Around their waists were draped bright-colored silken sashes, the ends long and sweeping. A white linen shirt, elaborately fluted and sparkling with diamonds, completed their evening dress. Men and women were lavish in their display of jewels.
Glorious, splendid California was worthily represented by her sons and daughters the night of Señor Mendoza's fiesta.
In the garden a young man in the uniform of an army officer was speaking with a girl.
"Señorita Doña Carmelita, a dance with you on the ballroom floor; another sit I with you in the open. Is it not so?"
"Señor, the Captain Morando, I promised you a mazurka, nothing more."
"Truly, señorita, but when sitting one finds words to speak the thoughts that rise in the heart while flying feet are pursuing the spirit of the dance."
"As hostess I may not deny the petition of a guest."
"O, Señorita Doña! I speak not as a guest to a hostess. I am at your feet ever, as a subject to a queen. May I not pay a vassal's homage to you? With many caballeros you tread the dance, never granting further favor. May I not be the exception?"
The señorita and the Captain were standing under a big palm. Seeing her cross the courtyard he had hastened to intercept her.
She drew away.