l favour to
grant a guest who deigns to honour us with his presence."

He led her out, and when he was not gazing enraptured at the graceful
swaying and gliding of her body, he managed to make a few conventional
remarks.

"You did not like bull-fighting, senorita?"

"He watched me," she thought. "No, senor. I like nothing that is cruel."

"Those soft eyes could never be cruel. Ay, you are so beautiful,
senorita."

"I am but a little country girl, senor. You must have seen far more
beautiful women in the cities. Have you ever been in Monterey?"

"Yes, senorita, many times. I have seen all the beauties, even Dona
Modeste Castro. Once, too--that was before the Americans came--I saw the
Senorita Ysabel Herrera, a woman so beautiful that a man robbed a church
and murdered a priest for her sake. But she was not so beautiful as you,
senorita."

The blood throbbed in the girl's fair cheeks. "He must love me," she
told herself, "to think me more beautiful than Ysabel Herrera. Joaquin
says she was the handsomest woman that ever was seen."

"You compliment me, senor," she answered vaguely. "She had wonderful
green eyes. So has the Senora Castro. Mine are only brown, like so many
other girls'."

"They are the most beautiful eyes in California. They are like the
Madonna's. I do not care for green eyes." His black ones flashed their
language to hers, and Elena wondered if she had ever been unhappy. She
barely remembered where she was, forgot that she was a helpless bird in
a golden cage. Her mate had flown through the open door.

The contradanza ends with a waltz, and as Dario held her in his arms his
last remnant of prudence gave way.

"Elena, Elena," he murmured passionately, "I love thee. Dost thou not
know it? Dost thou not love me a little? Ay, Elena! I have not slept one
hour since I saw thee."

She raised her eyes to his face. The sadness still dwelt in their
depths, but above floated the soft flame of love and trust. She had no
coquetry in her straightforward and simple nature.

"Yes," she whispered, "I love thee."

"And thou art happy, querida mia? Thou art happy here in my arms?"

She let her cheek rest for a moment against his shoulder. "Yes, I am
very happy."

"And thou wilt marry me?"

The words brought her back to reality, and the light left her face.

"Ay," she said, "why did you say that? It cannot ever be."

"But it shall be! Why not? I will speak with Don Roberto in the
morning."

The hand