When they had sailed south for a few moments the boat came about sharply. Concha laughed. "I had forgotten the chart. I rather hoped you would run on a shoal." But as they approached the cove of Yerba Buena again she caught his arm suddenly, unconscious of the act, and the little dancing lights of humor in her eyes went out. "Your white city, senor! Ay, Dios! what a city of dreams that can never come true!" The soft white fog that sometimes, even at this season, came in from the sea, was rolling over the hills between the Battery and the Presidio, wreathing about the rocky heights and slopes. It broke into domes and cupolas, spires and minarets. Great waves rolled over the sand dunes and beat upon the cliffs with the phantoms clinging to its sides. Then the sun struggled with a thousand colors. The sun conquered, the mist shimmered into sunlight, and once more the hills were gray and bare. Rezanov laughed, but his eyes glowed down upon her. "I am not sure it was there," he said. "I have an idea your imagination and touch acted as a sort of enchanter's wand. The others evidently saw nothing." "The others saw only fog and shivered. But it was there, senor! We have had a vision. A Russian city! Ay, yi!" But Rezanov had forgotten the city. Her reboso had fallen and a strand of her hair blew across his face. His lips caught it and his eyes burned. They rounded a headland and the world looked green and young. "Concha!" he whispered. Her eyes flashed and melted, she lifted her chin; then burst into a merry ripple of laughter. "Senor!" she said, "if you make love to me, I shall have to compare you with many others, and I might not like the Russian fashion. You are much better as you are--very grand seigneur, iron-handed and absolute, haughty and arrogant, but the most charming person in the world, with ends to gain, even from such humble folk as a handful of stranded Californians. But to sigh! to languish with the eye! to sing at the grating! I fear that the lightest headed of the caballeros you despise could transcend you in all." "Very likely! I have not the least intention of sighing or languishing or singing at gratings. But if we were alone I certainly should kiss you." But her eyes did not melt again at the vision. She flushed hotly with annoyance. "I am a child to you! Were it not that I have read a few books, you would find me but a year older than Ana Paula. Well! Regard me as a child and do not attempt to flirt with me again. Shall it be so?" "As you wish!" Rezanov looked at her half in resentment, half wistfully, then shrugged his shoulders, and called to Davidov to steer for the anchorage. She was quite right; and on the whole he was grateful to her. XIII "Concha," said Sturgis abruptly, "will you marry me?" Concha, who was sitting in the shade of the rose vines on the corridor making a dress for Gertrudis Rudisinda, ran the needle into her finger.