Spanish girls mature early, and Elise Van Zile had from the first appeared to be compounded more of Spanish blood than of American. At fifteen she was a woman. At twenty she was a fully developed lady of the world, in whom the wisdom of two races seemed to have blended. She was a favorite in San Francisco society, a wonderfully attractive creature, as many a smitten gallant of the Bay City had eagerly told her, after at last venturing to brave the dignified Castilian reserve that formed a cool protective barrier around Elise's colorful personality. She had permitted not one of these swains to touch her heart, to arouse the capacity for love concealed within her. So far her emotional life had been confined to mild flirtations as uninteresting as the daily social round.
For months, in San Francisco, Elise had lately been assailed by a restlessness that had shaken her out of her usual calm. Her life had become a monotonous routine, stale and unprofitable. She longed for new surroundings. Her father had been irritating her, moreover, by his hints that it was time she married. In vain she had replied to him, "But none of these men appeal to me. They are mere boys." John Van Zile, growing steadily older, was anxious for an heir to whom he might hand over his business. Having been deprived by the death of his wife of the chance for a direct heir and having no inclination to marry again, he considered a grandson the next possibility.
Under the circumstances, the invitation of Mrs. Porter Palmer to her niece to spend the spring in New York with her had arrived at an opportune time. Elise was eager for the new scene. Her father had indicated that her aunt would introduce her to a horde of new rich, eligible men. It was quite possible that one of them would appeal to her as being this paragon whom her fastidious tastes had evidently set upon. Elise agreed. It was not beyond the realms of the imagination, she conceded, that she might return to San Francisco engaged.
To herself she had speculated as to whether or not she would ever return to San Francisco at all. She and her father had no deep love for each other, had never understood each other. She wanted to taste life in New York. Later, perhaps, she would find an excuse to go abroad, to Paris, to Spain, where among her mother's relatives she might lead a more romantic existence than with the stolid Van Ziles. She was quite willing to embark upon marriage, provided it was not at the sacrifice of the luxuries which she now enjoyed. In France or Spain perhaps she might encounter a man with the right combination of romantic attraction and money.
An hour before the tea which her aunt was giving in her honor, Elise sat in front of the dressing-table in the sunny, exquisitely furnished boudoir that formed part of the suite her aunt had placed at her disposal. She was polishing her nails, and thinking of Count Rodrigo Torriani.
She was asking herself if she had, indeed, met at last a man worthy of her steel. At that first unexpected meeting with him in the lobby of the Quartier Latin, she knew that she was gazing upon a personage of far more interesting potentialities than any other male of her acquaintance. His good looks, his aristocratic bearing, the bold manner in which he had swept her with his dark eyes, had struck a responsive chord within her. Here was a man whom she admitted that, under propitious circumstances, she could love. Here was the potential vis-a-vis of her sought-for emotional experience. If he were rich, and he had every appearance of being well-to-do, she might even marry him.
It never occurred to Elise Van Zile that she could not do with any man as she wished. And, indeed, there was little reason why it should have occurred to her, men being what they are.
And so she was looking forward with distinct pleasure to seeing Count Torriani again, and she was making certain that he would be even more thoroughly attracted by her striking appearance than he had been on the occasion of their only previous meeting.
Three-quarters of an hour later, Elise stood with her aunt in the reception hall below as the first of the guests arrived. They were for the most part fussy, inconsequential people, friends of her aunt's, older than Elise and uninteresting to her, though she bestowed upon them a calm, gracious greeting that served very satisfactorily.
By the time Rodrigo arrived, immaculate in afternoon attire, the room was comfortably filled by the chatterers.