ld Yorba," he
added, with some viciousness. "And I'd advise you, young lady, to keep
this night's lark pretty dark."

The remark was addressed to Magdalena, but she only lifted her head
haughtily and turned it away. Helena replied hastily,--

"My father shall vote for you and make all his friends vote, too. I
won't tell him about this until next Wednesday, the day before I leave
for New York; then he'll be feeling so badly he won't say a word, and
he'll be so grateful to you that he'll do anything. Good-night."

"Good-night, miss, and I guess you'll get along in this world."

As the carriage drove off, Helena threw her arms about Magdalena, who
was sitting stiffly in the corner. "Oh, darling, dearest!" she
exclaimed. "_What_ have I made you go through? And you're so generous,
you'll never tell me what a villain I am. But you will forgive me, won't
you?"

"I am just as much to blame as you are. I was not obliged to go."

"But it was dreadful, wasn't it? That horrid low policeman! The idea of
his daring to put his hand on my shoulder. But we'll just forget it, and
next week, to-morrow, it will be as if it never had happened."

Magdalena made no reply.

"'Lena!" exclaimed Helena, sharply. "You're never going to own up?"

"I must," said Magdalena, firmly. "I've done a wicked thing. I've
disobeyed my father, who thinks it's horrible for girls to be on the
street even in the daytime alone, and I've nearly disgraced him. I've no
right not to tell him. I must!"

"That's your crazy old New England conscience! If you were all Spanish,
you'd look as innocent as a madonna for a week, and if you were my kind
of Californian you'd cheek it and make your elders feel that they were
impertinent for taking you to task."

"You are half New England."

"So I am, but I'm half Southerner, too, and all Californian. I'm just
beautifully mixed. You're not mixed at all; you're just hooked together.
Come now, say you won't tell him. He's a terror when he gets angry."

"I must tell him. I'd never respect myself again if I didn't. I've done
lots of other things and didn't tell, but they didn't matter,--that is,
not so much. He's got a _right_ to know."

"It's a pity you're not more like him, then you wouldn't tell."

"What do you mean, Helena? I am sure my father never told a lie."

Helena was too generous to tell what she knew. She asked instead, "I
wonder would your conscience hurt you so hard if everything had turned
out all rig