They might have met in the spacious aisles of the Cathedral, she risen from her prayers, he wandering about, Baedeker in hand, and fallen in love at sight.

One of Earth's million romances, regenerating the aged planet for a moment, only to sink back and disappear into her forgotten dust.
His own romance?
What was to be the end of that! But he returned to his argument.

He wanted a coherent story to tell his wife, and he wanted also to believe that his wife's father had been a gentleman.
Medford, like so many of his eloping kind, had made instinctively for California with the beautiful woman he loved but could not marry.

Santa Barbara, Ruyler had heard, had been the favorite haven for two generations of couples fleeing from irking bonds in the societies of England and the continent of Europe.

Southern California combined a wild independence with a languor that blunted too sensitive nerves, offered an equable climate with months on end of out of door life, boating, shooting, riding, driving, motoring, romantic excursions, and even sport if a distinguished looking couple played the game well and told a plausible story.
Breeding was a part of Ruyler's religion, as component in his code as honor, patriotism, loyalty, or the obligation of the strong to protect the weak.