He bowed and raised to his lips the hand of his hostess. To Grace he paid the same deference. Next he turned to Dick Willoughby and extended his hand. “I have met Mr. Willoughby. I am pleased, sir, to see you again.” Then his eyes rested on Lieutenant Munson, and Mrs. Darlington presented the young army officer. “And where, I pray, is Miss Merle?” Mr. Robles finally asked, glancing around. “That’s what I want to know,” blurted out Dick. Then he reddened just a little. The older man looked kindly at Dick, and smilingly said: “The audacity of youth.” “Yes,” put in Grace, “the audacity and the impatience as well.” But just at that moment there floated from the recesses of the home the fragment of a song: “I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls, with vassals and serfs at my side.” “Ah, here comes the recreant now,” exclaimed Mrs. Darlington. The song stopped abruptly, and a moment later Merle Farnsworth appeared. She went first of all to Mr. Robles and greeted him warmly, giving him both her hands, which he kissed in his princely fashion. For Willoughby she had a pleasant smile, and for his friend, the lieutenant, a kindly welcome to California. The tea tray had meanwhile arrived, and soon both the young ladies were busy attending to their guests. While he sipped his tea, Munson completed his inspection of Merle Farnsworth—dispassionately, for the brunette type of beauty had never yet made his pulses beat faster. But he could none the less admire. She was a stately girl, taller than Grace Darlington, with fine, regular features and brown eyes that matched the dark heavy braids of her hair. Her manner was alert and vivacious, yet there was the quiet dignity of gentle breeding even in her smile. After half an hour of general conversation, Mr. Robles arose to take his leave, notwithstanding Mrs. Darlington’s pressing invitation that he should remain and join the dinner party. “My home is not far away,” he said when shaking hands with Munson, “up in the woods yonder. Perhaps you may have seen it as you came along the road.” “Yes,” observed Dick, “I pointed it out to the lieutenant.” “Well, both you gentlemen are cordially invited to pay me a visit any time you are riding through this part of the country. Although I live far away from the busy world, and am a recluse by choice, I have some things that may interest you—pictures, old manuscripts and books of the Spanish days.” “Pictures?” interposed Dick, inquiringly. “Yes, a few that I picked up during several visits to Europe.” “If people only knew it,” remarked Mrs. Darlington, “Mr. Robles has perhaps one of the finest private picture galleries in America.” “Then I’m certainly coming to see you,” said Dick, eagerly. “Me or my pictures?” asked Mr. Robles with a quizzical smile. “Both,” and the young fellow showed he meant it by a cordial hand grip. “You will pass our door, Mr. Willoughby?” exclaimed Merle in half-laughing reproachfulness. “You will dare to give the go-by to La Siesta?”