ed her caballeros in the _sala_ of her girlhood; and Helena, who
had a charming voice, learned them all--to the undoing of her own
admirers later on. It was she who asked a thousand questions of that
Arcadian time, and Mrs. Polk responded with enthusiasm. Doubtless she
exaggerated the splendours, the brilliancy, the unleavened pleasure; but
it was a time far behind her, and she was happy again in the
rememoration. As for Magdalena, she seldom spoke. She listened with
fixed eyes and bated breath to those descriptions of the beautiful women
of her race, seeing for the time her soul's face as beautiful, gazing at
her reflected image aghast when she turned suddenly upon one of the long
mirrors. Her soul sang in accompaniment to her aunt's rich voice, and
her hands moved unconsciously as those listless Spanish fingers swept
the guitar. When Helena imperiously demanded to be taught, and quickly
became as proficient as her teacher, Magdalena kept her eyes on the
floor lest the others should see the dismay in them. Had it occurred to
Mrs. Polk to ask her niece if she would like to learn these old songs of
her race, Magdalena would have shaken her head shyly, realising even
sooner than she did that there was no medium for the music in her soul,
as there was none for the thoughts in her mind. Although her aunt loved
her, she did not scruple to tell her that she was not to be either a
beautiful or a brilliant woman; but although Magdalena made no reply,
she had a profound belief that the Virgin would in time grant her
passionate nightly prayers for a beautiful face and an agile tongue.
Beauty was her right; no woman of her father's house had ever been
plain, and she had convinced herself that if she were a good girl the
Virgin would acknowledge her rights by her eighteenth birthday. As her
intellect developed, she was haunted by an uneasy scepticism of
miracles, particularly after she learned to draw, but she still prayed;
it was a dream she could not relinquish. Nor was this all she prayed
for. She had all the Californian's indolence, which was ever at war with
the intellect she had inherited from her New England ancestors. Her most
delectable instinct was to lie in the sun or on the rug by the fire all
day and dream; and she was thoroughly convinced that the Virgin aided
her in the fight for mental energy, and was the prime factor in the long
periods of victory of mind over temperament.

And only her deathless ambition enabled he