Part 10 (2/2)
The next morning she was downstairs by six o'clock, but found Trennahan before her. As he approached her,--he had been sauntering up and down the drive,--she wondered what he thought of her costume. As she was not allowed to leave the grounds, a habit had never been thought necessary for the heiress of the house of Yorba. She had worn for the past two years one of her mother's discarded black skirts and a cotton blouse.
But it is doubtful if an inspired mind-reader could have made anything of such thoughts as Trennahan wished to conceal.
”You look as fresh as the morning,” he said, with a gallantry which was mechanical, but true and delightful to a girl in her first experience of compliments.
”Did you sleep well?” she asked. ”I hope the mosquitoes did not keep you awake. They are very bad.”
”I believe they are, but I received a friendly warning from Mr. Polk and rubbed the leather which protects my skull with vinegar. I think it was superfluous, but at all events I slept undisturbed.”
Magdalena regarded his skin attentively, much to his amus.e.m.e.nt. ”It is thick,” she said, feeling that she could not honestly rea.s.sure him, but quite positive that he expected her to answer.
He laughed heartily. ”Oh!” he said. ”What a pity you must 'come out'! I am a convert to the Old-Californian system. But here are the horses.”
The improvised groom, a sulky and intensely self-conscious stable-boy, led up the horses, and Magdalena put her foot in Trennahan's hand.
”Oh!” he exclaimed, with a note of real admiration in his voice; and Magdalena nearly fell over the other side of her horse.
They cantered off sharply, the boy following a good thirty yards behind, feeling uncommonly sheepish when he was not thinking angrily of his neglected ch.o.r.es. It was not thought good form in Menlo Park to put on the trappings of Circ.u.mstance. Mrs. Was.h.i.+ngton drove a phaeton and took a boy in the rumble to open the gates; but the coachmen when driving the usual char-a-banc or wagonette performed this office while their mistresses steered the horses through the gates. No one ever thought of wearing a jewel or a decollete gown to a dinner or a dance. Mrs. Dillon, the Bonanza queen, having heard much of the simplicity of the wors.h.i.+pful Menlo Park folk, had paid her first calls in a blue silk wrapper, but, conceiving that she had done the wrong thing, sheltered her perplexities in black silk thereafter. Her daughter upon the same occasion had worn a voluminous frock of pale blue camel's hair trimmed with flounces of Valenciennes lace, that being the simplest frock in her wardrobe; but she privately thought even Mrs. Was.h.i.+ngton's apotheosised lawns and organdies very ”scrubby,” and could never bring herself to anything less expensive than summer silks, made at the greatest house in Paris.
”I am going to see the Mark Smith place this afternoon,” said Trennahan.
”Your mother has very kindly offered to drive me over. I suppose it has no woods on it. These are beautiful.”
”They are the only ones in the San Mateo Valley,” replied Magdalena, experiencing the full pride of possession. ”Are there such beautiful ones in Europe?”
”Those at Fontainbleau are not unlike. But in England you stand in the middle of a wood and admire the landscape on either side.”
”Helena wrote me something like that. She said that she always put on a veil when she went into an English wood for fear she would get freckled.”
”Who is Helena?”
”She is my great friend. She is Colonel Jack Belmont's daughter, and the most beautiful girl in California. At least I think she is, for of course I have not seen them all.”
”Are you always as conscientious as that? Why have I not seen this peerless creature?”
”She is in Europe. You will see her in December. Of course I do not know if she is a 'type,' but I don't see how anybody else could be like Helena. Mr. Rollins said last night that she was the concentrated essence of California.”
”Describe her to me.” He was delighted at the prospect of drawing her out on any subject.
Magdalena hesitated, wondering if she should have the courage to continue, did she begin a monologue. She recalled the sustained animation of the girls at her dinner, and moved as if to shake her head, then recollected her ambition to s.h.i.+ne in conversation. To no one had she ever found it so easy to express herself as to this man. Why not take advantage of that fact? And that represented but the half of her present ambition. If she could only interest him!
He watched her closely, divining some cause of her hesitation, but not all. Her complexion was even less desirable by day than by gas, but her hair was tumbled, her eyes were sparkling softly; and the deep green arbours of the wood were an enchanting aid to youth.
”She has curly s.h.i.+ning hair about the colour of mahogany, and big--long--dark blue eyes that look as if they were not afraid of anything, and make you afraid sometimes, and regular features, and a whiter skin than Tiny's, with a beautiful pink colour--” She stopped short, feeling that her attempt at description was as ineffective as the hours wasted upon her much modelled hero.
”That sounds very charming, but still--never mind her appearance. Tell me what you so much admire in her.”
”She talks so much, and she isn't afraid of anybody. She says she wouldn't lie because she wouldn't pay anyone that compliment. She loves to 'cheek' and shock people. She walks all round the outside of the house--upstairs--on a narrow ledge, and she runs to fires--at least she ran to one--and she won't study when she doesn't feel like it.
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