For the Soul of Rafael

by Marah Ellis Ryan

"He offers her a glass of wine, Antonio," grunted old Don Ricardo. "Huh!—that is the love-making of California to-day!"

"True, Ricardo; at his age you or I would have been at her feet and our jewels on her breast."

"Fernando has no jewels left."

"I should say not. His father made love after our fashion, hence—"

"The deluge!"

"The deluge of poverty and Americanos," assented Antonio. "A plague on them both! They have changed the land!"

A burst of laughter from Rafael's end of the table drowned the grumblings of the old men. Rafael had told a story so very funny that the girls had shrieked and giggled and protested behind their fans.

"Fie, Don Rafael! and you to be a married man in a week!"

"But a week is seven nights away, and all of them your own, Merced mia!"

"Merced!" called another man from a game of malia at an old table once used for altar service—"Merced, darling, never listen to a word he says! A paltry seven nights! My heart is at your feet for a lifetime!"