"It can't be done," said Rose. "The climate has poppy dust in it instead
of oxygen, but she may wake us up for a while."

She did. The bath-houses were built, and the big char-a-bancs rolled
down the dusty road to Ravenswood every morning. The salt water and the
sun brought out the red in the girls' hair, so the pastime promised to
weather one season, at least. She gave dances and picnics on alternate
weeks, and her hospitality in the matter of luncheons and dinners was
unbounded. The Colonel built a bowling-alley and a proper tennis-court;
in short, there was no doubt about "The Belmonts'" being the nucleus of
Menlo Park. Several times Helena persuaded the owner of the stage line
between Redwood City and La Honda to let her drive; and she took a
select few of her friends on the top of the lumbering coach, relegating
the uneasy passengers to the stuffy interior. The road is one of the
most picturesque in California, but the grades are steep, the turnings
abrupt, dangerous in many places. Nevertheless, Helena, balancing on her
narrow perch high above the wheelers' heels, managed her rapid mustangs
so admirably that Trennahan, balancing beside her, wondered if he should
be able to manage her one half so well.

"What Helena Belmont needs," said Mrs. Montgomery, with some asperity,
"is six babies; and I hope for Mr. Trennahan's sake she'll have them.
Otherwise, I should like to know where the poor man is to get any rest;
she's a human cyclone."

"I never thought she'd marry so soon," replied Mrs. Brannan. "It looked
as if she were going to be a regular old-time belle; and it took them
years to get through."

"She's not married yet," remarked Mrs. Montgomery.

But these enormous energies, as Rose had predicted, reached their
meridian in something under two months, after which, much to Trennahan's
relief, Helena succumbed to Menlo Park, and manifested an increasing
desire for long hours alone with him under the trees on the lawn,
although she by no means allowed her neighbours to rest for more than
seventy-two hours at a time.

XXI

Don Roberto and Mr. Polk took no part in these festivities; Mrs. Yorba
and Magdalena took less and less; the picture made by Don Roberto in his
shirt-sleeves, manipulating a hose as the char-a-banc drove off, finally
forbade his wife to riot while her husband toiled. She was angry and
resentful; but she was a woman of stern principles, and she had a
certain measure of that sort