"And what I'm trying to make clear — although of course there's no reason why I should have dragged you into it—"
"None whatever," she smiled. "But go on."
"Until a few days ago I was never west of New York, never in my whole life, you understand. Been about New England a bit, and abroad a few times, but the West — "
"I know. It didn't interest you."
"I wouldn't say that," protested John Quincy with careful politeness. "But there was such a lot of it — exploring it seemed a hopeless undertaking. And then — the family thought I ought to go, you see — so I rode and rode on trains and was— you'll pardon me — a bit bored. Now — I come into this harbor, I look around me, and I get the oddest feeling. I feel that I've been here before."
The girl's face was sympathetic. "Other people have had that experience," she told him. "Choice souls, they are. You've been a long time coming, but you're home at last." She held out a slim brown hand. "Welcome to your city," she said.
John Quincy solemnly shook hands. "Oh, no," he corrected gently. "Boston's my city. I belong there, naturally. But this — this is familiar." He glanced northward at the low hills sheltering the Valley of the Moon, then back at San Francisco. "Yes, I seem to have known my way about here once. Astonishing, isn't it?"
"Perhaps — some of your ancestors —"
"That's true. My grandfather came out here when he was a young man. He went home again — but his brothers stayed. It's the son of one of them I'm going to visit in Honolulu."
"Oh — you're going on to Honolulu ?"
"To-morrow morning. Have you ever been there?"
