ity with the enforced reserve of the
_dulcineas_ who, custom decrees, may not be courted save in the presence
of _duennas_. But the next instant he recalled that there were, in
Sacramento, young women whose directness it would never do to mistake
for boldness; and,--to his credit be it said,--he was quick to perceive
that, however indifferent the Girl seemed to the customary formality of
introduction, there was no suggestion of indelicacy about her. All that
her frank and easy manner suggested was that she was a child of nature,
spontaneous and untrammelled by the dictates of society, and normally
and healthily at home in the company of the opposite sex.

"And she is even more beautiful than I supposed," was the thought that
went through his mind.

And yet, the Girl was not beautiful, at least if judged by Spanish or
Californian standards. Unlike most of their women, she was fair, and her
type purely American. Her eyes of blue were lightly but clearly browed
and abundantly fringed; her hair of burnished gold was luxuriant and
wavy, and framed a face of singularly frank and happy expression, even
though the features lacked regularity. But it was a face, so he told
himself, that any man would trust,--a face that would make a man the
better for looking at it,--a face which reflected a soul that no
environment could make other than pure and spotless. And so there was,
perhaps, a shade more of respect and a little less assurance in his
manner when he asked:

"And you like Monterey?"

"I love it! Ain't it romantic--an', my, what a fine time the girls there
must have!"

The man laughed; the Girl's enthusiasm amused him.

"Have you had a fine trip so far?" he asked, for want of something
better to say.

"Mercy, yes! This 'ere stage is a pokey ol' thing, but we've made not
bad time, considerin'."

"I thought you were never going to get here!"

The Girl shot a coquettish glance at him.

"How did you know I was comin' on this 'ere stage?"

"I did not know,"--the stranger broke off and thought a moment. He may
have been asking himself whether it were best for him to be as frank
as she had been and admit his admiration for her; at last, encouraged
perhaps by a look in the Girl's blue eyes, he ventured: "But I've been
riding along this road every day since I saw you. I felt that I must see
you again."

"You must like me powerful well . . .?" This remark, far from being a
question, was accompanied with all the physiogn