Mary Lee rushed off to find her sister, and presently they were at work in the little buttery which led out of the kitchen where Li Hung was at work. It would never have done to invade his kingdom, and when the girls wanted to prepare anything themselves they always took to the buttery, though Li Hung always smilingly allowed them to use the stove and was ready to help when they required his aid. Mary Lee was bubbling over with excitement. Her usual calmness had disappeared entirely under pressure of the occasion. She poured forth into Nan's willing ear the story she had heard from Miss Dolores. "Isn't it romantic?" she said at last, pausing to take breath.
"I should think so," returned Nan, briskly beating eggs. "Why, Mary Lee, it is just like Ramona. She was adopted by her aunt and didn't know her father's name and all that. Isn't it queer? Do you suppose she will marry an Indian like Allessandro? Dear me, it is just like a story."
"It isn't just like Ramona," said Mary Lee the literal, "for you know her father gave her to the Señora Ramona, who was no relation at all, and then she gave her to her sister, Felipe's mother. Besides her father was a Scotchman, not an American."
"Well, it is near enough alike," returned Nan, seeing things less in detail. "It must be very funny not to know who your father was. I wonder if he was a criminal or a gambler or had killed some one. You know what wild, lawless men used to come West in those days."
"Yes, they did at first I know, when the old forty-niners began to search for gold, but this was later, for Miss Dolores is only twenty-two."
"Well, but even then it wasn't like it is now. Mr. St. Nick said when he first came out here in 1880, Los Angeles was a very small place, the streets were not paved and most of the houses were of adobe, so it couldn't have been so awfully civilized."
"I shouldn't want to say that before Miss Dolores. Her people think the Americans have spoiled all the old elegance of the Spanish days."
"Why do you call her Miss Dolores? I think the señorita sounds much prettier; it makes her seem Spanish right off."
"But I think Dolores is so beautiful; it means sorrow, she told me once, and I think it seems more intimate to say Miss Dolores."
"Well, you may call her that, but I shall say señorita. Any one could be named Dolores, but no one would think of calling any but a Spanish lady señorita, just as you would say mademoiselle to a French woman. Take care, Mary Lee, you are putting in too much flour; the cook book says scant cups, not heaping ones."