Ida's
face was ablaze, her eyes flashing, her blond hair disordered and
falling about her cheeks.
Vandover put his arm about her neck and drew her toward him, and as she
sank down upon him, smiling and complaisant, her hair tumbling upon her
shoulders and her head and throat bent back, he leaned his cheek against
hers, speaking in a low voice.
"No--no," she murmured, smiling; "never--ah, if I hadn't come--no,
Van--please--" And then with a long breath she abandoned herself.
About midnight he left her at the door of her house on Golden Gate
Avenue. On their way home Ida had grown more serious than he had ever
known her to be. Now she began to cry softly to herself. "Oh, Van," she
said, putting her head down upon his shoulder, "oh, I am so _sorry_. You
don't think any less of me, do you? Oh, Van, you must be true to me
now!"
Chapter Six
Everybody in San Francisco knew of the Ravises and always made it a
point to speak of them as one of the best families of the city. They
were not new and they were not particularly rich. They had lived in the
same house on California Street for nearly twenty years and had always
been comfortably well off.
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