“You will tell her that,” I exclaimed, angrily; “and she will end by loving you because you understand her; all women want to be understood.  Why don’t you go to Paris again?  You have not been there for a long time.”

Not deeming this suggestion worthy of answer, he left me and walked to Chonita, who was glancing over the top of her fan into the ardent eyes of a third caballero.

“You will step on a bunch of nettles in a moment,” he said, practically.  “Your slippers are very thin; you had better stand over here on the path.”  And he dexterously separated her from the other men.  “Will you walk to that opening over there with me?  I want to show you a better view of Monterey.”

His manner had not a touch of gallantry, and she was tired of the caballeros.

“Very well,” she said.  “I will look at the view.”

As she followed him she noted that he led her where the bushes were thinnest, and kicked the stones from her path.  She also remarked the nervous energy of his thin figure.  “It comes from his love of the Americans,” she thought, angrily.  “He must even walk like them.  The Americans!” And she brought her teeth together with a sharp click.

He turned, smiling.  “You look very disapproving,” he said.  “What have I done?”

“You look like an American!  You even wear their clothes, and they are the color of smoke; and you wear no lace.  How cold and uninteresting a scene would this be if all the men were dressed as you are!”

“We cannot all be made for decorative purposes.  And you are as unlike those girls, in all but your dress, as I am unlike the men.  I will not incur your wrath by saying that you are American:  but you are modern.  Our lovely compatriots were the same three hundred years ago.  Will Dona California be pleased to observe that whale spouting in the bay?  There is the tree beneath which Junipero Serra said his first mass in this part of the country.  What a sanctimonious old fraud he must have been, if he looked anything like his pictures!  Did you ever see bay bluer than that? or sand whiter? or a more perfect semicircle of hills than this? or a more straggling town?  There is the Custom-house on the rocks.  You will go to a ball there to-night, and hear the boom of the surf as you dance.”  He turned with one of his sudden impatient motions.  “Suppose we ride.  The air is too sharp to lie about under the trees.  This white horse mates your gown.  Let us go over to Carmelo.”

“I should like to go,” she said, doubtfully; he had made her throb with indignation once or twice, but his conversation interested her and her free spirit approved of a ride over the hills unattended by duena.  “But—­you know—­I do not like you.”