“What can you expect in a new republic of sudden fortunes?” he asked. “Some one must spend the money, and the men haven’t time.”
“Then are your women something besides nerves and clothes—your leisure women?”
“I don’t wish to be rude, but they are. I am, of course, only comparing them with your idle class. I have had no chance to meet any other until now. But I have met scores of rich American women and girls in London and at country-houses, and I’ve come to the conclusion that what is the matter with them—aside from lack of traditions—is that their men leave them nothing to do but spend money and amuse themselves. With us rich women and poor are helpmeets, and what saves our fast set from being as empty-headed as yours is that they have grown up among men of affairs, have heard the great questions discussed all their lives. Then, of course, they are far better educated, and often extremely clever—something more than bright and amusing. Many of them are pretty hard cases, I’m not denying that; but few are silly. They have not had the chance to be, and that is where ancestors come in, too—serious ancestors. Personally, I have never been sensible to the famous charm of the American woman, and although there are exceptions, naturally—I am only generalizing—they strike me in the mass as being shallow, selfish, egotistical, nervous. I suppose the fundamental trouble is that they have so much that an impossible ideal of happiness is the result, and they are restless and dissatisfied because they can’t get it. Possibly in another generation or two they may develop the sort of brain that makes the women of the Old World well balanced and philosophical.”
“Weren’t you ever tempted to marry an heiress?”
“I never saw one that would look at me, so I’ve been spared one temptation, at least.”
Catalina had finished her coffee. She leaned her chin on her hands and gazed at him reflectively. “I should think you could get one,” she said, quite impersonally. “If you weren’t such a practical soul you’d be almost romantic looking, and you’re quite the ideal soldier, besides being a guardsman and well-born. I think if you came to Santa Barbara I could find you a rich girl. Quantities come there for the winter, and they are always delighted to be asked to a ranch.”
“All women are match-makers,” he said, testily. “A poor fellow I left out in South Africa got off just one epigram in his life—‘There are two kinds of women, living women and dead women.’ I believe he was right. Shall we go and see if they will let us into the archbishop’s palace?”
X
“Quien quiere agua? Quien quiere agua?”