American fiction -- 19th century; Love stories; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; San Francisco (Calif.) -- Fiction
There was no trace of any conception of humor in the colonel's face,
although he uttered a short laugh, as if in polite acceptance of the
possibility that Paul might have one. Far from that, his companion,
looking at the striking profile and erect figure at his side--at the
long white moustache which drooped from his dark cheeks, and
remembering his own sensations at first seeing George--thought the
popular belief not so wonderful. He was even forced to admit that the
perfect unconsciousness on the part of master and man of any
incongruity or peculiarity in themselves assisted the public
misconception. And it was, I fear, with a feeling of wicked delight
that, on entering the hotel, he hailed the evident consternation of
those correct fellow-countrymen from whom he had lately fled, at what
they apparently regarded as a national scandal. He overheard their
hurried assurance to their English friends that his companions were NOT
from Boston, and enjoyed their mortification that this explanation did
not seem to detract from the interest and relief with which the Britons
surveyed them, or the open admiration of the Germans.
Although Pendleton somewhat unbent during supper, he did not allude to
the secret of Yerba's parentage, nor of any tardy confidence of hers.
To all appearance the situation remained as it was three years ago. He
spoke of her great popularity as an heiress and a beautiful woman, and
the marked attentions she received. He doubted not that she had
rejected very distinguished offers, but she kept that to herself. She
was perfectly competent to do so. She was no giddy girl, to be
flattered or deceived; on the contrary, he had never known a cooler or
more sensible woman. She knew her own worth. When she met the man who
satisfied her ambition and understanding, she would marry, and not
before. He did not know what that ambition was; it was something
exalted, of course. He could only say, of his own knowledge, that last
year, when they were on the Italian lakes, there was a certain
prince--Mr. Hathaway would understand why he did not mention names--who
was not only attentive to her, but attentive to HIM, sir, by Jove! and
most significant in his inquiries. It was the only occasion when he,
the colonel, had ever spoken to her on such subjects; and, knowing that
she was not indifferent to the fellow, who was not bad of his kind, he
had asked her why she had not encouraged his suit. She had said, with a
laugh, that he couldn't marry her unless he gave up his claim of
succession to a certain reigning house; and she wouldn't accept him
WITHOUT IT. Those were her words, sir, and he could only say that the
prince left a few days afterwards, and they had never seen him since.
As to the princelings and counts and barons, she knew to a day the date
of their patents of nobility, and what privileges they were entitled
to; she could tell to a dot the value of their estates, the amount of
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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