"We are _so_ sorry that you have _such_ a dreadful cold," said Tiny, with her sweetest smile and emphasis; "and _so_ glad that we happened to drive up. You couldn't come for a drive with us, could you? We should _love_ to have you." Don Roberto rose to the bait at once. He was as susceptible to the blandishments of pretty women as Jack Belmont, although their influence over his purse was an independent matter. "Very glad I am that I have the cold," he answered gallantly; "for it give me the company of three so beautiful ladies. I no can go for drive, for it blow, perhaps; but I no care, so long as you here with me sit." "Well, we are going to stay a _long_ time; and we are _so_ glad we are back in Menlo again,--so many of us together. We used to love so to come here; it seems _ages_ ago. And now that we have got 'Lena again, you must expect us to fairly overrun the house." "It is yours," said Don Roberto, in the old vernacular. "Burn it if you will." Tiny, who had never heard even an anecdote of the early Californians, gave a quick glance at the whiskey flask, but replied undauntedly,-- "How gallant you are, Don Roberto! The young men say such stupid things. But you _always_ were so original!" "Poor old dear, I feel like wiping it off," whispered Rose to Ila. But it was evident that Don Roberto's vision was powdered with the golden dust of flattery. He smiled approvingly into Tiny's pretty face. "But I say true, and the young mens do not sometimes. It make me young again to see you here." "One would think you were _old_," said Tiny. "But do you _really_ like to see us here? Should you mind if we came sometimes in the evening? It would be such _fun_ to meet at each other's houses and talk on the verandahs." "Come all the evenings," said Don Roberto, promptly, "si you talk to me sometimes." "_I_ want to do that. Ila plays, and Rose sings _beau_tifully. Some evening we will get up charades--to amuse you." "On Saturday, Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday nights I am here." "Those will be our evenings to come here." She gave a peremptory glance to Rose, who responded hurriedly, "Are you fond of music, Don Roberto? It will give me great pleasure to sing for you; and Ila has been learning some of my accompaniments." Don Roberto did not answer for a moment. His memory had played him a trick: it had leaped back to the days of guitars and gratings. He rarely sought the society of gentlewomen, not, at least, of those whose names were on visiting lists. There was something unexpectedly sweet and fragrant in the company of these three beautiful girls. Don Roberto's memories were hanging in a dusty cupboard, and his heart had shrunken like the meat of a nut too long neglected; but there was life at the core, and the memories came forth, wanting only a breath to dust them. Yes, he should like to have these girls about him. And Magdalena had lived the life of a hermit. It was time for her to enjoy her girlhood.