"A devil!" thought Angelica. "I wish I could get at him! I bet I could handle him! I’d like to see him, anyway. I’d devil him! And maybe if he had a wife with more fight in her, more spirit, he’d be different. He’d be different to _me_!" her secret heart cried. "No man could ever neglect or hurt _me_. No man could ever really win me. I shall be loved, adored, obeyed, but I shall not give much. I am Angelica, the beautiful, the proud, the free!" She was very ready to hear more, but that was not to be. The aggrieved voice of Courtland, the chauffeur, was heard in the hall. "Now, then, do you want to be late?" he called. That reminded Angelica of her errand. "Oh! Mrs. Geraldine said to ask you when did you want to use the car. She thought she’d go out." Mrs. Russell stared at her in distress. "Oh, pshaw! I never imagined she’d want it. Tell her, please, I’ll send Courtland back with it in an hour." "I don’t think!" said Courtland. "She better not hold her breath waiting." Even Angelica was aware that this was not the proper way for a chauffeur to address his lady. She was surprised that he wasn’t rebuked. She looked at him with an indignant glance, which he returned with one of the greatest scorn. "Wait in the car, Courtland," was all that Mrs. Russell said. "I’ll be down directly." "He’s a nice boy," she told Angelica, after he had gone. "I think a great deal of him. I’m sorry for him. He’s very bright and intelligent, but he hasn’t had any opportunities." "He’s mighty fresh," said Angelica. "You mean disrespectful? I know it; but it seems to me that in this country, you know--a republic--we should expect that sort of thing. We’re all more or less equals, I suppose, aren’t we?" Angelica said yes; but she didn’t think so, and she knew that Mrs. Russell didn’t think so. A game of exploitation, simply but in a country where every one had the pleasing possibility of becoming one of the exploiters. Angelica went back to Polly with the message. "She says she’ll send back the car in an hour." "Then I think I’ll get up and dress," said Polly. "We’ll run into the city for lunch. Do you know, I feel better! I think you’re doing me good." She really believed so; it seemed to her that the fierce and careless vitality of this girl charged all the atmosphere, penetrated and invigorated even her jaded and sorrowful heart. It was not the sort of vitality that fatigues and irritates, like the ceaseless activities of a little child. Angelica was quiet, for the most part; she didn’t speak much, she sat quietly in her chair, with the sort of cool steadiness that one notices in cats. When you spoke to her, it required no effort for her to attend, to concentrate her thought on you; at once her dark face was alert, her ready mind in action.