Part 14 (2/2)

”Very glad I am that I have the cold,” he answered gallantly; ”for it give me the company of three so beautiful ladies. I no can go for drive, for it blow, perhaps; but I no care, so long as you here with me sit.”

”Well, we are going to stay a _long_ time; and we are _so_ glad we are back in Menlo again,--so many of us together. We used to love so to come here; it seems _ages_ ago. And now that we have got 'Lena again, you must expect us to fairly overrun the house.”

”It is yours,” said Don Roberto, in the old vernacular. ”Burn it if you will.”

Tiny, who had never heard even an anecdote of the early Californians, gave a quick glance at the whiskey flask, but replied undauntedly,--

”How gallant you are, Don Roberto! The young men say such stupid things.

But you _always_ were so original!”

”Poor old dear, I feel like wiping it off,” whispered Rose to Ila.

But it was evident that Don Roberto's vision was powdered with the golden dust of flattery. He smiled approvingly into Tiny's pretty face.

”But I say true, and the young mens do not sometimes. It make me young again to see you here.”

”One would think you were _old_,” said Tiny. ”But do you _really_ like to see us here? Should you mind if we came sometimes in the evening? It would be such _fun_ to meet at each other's houses and talk on the verandahs.”

”Come all the evenings,” said Don Roberto, promptly, ”si you talk to me sometimes.”

”_I_ want to do that. Ila plays, and Rose sings _beau_tifully. Some evening we will get up charades--to amuse you.”

”On Sat.u.r.day, Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday nights I am here.”

”Those will be our evenings to come here.” She gave a peremptory glance to Rose, who responded hurriedly, ”Are you fond of music, Don Roberto?

It will give me great pleasure to sing for you; and Ila has been learning some of my accompaniments.”

Don Roberto did not answer for a moment. His memory had played him a trick: it had leaped back to the days of guitars and gratings. He rarely sought the society of gentlewomen, not, at least, of those whose names were on visiting lists. There was something unexpectedly sweet and fragrant in the company of these three beautiful girls. Don Roberto's memories were hanging in a dusty cupboard, and his heart had shrunken like the meat of a nut too long neglected; but there was life at the core, and the memories came forth, wanting only a breath to dust them.

Yes, he should like to have these girls about him. And Magdalena had lived the life of a hermit. It was time for her to enjoy her girlhood.

”Yes,” he said, ”alway I like the music. Si the piano need tune, I send one man down. You can dance, too, si you like it. Always I like see the young peoples dance.”

Tiny clapped her hands. Ila leaned forward and patted his hand.

”What an inspiration!” she exclaimed. ”This will be a simply gorgeous house to dance in. Don Roberto, you certainly are an angel!”

Don Roberto had never been called an angel before, but he smiled approvingly. ”Some night this week we have the dance,” he said. ”My wife write you to-night.”

”I am on the verge of nervous prostration,” whispered Rose, as his attention was claimed by Mrs. Cartright. ”The effort of keeping my countenance--but the way you handle a trowel, Tiny, is a new chapter in diplomacy. b.u.t.ter and mola.s.ses for fifty and after; a vaporiser and _peau d'espagne_ for the sharp young things. I was just saying,” she added hastily, as Don Roberto reclined suddenly and turned to her, ”that young men are a nuisance. I am thinking of writing a book of advice--”

”A book!” cried Don Roberto, his brows rus.h.i.+ng together. ”You no write the books?”

”Of course she would never publish,” interposed Tiny. ”She would just write it for our amus.e.m.e.nt. I think it would be so horrid to publish the _cleverest_ book,” she said, turning to Magdalena, unmistakable sincerity in her voice. ”It has always seemed to me so--so--_horrid_ for women to write things to print--for _anybody_ to read.”

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