“I am enjoying the novelty of the thing, but I don't know what I shall think of the opera. I suppose I shall like it better when I understand it. Thus far it is to me only a very puzzling maze of hastily uttered French, imperfectly heard and mixed with music, all of which is rather unintelligible to me, so unprepared to judge of it as I am,” said Mercedes, smiling, watching to see the effect that her candid avowal of ignorance would have upon such a “muscadin” and well traveled young man.
“Ah! you never saw the opera before to-night!”
“Not the French opera. I was at two matinees of the Italian opera about five years ago, when I left my San Francisco school. Mamma thought I was too young to go out at night, and since then I have been living at the rancho.”
“Yes, yes; Mr. Mechlin said you had not been in San Francisco since you were twelve months old.”
“Twelve months?”
A laugh immediately behind him, made Mr. Selden turn quickly around. He met the eyes of Mr. Robert Gunther, who had taken the chair next to him, and made no secret of being amused at Mr. Selden's mistake.
“What are you laughing at?” Mr. Selden asked, sharply.
“I suppose Mr. Gunther thinks that girls must grow very quickly in California if I was twelve months old five years ago.”
Mr. Selden could not escape now the raillery of his friends. Each one had something to say on the subject of Mr. Selden's ideas of the wonders of California, until the bell rung for the curtain to rise for the second act.
They all arose to go. George said: “Will not some of you remain? there is room for two or three more.”