Was it possible that this delicate creature,so superior to him that he seemed like a degenerate scion of her remoter race,was his own flesh and blood?Was she the daughter of her mother,who even in her remembered youth was never equipped like this?If the thought brought no pleasure to his ******,loving nature,it at least spared him the pain of what might have seemed ingratitude in one more akin to himself."The fact is,we ain't quite up to her style,"was his explanation and apology.A vague belief that in another and a better world than this he might approximate and understand this perfection somewhat soothed and sustained him.
It was quite consistent,therefore,that the embroidered cambric dress which Mamie Mulrady wore one summer afternoon on the hillside at Los Gatos,while to the critical feminine eye at once artistic and expensive,should not seem incongruous to her surroundings or to herself in the eyes of a general audience.It certainly did not seem so to one pair of frank,humorous ones that glanced at her from time to time,as their owner,a young fellow of five-and-twenty,walked at her side.He was the new editor of the "Rough-and-Ready Record,"and,having been her fellow-passenger from Sacramento,had already once or twice availed himself of her father's invitation to call upon them.Mrs.Mulrady had not discouraged this mild flirtation.Whether she wished to disconcert Don Caesar for some occult purpose,or whether,like the rest of her ***,she had an overweening confidence in the unheroic,unseductive,and purely platonic character of masculine humor,did not appear.
"When I say I'm sorry you are going to leave us,Miss Mulrady,"said the young fellow,lightly,"you will comprehend my unselfishness,since I frankly admit your departure would be a positive relief to me as an editor and a man.The pressure in the Poet's Corner of the 'Record'since it was mistakingly discovered that a person of your name might be induced to seek the 'glade'and 'shade'without being 'afraid,''dismayed,'or 'betrayed,'has been something enormous,and,unfortunately,I am debarred from rejecting anything,on the just ground that I am myself an interested admirer.""It's dreadful to be placarded around the country by one's own full name,isn't it?"said Mamie,without,however,expressing much horror in her face.
"They think it much more respectful than to call you 'Mamie,'"he responded,lightly;"and many of your admirers are middle-aged men,with a mediaeval style of compliment.I've discovered that amatory versifying wasn't entirely a youthful passion.Colonel Cash is about as fatal with a couplet as with a double-barreled gun,and scatters as terribly.Judge Butts and Dr.Wilson have both discerned the resemblance of your gifts to those of Venus,and their own to Apollo.But don't undervalue those tributes,Miss Mulrady,"he added,more seriously."You'll have thousands of admirers where you are going;but you'll be willing to admit in the end,I think,that none were more honest and respectful than your subjects at Rough-and-Ready and Red Dog."He stopped,and added in a graver tone,"Does Don Caesar write poetry?""He has something better to do,"said the young lady,pertly.
"I can easily imagine that,"he returned,mischievously;"it must be a pallid substitute for other opportunities.""What did you come here for?"she asked,suddenly.
"To see you."
"Nonsense!You know what I mean.Why did you ever leave Sacramento to come here?I should think it would suit you so much better than this place.""I suppose I was fired by your father's example,and wished to find a gold mine.""Men like you never do,"she said,simply.
"Is that a compliment,Miss Mulrady?"
"I don't know.But I think that you think that it is."He gave her the pleased look of one who had unexpectedly found a sympathetic intelligence."Do I?This is interesting.Let's sit down."In their desultory rambling they had reached,quite unconsciously,the large boulder at the roadside.Mamie hesitated a moment,looked up and down the road,and then,with an already opulent indifference to the damaging of her spotless skirt,sat herself upon it,with her furled parasol held by her two little hands thrown over her half-drawn-up knee.The young editor,half sitting,half leaning,against the stone,began to draw figures in the sand with his cane.
"On the contrary,Miss Mulrady,I hope to make some money here.
You are leaving Rough-and-Ready because you are rich.We are coming to it because we are poor.""We?"echoed Mamie,lazily,looking up the road.
"Yes.My father and two sisters."
"I am sorry.I might have known them if I hadn't been going away."At the same moment,it flashed across her mind that,if they were like the man before her,they might prove disagreeably independent and critical."Is your father in business?"she asked.
He shook his head.After a pause,he said,punctuating his sentences with the point of his stick in the soft dust,"He is paralyzed,and out of his mind,Miss Mulrady.I came to California to seek him,as all news of him ceased three years since;and Ifound him only two weeks ago,alone,friendless--an unrecognized pauper in the county hospital.""Two weeks ago?That was when I went to Sacramento.""Very probably.""It must have been very shocking to you?""It was.""I should think you'd feel real bad?"
"I do,at times."He smiled,and laid his stick on the stone.
"You now see,Miss Mulrady,how necessary to me is this good fortune that you don't think me worthy of.Meantime I must try to make a home for them at Rough-and-Ready."Miss Mulrady put down her knee and her parasol."We mustn't stay here much longer,you know.""Why?""Why,the stage-coach comes by at about this time.""And you think the passengers will observe us sitting here?""Of course they will.""Miss Mulrady,I implore you to stay."
