XXIX

It was Tiny who discovered that it was leap year, and invited Menlo to

dance at her house one Saturday night and take all advantage of its

privileges. Mrs. Yorba consented that Magdaléna should have a new frock,

the organdie being in a condition for a maid to sniff at. Magdaléna

asserted herself, and ordered a scarlet tarlatan. The frock was smartly

made at a good house, and Magdaléna, on the night of the party, was

almost pleased with herself. The vivid colour slanted under her swarthy

skin. She wore red slippers and red roses in her hair. By this time she

knew something of dress,--it was October,--and she had also discovered

that red was Trennahan's favourite colour.

She was happy, but a little nervous. There had been more than one sign

of late that the pretty comedy of friendship had run its course. The

very words they uttered had lost their clear-cut black and white, seemed

to grow more full-blooded. His eyes had made her lose her breath more

than once, had even sharpened her wits to hasty subterfuge.

The Montgomery parlour was a narrow room at right angles with the

dining-room. The two rooms had been thrown into one and canvased.

Tiny invited Don Roberto to open the dance with her, and that

platonically enamoured gentleman consented with a grand flourish. Ila

exercised her blandishments upon Mr. Polk, but to no purpose. No one

could understand his constant attendance at these dances, for he merely

stood about with unrelaxing visage, scarcely exchanging a word with even

the older men. He wore the suit of evening clothes which had done duty

at men's dinners these fifteen years, and had bought a pair of evening

shoes and a white necktie. Eugene Fort remarked that he looked like a

man whose vital organs had turned to gold and were giving him trouble.

Mr. Washington replied that the tight skin which had done such good

service was certainly beginning to bag, and that if he didn't knock off

and take a vacation in Europe he'd find himself breaking.

"To my knowledge," he added, "he hasn't taken a vacation in thirty

years; hasn't even been to Yosemite or the Big Trees. He has always said

that work was his tonic; but the truth was that he feared to come home

and find a dollar unaccounted for,--neither more nor less. And there

comes a time, my dear young man, there comes a time--"

"It comes early in this State."

"It does," Mr. Washington replied, with a sigh and a glance at his young

wife. "But the fevers have raged themselves out here, or I am much

mistaken. We're in for quiet times. The next generation will live

longer, perhaps."

"How old is Polk?"

"Nearly sixty. He's worn better than many, because he's let whiskey

alone; never took a drop more than was good for him when Con. Virginia

was tumbling from seven hundred to nothing. Neither did Yorba, who is

several years older; but he's got the longevity of his race. Jack

Belmont is under fifty, and looks older than either,--when you get him

in a good light. California is all right, and whiskey is all right, but

the two together play the devil and no mistake."

"It is the last place where I should want whiskey," said Trennahan, who

had joined them.

"You weren't here half a dozen years ago. While the Virginia City mines

were booming, your backbone felt like a streak of lightning; you hadn't

a comma in your very thoughts; you woke up every morning in a cold

sweat, and your teeth chattered as you opened your newspaper. You

believed every man a liar and dreamt that your veins ran liquid gold.

The Stock Exchange was Hell let loose. Men went insane. Men committed

suicide. No one stopped to remark. Do you wonder that men watered the

roots of their nerves with alcohol? I did not, but the fever of that

time burnt me out, all the same. I've never been the same man since. Nor

has any other San Franciscan. Even Polk and Yorba, although they sold

out at the right moment in nine cases out of ten, felt the strain. As

for Jack Belmont, he was on one glorious drunk all the time,--and never

more of a gentleman. How he pulled through and doubled his pile to boot,

the Lord only knows; but he did."

"Miss Belmont will be a great prize," observed Fort, thoughtfully. "The

greatest beauty in the State, if she has fulfilled her promise; any

amount of go, and one or two cold millions,--the Californian heiress

sublimated."

"And mistress of herself and her millions in a few years. I hear that

Belmont has not drunk a drop since he has been in Europe with her; he's

been gone a year now. That is fatal at his age,--after having been in

pickle some thirty years. Poor Jack,--the best fellow that ever lived! I

suppose his love for the girl brought him up with a round turn.

Doubtless he suddenly realised that she was old enough to understand,

and that he must pull himself up if he would keep her respect. There's a

good deal of tragedy in California, Mr. Trennahan, and it's not of the

sentimental young folks' sort, neither."

"I won't admit it," said Trennahan, who was looking at Magdaléna. "Its

very air breathes content--now, at any rate. I am glad I did not come

earlier."

"California is the Princess Royal of her country," said Fort; "and at

her birth all the good fairies came and gave her of every gift in the

stores of the immortals. Then a wicked fairy came and turned the

skeleton in her beautiful body to gold; and, lo! the princess who had

been fashioned to bless mankind carried, hidden from sight by her

innocent and beneficent charms, a terrible curse. Men came to kiss, and

stayed to tear away her flesh with their teeth. When her skeleton has

been torn forth, even to the uttermost rib, then the spell of the wicked

fairy will be broken, and California be the most gracious mother mankind

has ever known."

"Eugene, you like to hear yourself talk, but it must be admitted that

you talk well. Will you come out and have a cigar? and you, Mr.

Trennahan?"

There was no doubt that the party was a success. Between dances the

girls stood together in groups and superciliously regarded the ranks of

humble wall-flowers. Suddenly a half-dozen would dash down upon a young

man, beg him simultaneously for an eighth of a waltz, and scribble

hieroglyphics on their fans. Alan Rush was the belle, and no girl was

allowed to have more than a fourth of him at a time. Once the girls left

the room in a body, returning, with mumbled excuses, after the music for

the next dance had been playing some three minutes. Sometimes a girl

would approach a segregated youth, ask him patronisingly if he was

enjoying himself, talk to him until the music began, then sidle off with

an inaudible remark. Altogether if the young men had sinned during the

summer,--and they searched their consciences in vain,--they were

punished. The New Woman had not arrived in the Eighties, but the

instinct was there, inherited from remotest mother.

The party was a third over when Trennahan approached Magdaléna for the

first time. She had taken her partner to his chaperon, Mrs. Geary, and

was regarding a group of expectant youths. The spirit of the thing had

possessed her and she was enjoying herself. Her shyness had worn off to

some extent; she danced rather well, and had learned to make small talk.

Being happy, all things seemed easy of accomplishment. She became aware

that Trennahan was standing beside her, but did not turn her eyes.

"Will you sit out a dance with me--or rather walk it out in the garden?

You must be a little tired, and it is delightful out there."

"I'd rather--I think papa would not like it."

"I am positive that he would not mind."

"I am engaged."

"Let me see your fan."

She delivered it reluctantly.

"You have no one down for the next--nor the next."

"I--I--think I'd rather not go."

"Do you mean that? For if you do, I shall go home. I came for nothing

else. I have not seen you alone for three days."

"I am sorry."

"Come."

Her jumping fingers closed about her fan, and the sticks creaked; but

she followed him.

As they descended the steps he drew her hand through his arm. The garden

looked very wild and dark. The stars were burning overhead. Slanting

into the heavy perfume of flowers were the pungent odours of a forest

fire.

"You look like a pomegranate flower."

"Do you like my frock?"

"You know that I do."

"Should you like to smoke?"

"I should not."

"It is a beautiful night."

"Very."

"I had a letter from Helena to-day."

"Did you?"

"She described a wonderful experience she had climbing the Alps. Shall I

tell you about it?"

"Good God, no! I beg pardon, but the American girl in Europe is

interesting to no one but herself."

"She is interesting to me."

"Because you love her. Her letters really bore you, only you won't admit

it even to yourself."

"But Helena is really more brilliant than most people."

"Possibly; but I did not come out here to talk about Helena."

Magdaléna's fan was hanging at the end of a chain. She clutched at it,

missed it, and pressed her hand against her heart, which was hammering.

He saw the motion, and took her hand in his. She glanced about wildly.

She was in a whirl of terror of everything under heaven. Too dignified

to wrest herself away and run, she gave him a swift glance of appeal,

then bent her head. He dropped her hand.

"I would not frighten nor bother you for the world, but you know what I

have wanted to say for days past. That, at least, can be no shock: you

have known for a long while."

"I'd rather you didn't say it," she gasped.

"I intend to say it, nevertheless, and you will soon get used to it.

Will you marry me?"

"Oh--I--suppose so--that is, if you want me to. Let us go back to the

house."

"I have no intention of going back to the house for fully half an hour.

Do you love me?"

She hated him at the moment.

"Answer me."

"I--I--thought I did--I don't know."

"Well, we will drop the subject for a moment. There are some other

things I want to talk to you about. Shall we walk on?"

She drew a long breath at the respite. He resumed in a moment.

"Of course I am double your age, but I do not think we shall be any less

happy on that account. My life, I am going to tell you, has not been an

ideal one. After the wildness of youth came the deliberate

transgressions of maturity, then the more flagrant, because purposeless

sins which followed satiety. I know nothing of the middle classes of the

United States,--I have lived little in this country,--but the young men

of the upper class are not educated to add to the glory of the American

race: they are educated to spend their fathers' millions. It is true

that in spite of a rather wild career at college I left it with a

half-defined idea of being a scientific explorer, and had taken a

special course to that end. But my ambitions crumbled somewhere between

the campus and New York. I am not seeking to exculpate myself, to throw

the responsibility on my adolescent country: I had something more than

the average intelligence, and I pursued my subsequent life deliberately.

Not pursuing an ideal, I had no care to reserve the best that was in me

for the woman who should one day be my wife. I entered diplomacy because

I liked the life, and because I believed that the day would come when

women would mean little more than paper dolls to me, and power would

mean everything. I did not reckon on wearying to desperation of the

world in general. That time came; with it a desire to live an outdoor

existence for the rest of my life. That at least never palled. I

determined to come to California. It was an impulse; I hardly speculated

upon whether I should remain or not. As the train slid down the Sierras,

I knew that I should. Memories jumbled, and I made no effort to pull

them apart. For the first time in my life I wanted a home and a wife.

The night we met I felt more attracted to you than to the other charming

Californians I had met because you seemed more a part of the country. It

is singular that a man should love the country first, and the woman as a

logical result, but I did. I think that you know I love you; but not how

much, nor what it means to me. I am not good enough for you. My soul is

old. I see life exactly as it is. I have not an illusion. I am as

prosaic as are all men who have made a business of the pleasures of

life. I could not make you a perfervid or romantic speech to save my

life, and as the selfishness of a lifetime has made me moody and fitful,

there will be intervals when I shall be the reverse of lover-like; but

on the whole I think you will find me a rather ardent lover. It seems

very little to offer a girl who has everything to give. But I love you;

never doubt that. What little good was left in me you have coaxed up and

trained to something like its original proportions. I want you to

understand what my past has been; but I also want you to understand that

I am not the same man I was six months ago, and that you have worked the

change. When I crossed the continent, it is no exaggeration to say that

I had Hell in me,--that ferment of spirit which means mental nausea and

the desperate dodging of one's accusing soul. I suppose such a time

comes to most men who have persistently violated the original instinct

for good. With the lower orders it means crime; with the higher

civilisation a legion of imps shrieking in a man's soul. I will not say

that my particular band have been silent since I came here, for that

would mean moral obtuseness; but they are placated, and have consented

to fix a generous eye on the future. I believe, firmly believe, that my

future will atone for my past,--morally, I mean; I want you to

understand that I have wronged no man but myself, that I have been

guilty of no act unbecoming a gentleman. Now look at me and tell me that

you do not hate me."

Magdaléna lifted her face. Her lips were dry and parted, her eyes

expanded, but not with horror.

"I love you," she said; "I am glad that I can help you."

They were near a huge oak whose limbs shut out the stars. Trennahan drew

her into its shadows and took her in his arms and kissed her many times.

He lifted her arms about him, and she clasped her hands tightly. He

might be business-like, without illusions, but he knew how to make love

with energy and grace. Magdaléna from brain to sole was on fire with

adoration of him. The words of it surged toward speech, but reserve held

her even then. She only clung to him and breathed the passion which his

touch had startled. His own pulses were full, and he held her close,

glad that the spiritual desires had caught and embraced the human, and

that their chances for happiness were all that he could wish and a good

deal more than he deserved.