And yet, the Girl was not beautiful, at least if judged by Spanish or Californian standards. Unlike most of their women, she was fair, and her type purely American. Her eyes of blue were lightly but clearly browed and abundantly fringed; her hair of burnished gold was luxuriant and wavy, and framed a face of singularly frank and happy expression, even though the features lacked regularity. But it was a face, so he told himself, that any man would trust,--a face that would make a man the better for looking at it,--a face which reflected a soul that no environment could make other than pure and spotless. And so there was, perhaps, a shade more of respect and a little less assurance in his manner when he asked: “And you like Monterey?” “I love it! Ain’t it romantic--an’, my, what a fine time the girls there must have!” The man laughed; the Girl’s enthusiasm amused him. “Have you had a fine trip so far?” he asked, for want of something better to say. “Mercy, yes! This ’ere stage is a pokey ol’ thing, but we’ve made not bad time, considerin’.” “I thought you were never going to get here!” The Girl shot a coquettish glance at him. “How did you know I was comin’ on this ’ere stage?” “I did not know,”--the stranger broke off and thought a moment. He may have been asking himself whether it were best for him to be as frank as she had been and admit his admiration for her; at last, encouraged perhaps by a look in the Girl’s blue eyes, he ventured: “But I’ve been riding along this road every day since I saw you. I felt that I must see you again.” “You must like me powerful well...?” This remark, far from being a question, was accompanied with all the physiognomical evidences of an assertion. The stranger shot a surprised glance at her, out of the corner of his eye. Then he admitted, in all truthfulness: “Of course I do. Who could help...?” “Have you tried not to?” questioned the Girl, smiling in his face now, and enjoying in the full this stolen intimacy. “Ah, Señorita, why should I...? All I know is that I do.” The Girl became reflective; presently she observed: “How funny it seems, an’ yet, p’r’aps not so strange after all. The boys--all my boys at the camp like me--I’m glad you do, too.”