“Perhaps it is well that I go to San Francisco to remain three months,” said the young man, sulkily; he had too much vanity to be enraged.  “Wilt thou marry me as soon as I return?”

“As well then as any other time.”

Garfias left San Luis a few days later to attend to important business in San Francisco, and although Dona Pomposa and Aunt Anastacia began at once to make the wedding outfit, Eulogia appeared to forget that she ever had given a promise of marriage.  She was as great a belle as ever, for no one believed that she would keep faith with any man, much less with such a ridiculous scrap as Garfias.  Her flirtations were more calmly audacious than ever, her dancing more spirited; in every frolic she was the leader.

Suddenly Dona Pomposa was smitten with rheumatism.  She groaned by night and shouted by day.  Eulogia, whose patience was not great, organized a camping party to the sulphur springs of the great rancho, Paso des Robles.  The young people went on horseback; Dona Pomposa and Aunt Anastacia in the wagon with the tents and other camping necessities.  Groans and shrieks mingled with the careless laughter of girls and caballeros, who looked upon rheumatism as the inevitable sister of old age; but when they entered the park-like valley after the ride over the beautiful chrome mountains, Dona Pomposa declared that the keen dry air had already benefited her.

That evening, when the girls left their tents, hearts fluttered, and gay muslin frocks waved like agitated banners.  Several Americans were pitching their tents by the spring.  They proved to be a party of mining engineers from San Francisco, and although there was only one young man among them, the greater was the excitement.  Many of the girls were beautiful, with their long braids and soft eyes, but Eulogia, in her yellow gown, flashed about like a succession of meteors, as the Americans drew near and proffered their services to Dona Pomposa.

The young man introduced himself as Charles Rogers.  He was a good-looking little fellow, in the lighter American style.  His well-attired figure was slim and active, his mouse-coloured hair short and very straight, his shrewd eyes were blue.  After a few moments’ critical survey of the charming faces behind Dona Pomposa, he went off among the trees, and returning with a bunch of wild flowers walked straight over to Eulogia and handed them to her.

She gave him a roguish little courtesy.  “Much thanks, senor.  You must scuse my English; I no spik often.  The Americanos no care for the flores?”

“I like them well enough, but I hope you will accept these.”

“Si, senor.”  She put them in her belt.  “You like California?”

“Very much.  It is full of gold, and, I should say, excellent for agriculture.”

“But it no is beautiful country?”

“Oh, yes, it does very well, and the climate is pretty fair in some parts.”

“You living in San Francisco?”