smoothed the pink silk stockings over the thin in-
step above; "what is a lover like? Is it like meet-
ing one of the saints of heaven?"

"No, senorita."

"Like what, then?"

"Like--like nothing but himself, senorita. You
would not have him otherwise."

"Oh, stupid one! Hast thou no imagination?
Fancy any man being well enough as he is! For
instance, there is Don Antonio, who is so hand-
some and fiery, and Don Ignacio, who can sing and
dance and ride as no one else in all the Californias,
and Don Weeliam Sturgis, who is very clever and
true. If I could roll them into one--a tamale of
corn and chicken and peppers--there would be a
man almost to my liking. But even then--not
quite. And one man--what nonsense! I have too
much color to-night, Rosa."

"No, senorita, you have never been so beautiful.
When the lover comes and you love him, senorita,
you will think him greater than our natural king
and lord, and all other men poor Indians."

"But how shall I know?"