Don Roberto rose as they approached. He did not take off his skull-cap, but he received them with the courtly grace of the caballero, one of his inheritances which he had not permanently discarded, although he practised what he was pleased to call his American manners in the sanctity of his home.
He bowed low, kissed their finger-tips, and handed them in turn to the chairs which he first arranged in a semi-circle about his own. When he resumed his former half-reclining attitude he had the air of an invalid sultan holding audience.
"We are so sorry that you have such a dreadful cold," said Tiny, with her sweetest smile and emphasis; "and so glad that we happened to drive up. You couldn't come for a drive with us, could you? We should love to have you."
Don Roberto rose to the bait at once. He was as susceptible to the blandishments of pretty women as Jack Belmont, although their influence over his purse was an independent matter.
"Very glad I am that I have the cold," he answered gallantly; "for it give me the company of three so beautiful ladies. I no can go for drive, for it blow, perhaps; but I no care, so long as you here with me sit."
"Well, we are going to stay a long time; and we are so glad we are back in Menlo again,—so many of us together. We used to love so to come here; it seems ages ago. And now that we have got 'Léna again, you must expect us to fairly overrun the house."
"It is yours," said Don Roberto, in the old vernacular. "Burn it if you will."
Tiny, who had never heard even an anecdote of the early Californians, gave a quick glance at the whiskey flask, but replied undauntedly,—
"How gallant you are, Don Roberto! The young men say such stupid things. But you always were so original!"
"Poor old dear, I feel like wiping it off," whispered Rose to Ila.