American fiction -- 19th century; Love stories; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; San Francisco (Calif.) -- Fiction
Milly was still more astonished. However, she said, "Wait a moment,
dear!" and, with the instinctive deftness of her sex, in three small
tugs and a gentle hitch, shook Yerba's gown into perfect folds, passed
her fingers across her forehead and over her ears, securing, however,
with a hairpin on their passage three of the rose petals where they had
fallen. Then, discharging their faces of any previous expression,
these two charming hypocrites sallied out innocently into the walk.
Nothing could be more natural than their manner: if a criticism might
be ventured upon, it was that their elbows were slightly drawn inwards
and before them, leaving their hands gracefully advanced in the line of
their figures, an attitude accepted throughout the civilized world of
deportment as indicating fastidious refinement not unmingled with
permissible hauteur.
The three gentlemen lifted their hats at this ravishing apparition, and
halted. The Mayor advanced with great politeness.
"I feared you didn't hear me call you, Miss Yerba, so we ventured to
seek you." As the two girls exchanged almost infantile glances of
surprise, he continued: "Mr. Paul Hathaway has done us the honor of
seeking you here, as he did not find you at the convent. You may have
forgotten that Mr. Hathaway is the third one of your trustees."
"And so inefficient and worthless that I fear he doesn't count," said
Paul, "but," raising his eyes to Yerba's, "I fancy that I have already
had the pleasure of seeing you, and, I fear, the mortification of
having disturbed you and your friends in the parlor of the Golden Gate
Hotel yesterday."
The two girls looked at each other with the same childlike surprise.
Yerba broke the silence by suddenly turning to Milly. "Certainly, you
remember how greatly interested we were in the conversation of a party
of gentlemen who were there when we came in. I am afraid our foolish
prattle must have disturbed YOU. I know that we were struck with the
intelligent and eloquent devotion of your friends."
"Oh, perfectly," chimed in the loyal but somewhat infelix Milly, "and
it was so kind and thoughtful of Mr. Hathaway to take them away as he
did."
"I felt the more embarrassed," continued Hathaway, smiling, but still
critically examining Yerba for an indication of something
characteristic, beyond this palpable conventionality, "as I
unfortunately must present my credentials from a gentleman as much of a
stranger as myself--Colonel Pendleton."
The trade-wind was evidently making itself felt even in this pastoral
retreat, for the two gentlemen appeared to shrink slightly within
themselves, and a chill seemed to have passed over the group. The
Mayor coughed. The avuncular Woods gazed abstractedly at a large
cactus. Even Paul, prepared by previous experience, stopped short.
"Colonel Pendleton! Oh, do tell me all about him!" flashed out Yerba,
suddenly, with clasped hands and eager girlish breath.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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