"I think not. It doesn't agree with mamma. Perhaps we may go to the Pacific Slope."
"Where is that? Don't laugh. Do you mean California?"
"Why, of course. Don't the hills slope down to the Pacific?"
"And where do you stop there?"
"Possibly at Monterey; just the loveliest place in the whole world, I believe."
"I think we might come too. I didn't mean to go so far, but if—if you—would like—"
"Like? Why, of course I should! It would be just delightful! We would have a real good time, wandering by that lovely shore, watching the seals, and driving through the cypress forest. I shall expect to meet you there."
"Then I shall come."
That afternoon, the brother and sister parted at the Boston Railway Station, when Mordaunt saw his sister and her maid into a train which would deposit them in half an hour at Fellbridge, the small town of which the Rev. Joseph Barham was the rector.
But little had passed between Grace and Mordaunt. Clare Planter's name had not been mentioned. The two girls had parted with cordiality, when Clare had said, "I hope we may meet in California. Your brother says we shall."