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"I never have liked new people and I never shall; Mr. Trennahan has not laughed it out of me. But what will you? They are seven-eighths strong in San Francisco, I have a daughter who naturally demands the rights of her youth so I make the best of a bad bargain. But I protest."
The peace and charm and intellectual relief of the Trennahan home did much to modify her shrinking from realities, and the effort to please, and the abandonment to the purely frivolous instincts of youth, were the only aides her beauty needed to achieve that popularity she had abstractly desired the night Gwynne brought her the stars.
Trennahan had sold her father's place, and bought a superb estate in the foothills, where she entertained in the simple fashion of the Eighties. Trennahan still took the haughty spirit of his chosen borough with all his old humor, but he liked no place so well, even in California.
The pair were endeavoring to force their way forward to a table that evidently had been reserved for them. Gwynne was leaning over the railing drinking to Mr. and Mrs. Trennahan. In a moment his interested eyes would rove over the crowd again. Isabel suddenly fell on him, bearing him backward. "Take me out quick!" she gasped. "I am horribly ill!"
Precious few California men that go to New York to live but are too glad to come back; and Eastern men, like Trennahan, who have had a long taste of it, couldn't be paid to live anywhere else." "So all the legends of San Francisco are true?" said Gwynne, who preferred Stone to his wife. "Couldn't exaggerate if you tried. Wait till I show it to you.
Trennahan. The whole valley, however, had a peculiar charm for him; when riding alone past the fields of ancient oaks with the great mountains on either side, almost a sense of possession.
A New-Yorker is always a New-Yorker, however long he may live in California, but he becomes more and more attached to the independent life, the even climate, above all to the cooking; and Trennahan was no exception.
They entertained constantly in a quiet way, and if Magdaléna was far too Spanish to seek out the clever of all sets, and Trennahan too indifferent, at least Isabel met daily such of the haute noblesse as were not completely fossilized, and many men that interested her well enough. Moreover, as Mrs.
Trennahan like most of her old neighbors, still dwelt in the ancestral mansion, although she had given it a stucco façade and shaved off the bow-windows. In each, Isabel was sure of welcome, and she longed particularly to wander through the old Polk house, where one of her Spanish great-aunts had reigned for a time.
She is so exclusive that it is a wonder she ever condescends to dine in a restaurant; but Mr. Trennahan is a fearfully high liver, and this kitchen is famous. Mrs. Trennahan's mother, Mrs. Yorba, who led society in the Eighties, had only ninety people on her visiting list, and they say that her parties were the dullest ever given in San Francisco. Of course that was before I was born.
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