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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"A Ward of the Golden Gate"

Yerba did not press him; he even fancied she looked
relieved. Colonel Pendleton was coming; Paul was not loath, in his
present frame of mind, to dispense with his company. A conviction
that the colonel's counsel was not the best guide for Yerba, and
that in some vague way their interests were antagonistic, had begun
to force itself upon him. He had no intention of being disloyal to
her old guardian, but he felt that Pendleton had not been frank
with him since his return from Rosario. Had he ever been so with
HER? He sometimes doubted his disclaimer.
He was lucky in finding the General disengaged, and together they
dined at a restaurant and spent the evening at the Kursaal. Later,
at the Residenz Club, the General leaned over his beer-glass and
smilingly addressed his companion.
"So I hear you, too, are a conquest of the beautiful South
American."
For an instant Paul, recognizing only Dona Anna under that epithet,
looked puzzled.
"Come, my friend," said the General regarding him with some
amusement, "I am an older man than you, yet I hardly think I could
have ridden out with such a goddess without becoming her slave."
Paul felt his face flush in spite of himself. "Ah! you mean Miss
Arguello," he said hurriedly, his color increasing at his own
mention of that name as if he were imposing it upon his honest
companion.


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