She tried in vain to point it out
to her companion. But the city eyes of the man could not find the tiny
speck in the vast landscape that lay within the range of their vision. The
artist looked at his watch. The train was the Golden State Limited that
had brought him from the far away East, a few months before.
Aaron King remembered how, from the platform of the observation car, he
had looked up at the mountains from which he now looked down. He
remembered too, the woman into whose eyes he had, for the first time,
looked that day. Turning his face to the west, he could distinguish under
the haze of the distance the dark squares of the orange groves of
Fairlands. Before three days had passed he would be in his studio home
again. And the woman of the observation car platform--From distant
Fairlands, the man turned his eyes to the winsome face of his girl comrade
on the mountain top.
"Please"--she said, meeting his serious gaze with a smile of frank
fellowship--"please, what have I done?"
Smiling, he answered gravely, "I don't exactly know--but you have done
something."
"You look so serious. I'm sure it must be pretty bad. Can't you think what
it is?"
He laughed.
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