"I care not! God of my life! I care not! Wilt thou marry me?"
"Thou must not speak to me of marriage, señor. It is to my father thou must speak. Would I, a Californian maiden, betroth myself without his knowledge?"
"Holy heaven! I will! But give me one word that thou lovest me,—one word!"
She lifted her chin saucily and turned to another caballero, who, I doubt not, proposed also. Estenega, who had watched her, laughed.
"She acts the part to perfection," he said to me. "Either natural or acquired coquetry has more to do with saving her from the solitary plane of the intellectual woman than her beauty or her father's wealth. I am inclined to think that it is acquired. I do not believe that she is a coquette at heart, any more than that she is the marble doomswoman she fondly believes herself."
"You will tell her that," I exclaimed, angrily; "and she will end by loving you because you understand her; all women want to be understood. Why don't you go to Paris again? You have not been there for a long time."
Not deeming this suggestion worthy of answer, he left me and walked to Chonita, who was glancing over the top of her fan into the ardent eyes of a third caballero.
"You will step on a bunch of nettles in a moment," he said, practically. "Your slippers are very thin; you had better stand over here on the path." And he dexterously separated her from the other men. "Will you walk to that opening over there with me? I want to show you a better view of Monterey."
His manner had not a touch of gallantry, and she was tired of the caballeros.
"Very well," she said. "I will look at the view."