The Californians | Page 2

with the
dark blue sky above it, and opposite the pink mountains with the
patches of light blue, and on that side the hills of Sausalito covered
with willows, and the breakers down below. And the ferry-boats are
like great white swans, with long soft throats bending backwards. I
don't express myself very well; but I shall some day. Just you wait; I'm
going to be a scholar and a lot of other things too."
"What, Helena?" Magdaléna drew closer. She thought Helena already
the most eloquent person alive, and she envied her deeply, although
without bitterness, loving her devotedly. The great gifts of expression
and of personal magnetism had been denied her. She had no hope, and
at that time little wish, that the last paucity could ever be made good by
the power of will; but that articulate inner self had registered a vow that
hard study and close attention to the methods of Helena and others

as--or nearly as--brilliant should one day invest her brain and tongue
with suppleness.
"What other things are you going to be, Helena?" she asked. "I know
that you can be anything you like."
"Well, in the first place, I am going to New York to school,--now, don't
look so sad: I've told you twenty times that I know Don Roberto will let
you go. Then I'm going to Europe. I'm going to study hard--but not
hard enough to spoil my eyes. I'm going to finish off in Paris, and then
I'm going to travel. Incidentally, I'm going to learn how to dress, so that
when I come back here I'll astonish the natives and be the best-dressed
woman in San Francisco; which won't be saying much, to be sure. Then,
when I do come back, I'm going to just rule things, and, what is more,
make all the old fogies let me. And--and--I am going to be the greatest
belle this State has ever seen; and that is saying something."
"Of course you will do all that, Helena. It will be so interesting to
watch you. Ila and Tiny will never compare with you. Some people are
made like that,--some one way and some another, I mean.
Shall--shall--you ever marry, Helena?"
"Yes. After I have been engaged a dozen times or so I shall marry a
great man."
"A great man?"
"Yes; I don't know any, but they are charming in history and memoirs.
I'd have a simply gorgeous time in Washington, and ever after I'd have
my picture in 'Famous Women' books."
"Shall you marry a president?" asked Magdaléna, deferentially. She
was convinced that Helena could marry a reigning sovereign if she
wished.
"I haven't made up my mind about that yet. Presidents' wives are
usually such dreary-looking frumps I'd hate to be in the same book with
them. Besides, most of the presidents don't amount to much. Truthful

George must have been a deadly bore. I prefer Benjamin
Franklin--although I never could stand that nose--or Clay or Calhoun or
Patrick Henry or Webster. They're dead, but there must be lots more.
I'll find one for you, too."
Again the dark flush mounted to Magdaléna's hair, as with an alertness
of motion unusual to her, she shook her head.
"Aha!" cried the astute Helena, "you've been thinking the matter over,
too, have you? Who is he? Tell me."
Magdaléna shook her head again, but slowly this time. Helena
embraced and coaxed, but to no effect. Even with her chosen friend,
Magdaléna was reticent, not from choice, but necessity. But Helena,
whose love was great and whose intuitions were diabolical, leaped to
the secret. "I know!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "It's a caballero!"
This time Magdaléna's face turned almost purple; but she had neither
her sex's quick instinct of self-protection nor its proneness to dissemble,
secretive as she was. She lifted her head haughtily and turned away.
For a moment she looked very Spanish, not the unfortunate result of
coupled races that she was. Helena, who was in her naughtiest humour,
threw back her head and laughed scornfully. "A caballero!" she cried:
"who will serenade you at two o'clock in the morning when you are
dying with sleep, and lie in a hammock smoking cigaritos all day; who
will roll out rhetoric by the yard, and look like an idiot when you talk
common-sense to him; who is too lazy to walk across the plaza, and too
proud to work, and too silly to keep the Americans from grabbing all
he's got. I met a few dilapidated specimens when I was in Los Angeles
last year. One beauty with long hair, a sombrero, and a head about as
big as my fist, used to serenade me in intervals of gambling until I
appealed to Jack, and he threatened to have him put in the