Having selected the most thoroughly skilled architects, artists, and artisans, and no limit having been placed to expenditure, it was evident that every detail of Morning’s plan had been faithfully executed. But beyond this his power, or, rather, his supervision or direction, had ceased. At last it was the estate and home of the Gonzales family and not his own, and concerning its management, or the manner in which they should enjoy it, he did not offer even a suggestion. Morning’s instructions, left with the Bank of California more than two years before, were to pay all checks signed by the Señora or the Señorita Gonzales, no matter what amount, and charge them to his account.
The Gonzales family had taken their good fortune with great equanimity. Their inclinations led them to a generous and exceedingly promiscuous hospitality, and they had not hesitated to arrange the ménage of their household without regard to conventionalities. Instead of the solemn and ubiquitous functionary at the open door, there was vacancy, while the party stood upon the tessellated floor of the broad vestibule for several minutes.
Presently a young Spaniard in boots and clanking spurs, with silver-laced sombrero and flaming tie, threw wide the door, and simultaneously Morning caught a glimpse through an open court of a female figure leaning upon the rosewood balustrade, mounted with a cable of silver, which surrounded a corridor, and idly tossing with her fan the light, half-curling locks of a man who sat upon a low seat, resting his head against her knee.
It was only a glance as the sun strikes against the steel, sharply cutting its way upon the eye, or like the incisive impress of some exceptional face in passing, whereby one seizes every detail of color and form, void of conscious effort. It was easy to recognize the graceful outline of the swaying figure as she sat poised under the sunlight, and swift and unbidden even as the coup d’œil was, the senses of David Morning thrilled with gladness. Was it the sight of Murella again that sent that shaft of ecstasy through his soul? or was it the all up-building, all-leveling lesson that the Señorita Gonzales was being amused?
The arrival of the party had been manifestly unexpected, and no formal announcement was made, but no sooner had they entered the magnificent reception hall at one extremity than Señorita Gonzales appeared at the other. She entered with a movement of the most exquisite grace, robed, rather than dressed, in a gown of acanthus green satin, flowing in the back from the half-bared neck to the gold-embroidered border of the demi-train. The front was gathered at the shoulder and fell with lengths of creamy lisse to the perfect foot, with its slippers of gold. A corselet of rich embroideries rounded the waist. The sleeves were loosely puffed and draped with softest lace to the white and flexible wrist, while the web-like lace of her mantilla rested lightly upon the shining coils of her abundant hair.
As Mr. Morning advanced toward the center of the room to greet his beautiful hostess, she drew an audible breath, and lifted her finely-arched brows, but no sign betrayed other emotion. Mr. Morning presented his friends in the most casual and easy manner, but when the Baroness Von Eulaw came forward, taller by some inches than the Señorita Gonzales, and with an exquisite manner was about to speak, the little hostess, with an air of special affability and simplicity, asked, showing her small white teeth the while:—
“To who owe I a the honor of this visite of a noble baroness?”
It was a bombshell in satin and lace which fell at the feet of Morning, and for an instant he saw no way to the rescue of the baroness. Then, rallying, he quickly replied:—
“To the reputation for hospitality of the fair owner of this house, and that of her charming family.”
“I no know if my name travel so long time a,” she rejoined, looking at Morning.