In case the trade went through, a permanent coachman and a groom would be duly recommended. Isabel's appointments from her own stable had recently arrived and now she could hardly wait to try the thoroughbreds in different styles of vehicles.

"I shall accept your kind offer," she declared, smiling. "And you will remember the saddle horses? I wish for two beauties, as soon as possible." She was radiant, thinking first of Philip, of all that she was making ready for his new life—a life which must be perfect. "Automobiles shall never make me give up the joy of owning horses!" she declared.

Ned Hartley bit his lip and turned away. Down in the valley he saw emerald growth flashing in sunshine. Spreading acres of orange orchard, trees always dressed in green swept onward from cleansed mountains and reviving foothills, to a distant line of blue—the ocean. The landscape was glorious, but the boy felt bitter and would not regard it. He joined the rancher's wife with pretext of renewed interest in her favorite. Mrs. Cole was feeding "Delia" sugar as Hartley approached. "We call her our baby," she explained. "I never dare meet her without offering sugar; I always carry a few lumps with me." To-day the high-spirited animal stood eating from the hand of her mistress, so gentle that Ned could hardly reconcile her present range with that of the track.

"Will she run in the chariot races the first of January?" he asked, not caring, yet wishing to appear at ease.

Mrs. Cole shook her dark head. "I think not," she answered. "My husband hardly expects to drive this year. Next season, with two young horses trained for running with Delia and her mate, he will try again. Last New Year's there was a great deal of trouble about prize money, in spite of the evident dishonorable driving of a certain man who fouled my husband's chariot. Oh, but it was exciting!"

Ned begged for the story. The rancher's wife went on.

"Hawley had virtually won the race; had taken the pole from his opponent on the first dash, just beyond the judge's stand; he was holding his advantage without difficulty, when beyond the second turn his right wheel was deliberately knocked off. Of course the big race of the day was ruined. The management of the tournament has done everything to induce Hawley to run his four this season, but he has refused." Her cheeks flushed with the thought of her husband's humiliation.

"Will the man who fouled the chariot be permitted to drive again?" Hartley asked, with interest in foothill scandal.

Mrs. Cole looked proudly away to the sun-browned man approaching. "Please do not speak of last year's race," she pleaded. "I dare not let Hawley know how I distrust the neighbor who fouled his chariot. But of course nothing was proved. It was but the word of one man against another, for the trouble took place too far from the judges' stand to be exactly defined. With some it passed as an accident. Then you know it was all so quick—the thundering by of the chariots—the crash!" She clasped her hands as Cole came nearer, then smiled at Mrs. Doan, who seemed a vision of happiness.

Terms had been agreed upon and the horses were to be taken to town at once. But Mrs. Hartley had grown impatient. Not wishing to make the lady late for luncheon, Isabel brought her own affair to an abrupt close. "I am sure to keep them! I love the beautiful creatures already," she declared, as the machine shot away.

The little woman of the foothills did not return in the car.

"If the horses must go I am glad that she is to own them!" she cried, when her husband named the price. "Do you suppose she will marry the young man?"

Cole shook his head doubtfully. "Can't say for sure; but if sulks are any indication, should say the boy was down on his luck. I think there must be another one; and by George! he ought to be president, or at least a senator, to splice with such a woman."

"I'm not a bit jealous," his wife answered. "I think just as you do. I think she's the most gracious being I ever met."

"She's a prize package, all right," Cole said. "And she has a mind of her own. The way she settled on the horses in less than twenty minutes shows that she's used to money. Most women would have taken three weeks to decide, coming back to haggle at least a dozen times." He cast his arm around his wife's trim waist, urging her gently down the road. "I'm as hungry as a wolf," he confessed. "Let's get something to eat; then we'll drive the span to Pasadena and price pianos. We'll have a corker! One that plays itself."

She cried out joyously. After all, she might have something, too, like the favored woman who could look, then choose at will. Isabel spinning away from the foothills was still happy with thoughts of the morning's transaction. Very soon her stable would be ready for use. The span, saddle horses, a pony for Reginald were all in her mind. And she must have a touring car and an electric runabout besides. The house was already equipped with servants, including a first-class celestial cook, who achieved culinary mysteries with smiles and good nature. Madame had arrived to stay, and when the English nurse displaced Maggie life might move along with the spirit of Arcady. Then he would come! Philip, her once forbidden lover.