Her lips pressed each other, but pride put down the bitter retort.

“Walk by me, if you wish,” she said graciously.  “Why are you not at the house of Don Thomas Larkin?”

“I am on my way there now.  Circumstances prevented my going earlier.”  His companion did not seem disposed to pilot the conversation, and he continued lamely, “Have you noticed, madam, that the English frigate Collingwood is anchored in the bay?”

“I saw it in the morning.”  She turned to him with sudden hope.  “Have they—­the English—­come to help California?”

“I am afraid, dear madam, that they came to capture California at the first whisper of war between Mexico and the United States; you know that England has always cast a covetous eye upon your fair land.  It is said that the English admiral stormed about the deck in a mighty rage to-day when he saw the American flag flying on the fort.”

“All are alike!” she exclaimed bitterly, then controlled herself.  “You—­do you admeer our country, senor?  Have you in America something more beautiful than Monterey?”

The officer looked about him enthusiastically, glad of a change of topic, for he suspected to whom he was talking.  “Madam, I have never seen anything more perfect than this beautiful town of Monterey.  What a situation!  What exquisite proportions!  That wide curve of snow-white sand about the dark blue bay is as exact a crescent as if cut with a knife.  And that semicircle of hills behind the town, with its pine and brush forest tapering down to the crescent’s points!  Nor could anything be more picturesque than this scattered little town with its bright red tiles above the white walls of the houses and the gray walls of the yards; its quaint church surrounded by the ruins of the old presidio; its beautiful, strangely dressed women and men who make this corner of the earth resemble the pages of some romantic old picture-book—­”

“Ay!” she interrupted him.  “Much better you feel proud that you conquer us; for surely, senor, California shall shine like a diamond in the very centre of America’s crown.”  Then she held out her hand impulsively.

“Mucho gracias, senor—­pardon—­thank you very much.  If you love my country, senor, you must be my friend and the friend of my daughter.  I am the Senora Dona Eustaquia Carillo de Ortega, and my house is there on the hill—­you can see the light, no?  Always we shall be glad to see you.”

He doffed his cap again and bent over her hand.

“And I, John Brotherton, a humble captain in the United States navy, do sincerely thank the most famous woman of Monterey for her gracious hospitality.  And if I abuse it, lay it to the enthusiasm of the American who is not the conqueror but the conquered.”

“That was very pretty—­speech.  When you abuse me I put you out the door.  This is the house of Don Thomas Larkin, where is the ball.  You come in, no?  You like I take your arm?  Very well”