her path. She also remarked the
nervous energy of his thin figure. "It comes from his love of the
Americans," she thought, angrily. "He must even walk like them. The
Americans!" And she brought her teeth together with a sharp click.

He turned, smiling. "You look very disapproving," he said. "What have
I done?"

"You look like an American! You even wear their clothes, and they are
the color of smoke; and you wear no lace. How cold and uninteresting a
scene would this be if all the men were dressed as you are!"

"We cannot all be made for decorative purposes. And you are as unlike
those girls, in all but your dress, as I am unlike the men. I will not
incur your wrath by saying that you are American: but you are modern.
Our lovely compatriots were the same three hundred years ago. Will
Dona California be pleased to observe that whale spouting in the bay?
There is the tree beneath which Junipero Serra said his first mass in
this part of the country. What a sanctimonious old fraud he must have
been, if he looked anything like his pictures! Did you ever see bay
bluer than that? or sand whiter? or a more perfect semicircle of hills
than this? or a more straggling town? There is the Custom-house on the
rocks. You will go to a ball there to-night, and hear the boom of
the surf as you dance." He turned with one of his sudden impatient
motions. "Suppose we ride. The air is too sharp to lie about under the
trees. This white horse mates your gown. Let us go over to Carmelo."

"I should like to go," she said, doubtfully; he had made her throb
with indignation once or twice, but his conversation interested her
and her free spirit approved of a ride over the hills unattended by
duena. "But--you know--I do not like you."

"Oh, never mind that; the ride will interest you just the same." And
he lifted her to the horse, sprang on another, caught her bridle,
lest she should rebel, and galloped up the road. When they were on the
other side of hill he slackened speed and looked at her with a smile.
She was inclined to be angry, but found herself watching the varying
expressions of his mouth, which diverted her mind. It was a baffling
mouth, even to experienced women, and Chonita could make nothing of
it. It had neither sweetness nor softness, but she had never felt
impelled to study the mouth of a caballero. And then she wondered how
a man with a mouth like that could have manners so gentle.

"Are you aware," he said, abruptly, "that y