The caballero’s face flushed with pleasure at her free-and-easy reception of him, while an almost inaudible “Gracias” fell from his lips.  At once he knew that his first surmise, that the Girl was an American, had been correct.  Not that his experience in life had furnished him with any parallel, for the Girl constituted a new and unique type.  But he was well aware that no Spanish lady would have received the advances of a stranger in like fashion.  It was inevitable, therefore, that for the moment he should contrast, and not wholly to her advantage, the Girl’s unconventionality with the enforced reserve of the dulcineas who, custom decrees, may not be courted save in the presence of duennas.  But the next instant he recalled that there were, in Sacramento, young women whose directness it would never do to mistake for boldness; and,—­to his credit be it said,—­he was quick to perceive that, however indifferent the Girl seemed to the customary formality of introduction, there was no suggestion of indelicacy about her.  All that her frank and easy manner suggested was that she was a child of nature, spontaneous and untrammelled by the dictates of society, and normally and healthily at home in the company of the opposite sex.

“And she is even more beautiful than I supposed,” was the thought that went through his mind.

And yet, the Girl was not beautiful, at least if judged by Spanish or Californian standards.  Unlike most of their women, she was fair, and her type purely American.  Her eyes of blue were lightly but clearly browed and abundantly fringed; her hair of burnished gold was luxuriant and wavy, and framed a face of singularly frank and happy expression, even though the features lacked regularity.  But it was a face, so he told himself, that any man would trust,—­a face that would make a man the better for looking at it,—­a face which reflected a soul that no environment could make other than pure and spotless.  And so there was, perhaps, a shade more of respect and a little less assurance in his manner when he asked: 

“And you like Monterey?”

“I love it!  Ain’t it romantic—­an’, my, what a fine time the girls there must have!”

The man laughed; the Girl’s enthusiasm amused him.

“Have you had a fine trip so far?” he asked, for want of something better to say.

“Mercy, yes!  This ‘ere stage is a pokey ol’ thing, but we’ve made not bad time, considerin’.”

“I thought you were never going to get here!”

The Girl shot a coquettish glance at him.

“How did you know I was comin’ on this ’ere stage?”

“I did not know,”—­the stranger broke off and thought a moment.  He may have been asking himself whether it were best for him to be as frank as she had been and admit his admiration for her; at last, encouraged perhaps by a look in the Girl’s blue eyes, he ventured:  “But I’ve been riding along this road every day since I saw you.  I felt that I must see you again.”