CHAPTER VII.
It was impossible for me to resist my impulses as we dashed through the sunshine. To be absolved from every responsibility as I breathed with joy the vigorous, sedative air—a mingled freshness of May and October—had intoxicated my nerves. Unconsciously I allowed sentiments to escape, which I usually restrained when in the society of the brilliant cynic by my side.
It seemed impossible that the most hardened wretch could be capable of criminality upon such a divine morning; and I enthusiastically aired my moral philosophy, much to the amusement of Mrs. Sanderson, who jestingly replied, as we turned from a long avenue into the principal business street of Pasadena—"As usual, my dear, you have caught entirely the local spirit of your environments. I am told that the millennium has already begun in Pasadena, and that even now there are more sanctified cranks to the acre than in any town in America."
As the lady spoke, a Salvation Army girl approached with the War Cry. The fresh young face peering from beneath the ugly bonnet had a demure fascination, and rebellious to the scornful expression of my companion, I dropped the requested nickel into the extended hand of the pretty fanatic. As the young woman retired to the sidewalk, Mrs. Sanderson laughed a derisive little laugh.
"I am sure you will be doing something wild if you stay in this country long," she said. "If it were not for Marjorie I should feel alarmed. The noticeable attentions of the sallow, sanctimonious priest at the hotel may yet prove dangerous. I shall feel it my duty to keep an eye upon you both."
"Pray do," I replied coldly, as we left the trap and entered a dry-goods store, gay with Christmas decorations, and crowded with shoppers.
Wending our way to the ribbon counter we found it thronged by pretty girls, chattering merrily as they selected various shades from a gay labyrinth of color, that announced a sale of remnants.