The Splendid Idle Forties Part 26

"And why for you, senor? Half the trouble in the world has been made on paper."

"Oh, thou wise one! What trouble can a piece of paper make when it lies on a man's heart?"

"It can crackle when another head lies on it."

"No head will ever lie here but--"

"Mine?"

"Eulogia!"

"To thee, Senorita Dona Eulogia," cried a deep voice. "May the jewels in thine eyes s.h.i.+ne by the stars when thou art above them. May the tears never dim them while they s.h.i.+ne for us below," and a caballero pushed back his chair, leaned forward, and touched her gla.s.s with his, then went down on one knee and drank the red wine.

Eulogia threw him a little absent smile, sipped her wine, and went on talking to Ignestria in her soft monotonous voice.

"My friend--Graciosa La Cruz--went a few weeks ago to Monterey for a visit. You will tell her I think of her, no?"

"I will dance with her often because she is your friend--until I return to San Luis Obispo."

"Will that be soon, senor?"

"I told thee that would be as soon as thou wished. Thou wilt answer my letter--promise me, Eulogia."

"I will not, senor. I intend to be wiser than other women. At the very least, my follies shall not burn paper. If you want an answer, you will return."

"I will _not_ return without that answer. I never can see thee alone, and if I could, thy coquetry would not give me a plain answer. I must see it on paper before I will believe."

"Thou canst wait for the day of resurrection for thy knowledge, then!"

V

Once more Aunt Anastacia rolled her large figure through Eulogia's doorway and handed her a letter.

"From Don Pablo Ignestria, my baby," she said. "Oh, what a man! what a caballero! And so smart. He waited an hour by the creek in the mission gardens until he saw thy mother go out, and then he brought the note to me. He begged to see thee, but I dared not grant that, ninita, for thy mother will be back in ten minutes."

"Go downstairs and keep my mother there," commanded Eulogia, and Aunt Anastacia rolled off, whilst her niece with unwonted nervousness opened the letter.

"Sweet of my soul! Day-star of my life! I dare not speak to thee of love because, strong man as I am, still am I a coward before those mocking eyes. Therefore if thou laugh the first time thou readest that I love thee, I shall not see it, and the second time thou mayest be more kind.

Beautiful and idolized Eulogia, men have loved thee, but never will be cast at thy little feet a heart stronger or truer than mine. Ay, dueno adorada, I love thee! Without hope? No! I believe that thou lovest me, thou cold little one, although thou dost not like to think that the heart thou hast sealed can open to let love in. But, Eulogia! Star of my eyes! I love thee so I will break that heart in pieces, and give thee another so soft and warm that it will beat all through the old house to which I will take thee. For thou wilt come to me, thou little coquette?

Thou wilt write to me to come back and stand with thee in the mission while the good padre asks the saints to bless us? Eulogia, thou hast sworn thou wilt write to no man, but thou wilt write to me, my little one. Thou wilt not break the heart that lives in thine.

"I kiss thy little feet. I kiss thy tiny hands. I kiss--ay, Eulogia!

Adios! Adios!

"PABLO."

Eulogia could not resist that letter. Her scruples vanished, and, after an entire day of agonized composition, she sent these lines:--

"You can come back to San Luis Obispo.

"EULOGIA AMATA FRANCISCA GUADALUPE CARILLO."

VI

Another year had pa.s.sed. No answer had come from Pablo Ignestria. Nor had he returned to San Luis Obispo. Two months after Eulogia had sent her letter, she received one from Graciosa La Cruz, containing the information that Ignestria had married the invalid girl whose love for him had been the talk of Monterey for many years. And Eulogia? Her flirtations had earned her far and wide the t.i.tle of Dona Coquetta, and she was cooler, calmer, and more audacious than ever.

"Dost thou never intend to marry?" demanded Dona Pomposa one day, as she stood over the kitchen stove stirring red peppers into a saucepan full of lard.

Eulogia was sitting on the table swinging her small feet. "Why do you wish me to marry? I am well enough as I am. Was Elena Castanares so happy with the man who was mad for her that I should hasten to be a neglected wife? Poor my Elena! Four years, and then consumption and death. Three children and an indifferent husband, who was dying of love when he could not get her."

"Thou thinkest of unhappy marriages because thou hast just heard of Elena's death. But there are many others."

"Did you hear of the present she left her mother?"

"No." Dona Pomposa dropped her spoon; she dearly loved a bit of gossip.

"What was it?"

"You know that a year ago Elena went home to Los Quervos and begged Don Roberto and Dona Jacoba on her knees to forgive her, and they did, and were glad to do it. Dona Jacoba was with her when she was so ill at the last, and just before she died Elena said: 'Mother, in that chest you will find a legacy from me. It is all of my own that I have in the world, and I leave it to you. Do not take it until I am dead.' And what do you think it was? The greenhide reata."

"Mother of G.o.d! But Jacoba must have felt as if she were already in purgatory."

"It is said that she grew ten years older in the night."

"May the saints be praised, my child can leave me no such gift. But all men are not like Dario Castanares. I would have thee marry an American.

They are smart and know how to keep the gold. Remember, I have little now, and thou canst not be young forever."

"I have seen no American I would marry."

"There is Don Abel Hudson."

"I do not trust that man. His tongue is sweet and his face is handsome, but always when I meet him I feel a little afraid, although it goes away in a minute. The Senor Dumas says that a woman's instincts--"

"To perdition with Senor Dumas! Does he say that a chit's instincts are better than her mother's? Don Abel throws about the money like rocks.

He has the best horses at the races. He tells me that he has a house in Yerba Buena--"

"San Francisco. And I would not live in that bleak and sandy waste. Did you notice how he limped at the ball last night?"

"No. What of that? But I am not in love with Don Abel Hudson if thou art so set against him. It is true that no one knows just who he is, now I think of it. I had not made up my mind that he was the husband for thee.

But let it be an American, my Eulogia. Even when they have no money they will work for it, and that is what no Californian will do--"

But Eulogia had run out of the room: she rarely listened to the end of her mother's harangues. She draped a reboso about her head, and went over to the house of Graciosa La Cruz. Her friend was sitting by her bedroom window, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g a yellow satin bed-spread with lace, and Eulogia took up a half-finished sheet and began fastening the drawn threads into an intricate pattern.

"Only ten days more, my Graciosa," she said mischievously. "Art thou going to run back to thy mother in thy night-gown, like Josefita Olvera?"

"Never will I be such a fool! Eulogia, I have a husband for thee."