Rezanov [44]
You have a new book in your pocket. Why did you not read it to me instead of making love? Let me see it."
"I brought it to read later if you wished, but I came to ask you to marry me and to receive your answer. I never expected to ask you--but--lately --things have changed--life seems, somehow, more real. The thought of losing you has suddenly be- come terrible."
"You have been drinking Russian tea," said Con- cha, stitching quietly but flashing him a glance of amusement, not wholly without malice.
"It is true," he replied. "I suppose I never really believed you would marry Raimundo or Ignacio or any of the caballeros. They think and talk of noth- ing but horse-racing, gambling, cock-fighting, love and cigaritos. I thought of you always here, where at least I could look at you or read with you. But one must admit that this Russian is no ordinary man. I hate him, yet like him more than any I have ever met. Last night I stayed to punch with him, and we talked English for an hour. That is to say, he did; I could have listened to him till morning. Langsdorff says that he has the greatest possible command of his native tongue, but he speaks Eng- lish well enough. I wish I could despise him, but I do not believe I even hate him."
"Well?" demanded Concha. She kept her eyes on her work (and the delight that rose in her breast from her voice).
"Well?"
"Why should you hate him?"
"Do you ask me that, Concha, when he makes a fence of himself about you, and his fine eyes--prac- tised is nearer the mark--look at no one else?"
"But why should that cause you jealousy? He is a man of the world, accustomed to make himself agreeable, and I am the daughter of the Com- mandante."
"He is more in love with you than he knows."
"Do you think so, Weeliam?" Still her voice was innocent and even, although the color rose above the inner commotion. "But even so, what of it? Have not many loved me? Am I to be won by the first stranger?"
"I do not know."
The tumult in Concha turned to wrath, and she lifted flashing eyes to his moody face. "Do you presume to say you are jealous because you think I love him--a stranger I have known but a week-- who looks upon me as a child--who has never-- never thought--" But her dignity, flying to the rescue, assumed control. Her upper lip curled, her body stiffened for a moment, and she went on with her stitching. "You deserve I should rap your silly little skull with my thimble. You are no better than Ignacio and Fernando. Such scenes as I have had with them! They wanted to fight the Russian! How he would laugh at them! I have threatened they shall both be sent to San Diego if there is any more nonsense." Then curiosity overcame her. "You never had the least, least reason to think I would marry you, and now, according to your own words, you think you have less. Then why, pray, did you address me?"
"Because I am a man, I suppose. I could not sit tamely down and see you go."
She looked at him with a slight access of interest. A man? Perhaps he was, after all. And his well- bred, bony face looked very determined, albeit the eyes were wistful. Suddenly she felt sorry for him; and she had never experienced a pang of sym- pathy for a suitor before. She leaned forward and patted his hand.
"I cannot marry you, dear Weeliam," she said, and never had he seen her so sweet and adorable, although he noted with a pang that her mouth was already drawn with a firmer line. "But what mat- ter? I shall never marry at all. For many years-- forty, fifty perhaps--I shall sit here on the veranda, and you shall read to me."
And then she shivered violently. But she set her mouth until it was almost straight, and picked up the little dress. "Not that, perhaps," she said quietly in a moment. "I sometimes think I should like to be a nun, that, after all, it is my vocation. Not a cloistered one, for that is but a selfish life. But to teach, to do good, to forget myself. There are no convents in California, but I could join the Third Order of the Franciscans,
"I brought it to read later if you wished, but I came to ask you to marry me and to receive your answer. I never expected to ask you--but--lately --things have changed--life seems, somehow, more real. The thought of losing you has suddenly be- come terrible."
"You have been drinking Russian tea," said Con- cha, stitching quietly but flashing him a glance of amusement, not wholly without malice.
"It is true," he replied. "I suppose I never really believed you would marry Raimundo or Ignacio or any of the caballeros. They think and talk of noth- ing but horse-racing, gambling, cock-fighting, love and cigaritos. I thought of you always here, where at least I could look at you or read with you. But one must admit that this Russian is no ordinary man. I hate him, yet like him more than any I have ever met. Last night I stayed to punch with him, and we talked English for an hour. That is to say, he did; I could have listened to him till morning. Langsdorff says that he has the greatest possible command of his native tongue, but he speaks Eng- lish well enough. I wish I could despise him, but I do not believe I even hate him."
"Well?" demanded Concha. She kept her eyes on her work (and the delight that rose in her breast from her voice).
"Well?"
"Why should you hate him?"
"Do you ask me that, Concha, when he makes a fence of himself about you, and his fine eyes--prac- tised is nearer the mark--look at no one else?"
"But why should that cause you jealousy? He is a man of the world, accustomed to make himself agreeable, and I am the daughter of the Com- mandante."
"He is more in love with you than he knows."
"Do you think so, Weeliam?" Still her voice was innocent and even, although the color rose above the inner commotion. "But even so, what of it? Have not many loved me? Am I to be won by the first stranger?"
"I do not know."
The tumult in Concha turned to wrath, and she lifted flashing eyes to his moody face. "Do you presume to say you are jealous because you think I love him--a stranger I have known but a week-- who looks upon me as a child--who has never-- never thought--" But her dignity, flying to the rescue, assumed control. Her upper lip curled, her body stiffened for a moment, and she went on with her stitching. "You deserve I should rap your silly little skull with my thimble. You are no better than Ignacio and Fernando. Such scenes as I have had with them! They wanted to fight the Russian! How he would laugh at them! I have threatened they shall both be sent to San Diego if there is any more nonsense." Then curiosity overcame her. "You never had the least, least reason to think I would marry you, and now, according to your own words, you think you have less. Then why, pray, did you address me?"
"Because I am a man, I suppose. I could not sit tamely down and see you go."
She looked at him with a slight access of interest. A man? Perhaps he was, after all. And his well- bred, bony face looked very determined, albeit the eyes were wistful. Suddenly she felt sorry for him; and she had never experienced a pang of sym- pathy for a suitor before. She leaned forward and patted his hand.
"I cannot marry you, dear Weeliam," she said, and never had he seen her so sweet and adorable, although he noted with a pang that her mouth was already drawn with a firmer line. "But what mat- ter? I shall never marry at all. For many years-- forty, fifty perhaps--I shall sit here on the veranda, and you shall read to me."
And then she shivered violently. But she set her mouth until it was almost straight, and picked up the little dress. "Not that, perhaps," she said quietly in a moment. "I sometimes think I should like to be a nun, that, after all, it is my vocation. Not a cloistered one, for that is but a selfish life. But to teach, to do good, to forget myself. There are no convents in California, but I could join the Third Order of the Franciscans,