verandah
traversed three sides of the house, its roof making another beneath the
bedroom windows. Its pillars were hidden under rose vines and wistaria.
The thirty rooms were somewhat superfluous, as Don Roberto would have
none of house-parties, but he could not have breathed in a small house.
The rooms were very large and lofty, the floors covered with matting,
the furniture light and plain. Above, as from the town house, floated
the American flag.

Colonel Belmont's estate adjoined Fair Oaks on one side, the
Montgomerys' on the other; and the Brannans, Kearneys, Gearys,
Washingtons, and Folsoms all spent their summers in that sleepy valley
between the waters of the San Francisco and the redwood-covered
mountains; these and others who have nothing to do with this tale. Hiram
Polk had no home in Menlo, excepting in his brother-in-law's house. Some
of his wife's happiest memories were of the Rancho de los Pulgas, and
she refused to witness its possession by the hated American. So Polk had
bought her one of the old adobe houses in Santa Barbara, and each year
she extended the limit of her sojourn in a town where memories were
still sacred.

IX

Magdalena was languid and content. She put the terrible experiences
which had preceded her illness behind her without effort. Her mind dwelt
upon the joy of living in the sunshine, and upon the hopes of the
future. She admitted frankly that she was glad to be rid of her parents,
and only longed for Helena. That faithful youngster wrote, twice a week,
letters which were a succession of fireworks embellished by caricatures
of such of her teachers and acquaintance as had incurred her
disapproval. Her aunt, Mrs. Edward Forbes, who was one of the leaders of
New York society and a beauty, was giving her much petting and would
take her abroad later.

Magdalena read these letters with delight stabbed with doubt. More than
once she had wondered if Helena had been born to realise all her own
ambitions. Even her letters were clever and original.

In a week Magdalena was strong enough to walk in the woods, and Miss
Phelps placed no restraint upon her. She re-read what books she had,
then made out a list and sent it to her father to purchase, believing
that he would refuse her nothing after her illness. Don Roberto read the
note, grunted, and threw it into the waste-paper basket. He abominated
erudite women, and had the scorn of the financial mind for the
superfluous attributes