gly skull of fact, but this young barbarian, as he chose
to regard her, excited the elemental truth in him, defying him to
appear at his worst. He was astonished to see her eyes suddenly soften
and her mouth tremble.

"It must have been a hateful experience--hateful!" Her voice,
beginning on its usual low soft note, rose to a hoarse pitch of
indignation. "I should have killed somebody! To be a man, and strong,
and caressed all one's life by fortune--and to be as helpless as an
Indian! Madre de dios!"

"I shall take my revenge," said Rezanov shortly; but the wound closed,
and once more he became aware of the poignant sweetness of Castilian
roses. Concha wore one in her soft dusky hair, and another where the
little round jacket of white linen, gaily embroidered with pink, met on
her bosom. But if sentiment tempted him he was quickly poised by her
next remarks. She uttered them in a low tone, although the animated
conversation of the rest of the party would have permitted the two on
the sofa to exchange the vows of love unheard.

"But what a practice for your diplomatic talents, Excellency! Poor
California! At least let me be the first to hear what you have come
for?" Her voice dropped to a soft cooing note, although her eyes
twinkled. "For the love of God, senor! I am so bored in this life on
the edge of the world! To see the seams and ravelings of a diplomatic
intrigue! I have read and heard of many, but never had I hoped to link
my finger in anything subtler than a quarrel between priest and
Governor, or the jealousy of Los Angeles for Monterey. I even will
help you--if you mean no harm to my father or my country. And I am not
a friend to scorn, senor, for my blessed father is as wax in my hands,
the dear old Governor adores me, and even Padre Abella, who thinks
himself a great diplomat, and is watching us out of the corner of his
eye, while I make him believe you pay me so many compliments my poor
little head turns round--Bueno senor!" As she raised her voice she
plucked the rose from her dress and tossed it to Rezanov. Then she
lifted her chin and pouted her childish lips at the ironical smile of
the priest.

Rezanov was close to betraying his surprise; but as he cherished a
belief that the souls of all pretty women went to school to the devil
before entering upon earthly enterprise, he wondered that he had been
open to the illusion of complete ingenuousness in a descendant of one
of the oldest a