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Mrs. Yorba, who did not like to have her plans made for her, decided togive the party on the evening of Saturday week. The floor was to becanvased, and three musicians were engaged. She promised the girls thatafter this initial party they should dance informally at Fair Oaks asoften as they wished.
It was some time before Magdalena rode alone with Trennahan again. Theother girls rode every morning and claimed him. Magdalena joined theseparties as soon as her habit was finished, and met him every afternoonat one or other of the new tennis courts, which consisted merely ofchalked lines and a net,--Ila had introduced tennis to Menlo,--buteither Ila or Caro possessed him with the tentacles of their kind. Mrs.Yorba had made it understood that her party was to be the first of theseason, so the evenings alone were unoccupied. Trennahan dined twice atFair Oaks, but Don Roberto and Mr. Polk claimed him. Magdalena wonderedif he had forgotten his original programme. But with four handsome girlsdemanding his attentions, a literary friendship was doubtless a dream ofthe future. She felt an unaccountable depression, and wondered if shewere going to be ill.
By the time the evening of the party arrived, the nervousness which hadassailed her when the subject was broached had been tempered by time andconstant association with many who would be present. Tiny and the othergirls had promised to make "things go." There were to be no ball gowns,and the whole affair was to be as informal as possible. She evenharboured pleasurable anticipation. Parties, she had read and heard,were brilliant exhilarating affairs, and she loved dancing as only aSpanish woman can. In this, at least, she should excel her fellows. Shehad taken lessons once a week for the last two years from a solemn andautomatic person who had rarely opened his lips except to complain ofthe heavy carpets in the cavernous Yorba parlours.
Magdalena dressed immediately after dinner; the guests were expected bynine. She wore her white organdie, but fastened crimson roses in herhair and belt. She was by no means satisfied with her appearance,--shewas too ardent an admirer of beauty for that,--but she knew that shelooked far better than she had on the night of her dinner. She shudderedat the memory of that white ribbon about her swarthy throat.
She went downstairs, and thought the big rooms looked very inviting withtheir white floors; the folding-doors had been rolled back, and theparlour and dining-room made an immense sweep. The vases on the mantelswere full of flowers. In the distance she heard the tuning of a fiddle.
The night was hot, and all the windows were open. The dark groundsbeyond looked full of mystery, and of infinite depth. She thought at themoment that there was nothing she loved more than the mystery of nightin the country. As she stood in the middle of the brilliantly lightedroom, the heavy darkness without outlined with trees and great shrubs,the broken spaces above, set with stars, allured her. Almostunconsciously she stepped through one of the windows, crossed theverandah and drive, and entered the long narrow path between the lawns.Here there was more sense of space, for the lawns were very large; butthe trees were close along their edge and massed heavily at the end ofthe perspective. Above was a long banner of night sky. The monotonouschanting of frogs was the only sound.
Certainly, California is a land of beauty and peace, she thought. Mr.Trennahan says he has never known anything like it, and he has beeneverywhere. Everybody should be happy in it, and I suppose everyone is,mostly. Poets like Tennyson always make weather to suit moods andcircumstances. If they are right, one should laugh and be happy foreight months in the year in California, and only sad when it rains.There does not seem much chance for tragedy, although I have heard thatthere are many murders and suicides; but perhaps that is because thetowns are new and excitable. There is nothing in the country itself tomake one unhappy, as there must be in other countries where Nature hasdone so little, and they have so many centuries of tragic past behindthem.... Oh, dear, I am struggling toward something, as usual. What isit?
She touched her fingers to her forehead, then drew them lightly back andforth, as if to clear the mist from her brain, the rust from thewheels.... I seem to have seeds in my mind. Why don't they sprout? Whyare they for ever knocking at the hard earth over their heads? One wouldthink they were in their graves instead of never having been born.
She sighed and shook her head, but her thoughts ran on. Am I happy? Ithink so. And all the girls seem happy. Mr. Trennahan says he watchedthe rest of the world rise into an inverted abyss of smoke when thetrain slid down the Sierras, and that his memory has been asleep eversince. I have been unhappy here! she continued abruptly. And one night Isuffered--suffered horribly--and this last week----She stopped short,looking at the beauty and peace about her with a feeling of sharp andswift resentment. She had a sense of being betrayed by the country ofwhich she was, far more than her mates, a part. She was of its firstblood, the daughter of its Arcadia, the last living representative ofall that it had been in the fulness of its power. And she knewCalifornia and felt it as no one else did. That sense of betrayal, ofpersonal treachery, passed as swiftly as it had come, but seemed tomurmur back that it would come again, and again; and that with eachvisit she would understand it better.
I have read somewhere that artists must suffer before they canaccomplish anything, she thought. Well, I should not mind, I shouldnot--at least, I think I should not.
Some time since she had come to the end of the path and turned to theright and into a long lane running between fields. She sat down on astump; she had quite forgotten the party. Her brain was full ofstruggling ideas. But in a few moments she surrendered herself to thespell of the night. There were no trees quite near her, nothing butlevel fields thick with grain. Far to the left and curving a mile behindher was the black outline of the woods. Far behind them were thetowering mountains with their forests of redwoods; those on the crestsharp against the stars. California was a new country. It might havebeen newer, so vast was its silence, so primeval its peace.
Oh, I am sure I am happy, thought Magdalena, suddenly. Yes, I am sure.But I wish I might never see anyone again. California is faultless; itis civilisation that has spoilt her.
She was stumbling close upon great truths; but it was part of herinheritance that she had no perception of what she was groping for, andpassed almost unheeding the little that came to her.
"Miss Yorba, are you cultivating a reputation for eccentricity?"
She sprang to her feet. Trennahan was approaching her. He was in eveningdress, without a hat. His expression was one of extreme amusement, andMagdalena felt the blood in her face.
"Have they come?" she asked in dismay.
"They are dancing, or were about to begin as your mother sent me to lookfor you."
"I had forgotten--"
"I was sure you had. Miss Brannan insisted that you were hiding, but Ihad no doubt that you had wandered off in a reverie." He laughed. "Happyyou!" he said. "Happy you!"
"You think I am an idiot."
"Indeed I do not. I feel sorry to think that in a year from now such athing will no longer be possible. But we must go back, or they will besending someone to look for us."
"Is papa angry?"
"I don't think he noticed. Miss Montgomery and Miss Brannan were usingall their blandishments to make him think the party as interesting asthemselves; and I am positive they were succeeding."
When they reached the house, the quadrille which had opened the partywas finishing. Don Roberto was making a sweeping bow to Tiny, whose facewore an inscrutable expression. Magdalena was about to step through thewindow, but Trennahan guided her to the door, and they entered the roomwithout attracting attention. There were some forty people present. Withthe exception of the Yorbas, everybody had house guests. Mrs. Yorba satin a corner with a small group of elderly ladies. Mr. Polk stood beforethe fireplace in the parlour, his legs well apart, staring absently atthe young people, who looked gay and content.
"What am I to do?" asked Magdalena, helplessly.
"Nothing, just now, as there are no wall-flowers. In a moment one ofthese youths will ask you to da
nce, and of course you will consent. Itis my misfortune that I no longer dance. I think your fate approaches."
A young man with a rather bright face came toward her. His name wasPayne. She had met him at the Montgomerys.
"May I have the pleasure of the first waltz, Miss Yorba?" he asked. "Iam told that it will be a unique pleasure,--that you can talk scienceand waltz in the same breath, as it were."
He did not speak in sarcasm, merely in facetiousness. He was a type ofthe fresh young San Franciscan whose ways are not as all ways. Magdalenalooked at him in sombre anger and made no reply. He saw that he had madea mistake, and reddened, wondering why on earth she were in society atall, if she could not be like other girls. Magdalena did not appreciatehis natural indignation; but she saw that he was miserable, andrelented.
"I will waltz with you if you wish," she said.
Mr. Payne bowed stiffly and offered his arm. They walked the length ofthe two rooms in utter silence; then the musicians played the openingbars of a waltz. Magdalena remembered that this would be her first waltzwith any man, barring the teacher who had solemnly piloted her up anddown the parlours in town. She had hoped much from her first dance; andshe was to have it with this silly overgrown boy. It was a minordisappointment, but sharp while it lasted.
"Shall we begin?" he asked formally. He was sulky, and eager to have itover. Two or three of his friends had flashed him glances of ironicalsympathy, and he was too young to bear ridicule with fortitude.
Ila was floating down the room with Alan Rush, a young South American,as graceful of foot and bearing as herself. Magdalena forgot her partnerand gazed at them with genuine delight. She had read of the poetry ofmotion, and this illustration appealed to the passion for beauty whichwas strong in her nature.
She turned to her partner. "Do they not dance beautifully?" sheexclaimed. That much-enduring youth replied that they did, and asked heragain if she were ready. She laid her hand on his shoulder and theystarted. Magdalena realised at once that her partner was an excellentdancer, and that she was not. She felt that she was heavy, and marvelledat the lightness of Ila and Rose. They seemed barely to touch the floor,and were laughing and chatting as naturally as if they had no feet toguide.
"Could you take a little longer step?" asked Mr. Payne, politely."I--I--beg pardon for suggesting it, but it's the fashion just now.That's right--a little longer. Oh, I--I--am afraid that your feet aretoo small. Shall we sit down a moment?"
They sat down in the recess, and Payne wiped his brow. "It is so warm,"he muttered apologetically.
"Mr. Rush does not look warm," she said cruelly.
He repressed the obvious reply, but made no other. In a moment he askedher if she cared to finish the waltz.
"No," she said. "I do not. You may go and finish it with someone else,if you like."
He moved off with alacrity, and Magdalena sat alone for some momentsfeeling very miserable. What was the matter with her? Could she donothing well? And she should be a wall-flower for the rest of theevening, of course. That wretched man would tell everybody how badly shedanced.
But she had forgotten that she was hostess. A moment after the waltzended, three young men came over to her and begged for the honour of herhand. They were Rollins, the sharp-faced Fort, and Alan Rush. She gavethe dance to follow to Rush, and the others, having inscribed her nameon their cuffs, moved off. Rush sat down beside her. He had a frank kindface, and the beauty of his figure and the grace of his carriage hadgiven him a reputation for good looks which had reached even Magdalena'sears. He was at that time the most popular young man in San Franciscosociety. Magdalena decided that she liked him better than anyone she hadmet except Trennahan. His voice was rich and Southern, although he hadno Spanish blood in him.
"I watched you dance," said Magdalena, abruptly. "I don't dance wellenough for you."
"Dancing is all a matter of habit," he said kindly. "This is my thirdyear. You have no idea how awkward I was when I began. I am sure youwill be the best dancer in society next winter--with all those Spanishgrandmothers."
"Do you think so?" She liked him almost as well as Trennahan for themoment.
He did not, for he had noted that she was lacking in natural grace; buthe was chivalrous, and he saw that she was discouraged.
"There's the music," he said. "Suppose we go out in the hall byourselves, and I will give you a little lesson. No?"
Magdalena was delighted, but she merely stood up in her unbendingdignity and said that she was glad to take advantage of his kindness.
He was a man who danced so well that he compelled some measure offacility in his partner. Magdalena felt inspired at once, and carefullyobeyed every instruction.
"We will have a great many other lessons, no?" he said as the musicfinished. "By the time that famous coming-out party of yours comes off,you will be in great form."
"Will you open it with me?"
"I shall be delighted, and to help you all I can." They were walkingdown the hall, and he was bending over her with an air of devotion whichshe thought very pleasant. His accomplished eyes appealed to theinstinct of coquetry, buried deep in the seriousness of her nature, andshe smiled upon him and found herself talking with some ease.
She danced with all the young men, but they bored her as much as shefelt that she bored them. All the girls danced with her father, and heseemed amiable and pleased, especially when Tiny was smiling upon him.Ila, despite her elegance and refinement, suggested the ladies of hisleisure, Rose had too sharp a tongue, and Caro had an exaggeratedinnocence of manner and eye which experience had led him to distrust.But Tiny, beautiful, cool, and remote, reminded him of the women of hisyouth, when he was a man of enthusiasms, ideals, and dreams.
Mr. Polk spent the evening wandering about alone or staring from thehearth-rug. One or two of the girls asked him to dance, but he refusedbrusquely. It was the first dance he had attended since the one given byThomas Larkin to celebrate the Occupation of California by the UnitedStates.
The party broke up a little after twelve, and all assured Magdalena thatthe party had been a success with such emphasis that she was convincedthat it had been; but when she was in bed and the light out, she criedbitterly.
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