XIII
"Concha," said Sturgis abruptly, "will you marry me?"
Concha, who was sitting in the shade of the rose vines on the corridormaking a dress for Gertrudis Rudisinda, ran the needle into her finger.
"Madre de Dios!" she cried angrily. "Who would have expected suchfoolish words from you? and now I have pricked my finger and stained mylittle frock. It will have to be washed before worn, and is never sopretty after."
"I am sorry," said Sturgis humbly. "But it seems to me that if a manwishes to marry a maid he should ask her in a straightforward manner,with no preliminary sighs and hints and serenades--and all sorts ofinsincere stage play.
"He should at least address her parents first."
"True. I was wholly the American for the moment. May I speak to DonJose and Dona Ignacia, Concha?"
"How can I prevent? No, I will not coquet with you, Weeliam. But I amangry that you have thought of such nonsense. Such friends as we were!We have talked and read together by the hour, and my parents havethought no more of it than if it had been Santiago. There! You have anew book in your pocket. Why did you not read it to me instead ofmaking love? Let me see it."
"I brought it to read later if you wished, but I came to ask you tomarry me and to receive your answer. I never expected to askyou--but--lately--things have changed--life seems, somehow, more real.The thought of losing you has suddenly become terrible."
"You have been drinking Russian tea," said Concha, stitching quietlybut flashing him a glance of amusement, not wholly without malice.
"It is true," he replied. "I suppose I never really believed you wouldmarry Raimundo or Ignacio or any of the caballeros. They think andtalk of nothing but horse-racing, gambling, cock-fighting, love andcigaritos. I thought of you always here, where at least I could lookat you or read with you. But one must admit that this Russian is noordinary man. I hate him, yet like him more than any I have ever met.Last night I stayed to punch with him, and we talked English for anhour. That is to say, he did; I could have listened to him tillmorning. Langsdorff says that he has the greatest possible command ofhis native tongue, but he speaks English well enough. I wish I coulddespise him, but I do not believe I even hate him."
"Well?" demanded Concha. She kept her eyes on her work (and thedelight that rose in her breast from her voice).
"Well?"
"Why should you hate him?"
"Do you ask me that, Concha, when he makes a fence of himself aboutyou, and his fine eyes--practised is nearer the mark--look at no oneelse?"
"But why should that cause you jealousy? He is a man of the world,accustomed to make himself agreeable, and I am the daughter of theCommandante."
"He is more in love with you than he knows."
"Do you think so, Weeliam?" Still her voice was innocent and even,although the color rose above the inner commotion. "But even so, whatof it? Have not many loved me? Am I to be won by the first stranger?"
"I do not know."
The tumult in Concha turned to wrath, and she lifted flashing eyes tohis moody face. "Do you presume to say you are jealous because youthink I love him--a stranger I have known but a week--who looks upon meas a child--who has never--never thought--" But her dignity, flying tothe rescue, assumed control. Her upper lip curled, her body stiffenedfor a moment, and she went on with her stitching. "You deserve Ishould rap your silly little skull with my thimble. You are no betterthan Ignacio and Fernando. Such scenes as I have had with them! Theywanted to fight the Russian! How he would laugh at them! I havethreatened they shall both be sent to San Diego if there is any morenonsense." Then curiosity overcame her. "You never had the least,least reason to think I would marry you, and now, according to your ownwords, you think you have less. Then why, pray, did you address me?"
"Because I am a man, I suppose. I could not sit tamely down and seeyou go."
She looked at him with a slight access of interest. A man? Perhaps hewas, after all. And his well-bred, bony face looked very determined,albeit the eyes were wistful. Suddenly she felt sorry for him; and shehad never experienced a pang of sympathy for a suitor before. Sheleaned forward and patted his hand.
"I cannot marry you, dear Weeliam," she said, and never had he seen herso sweet and adorable, although he noted with a pang that her mouth wasalready drawn with a firmer line. "But what matter? I shall nevermarry at all. For many years--forty, fifty perhaps--I shall sit hereon the veranda, and you shall read to me."
And then she shivered violently. But she set her mouth until it wasalmost straight, and picked up the little dress. "Not that, perhaps,"she said quietly in a moment. "I sometimes think I should like to be anun, that, after all, it is my vocation. Not a cloistered one, for thatis but a selfish life. But to teach, to do good, to forget myself.There are no convents in California, but I could join the Third Orderof the Franciscans, and wear the gray habit, and be set aside by theworld as one that only lived to make it a little better. To forgetoneself! That, after all, may be the secret of happiness. I envy noneof my friends that are married. They have the dear children, it istrue. But the children grow up and go away, and then one is fat andeats many dulces and the siesta grows longer and longer and the facevery brown. That is life in California. I should prefer to work andpray, and"--with a flash of insight that made her drop her work againand stare through the rose-vines--"to dream always of some beautifulthing that youth promised but never gave, and that given might haveended in dull routine and a brain so choked with little things thatmemory too held nothing else."
"But Concha," cried Sturgis eagerly, "I could give you far better thanthat. I could take you away from here--to Boston, to Europe. Youshould see--live your life--in the great cities you have dreamedof--that you hardly believe in--that were made to enjoy. I have toldyou of the theater, the opera--you should go to the finest in theworld. You should wear the most beautiful gowns and jewels, go tocourts, see the great works of art--I am not trying to bribe you," hestammered, flushing miserably. "God forbid that I should stoop toanything as mean as that. But it all rushed upon me suddenly that Icould give you so much that you were made for, with this worthlessmoney of mine. And what happiness to be in Europe withyou--what--what--"
His voice trembled and broke, and he dared not look at her. Again shestared through the vines. A splendid and thrilling panorama rose beyondthem, her bosom heaved, her lips parted. She saw herself in it, andnot alone. And not, alas, with the honest youth whose words hadinspired it. In a moment she shook her head and turned her eyes on theflushed, averted face of her suitor.
"I shall never see Europe," she said gently, "and I shall never marry."
"Not if this Russian asks you?" cried Sturgis, in his jealous misery.
But Concha's anger did not rise again. "He has no intention of askinga little California girl to share the honors of one of the mostbrilliant careers in Europe," she said calmly. "Set your mind at rest.He has paid me no more attention than is due my position as thedaughter of the Commandante, and perhaps of La Favorita. If I flirt alittle and he flirts in response, that is nothing. Is he not then aman? But he will forget me in a month. The world, his world, is fullof pretty girls."
"A week ago you would not have said that," said Sturgis shrewdly."There has been nothing in your life to make you so humble."
"I cannot explain, but he seems to have brought the great world withhim. I know, I understand so many things that I had not dreamed of aweek ago. A week! Madre de Dios!"
And Sturgis, who after all was a gallant gentleman, made no comment.