"Mrs. Gaylor hasn't a servant who isn't loyal," he returned at last, evading Wisler's eye. "But you'd better get this notion out of your mind, to start with, or you'll find yourself on the wrong track. Mrs. Gaylor and I are good friends, no more. She doesn't know anything about Mrs. May; and if she did, there's nothing to make her jealous, even if--if we were warmer friends than we are." "Sure she never heard of the lady?" Nick hesitated. "I don't see how she can have heard. I haven't written to her since I--met Mrs. May." "Ah, you haven't written to her since then. H'm! Does Mrs. Gaylor know Mr. Falconer and his sister, and their authoress friend Miss Dene?" "Not Miss Dene. Come to think of it, I heard Miss Dene say she'd like to meet Mrs. Gaylor. She asked questions about her. But that's nothing." "Perhaps they've been visiting back and forth since then." "If they have, it hasn't come to my knowledge." "Women do a lot of things that don't come to men's knowledge. That's one reason detectives exist. Well, you don't seem much inclined to help me, Mr. Hilliard, though you say you're anxious to get to the bottom of this little mystery as soon as possible." "I am anxious. And if I don't help you, it's because I can't. I don't want you to lose yourself in the woods, and have to find your way back, to begin all over again." "No. I don't want that, either," said Wisler, smiling his slow smile. "It's a long time since I got lost in the woods, and I'll do my best not to lose my reckoning this time. I must worry along without you, I see. But I'm not discouraged. When you've finished up this trip that you seem to think so important, I may have news for you, of one kind or another." Nick looked at his watch. It was time to go back to the Fairmount if he meant to take Angela away that night. XXIII THE HAPPY VALLEY In thinking of the Yosemite, Angela had, half-unconsciously, pictured herself and Nick Hilliard alone in the valley together, separated from "mere tourists" by a kind of magic wall. But down it tumbled with her first moment at El Portal; and behold, on the other side of the wall were hundreds of eager young men and women who no doubt resented her existence as much as she resented theirs. The huge veranda of the log-built hotel, on the hill above the railway, swarmed with brides and bridegrooms. It was extremely early in the morning, and everybody was sleepy, even those who had passed their night in the hotel, not in the train; nevertheless, though good-natured, one and all wore an air of square-chinned, indomitable determination which puzzled Angela. Something was evidently about to happen, something of immense importance, for which each man with all his feminine belongings intended to be ready if possible before any one else. Angela watched the silent preparations with impersonal interest while she waited for Hilliard to come from the office and tell her about the special carriage for which he had telegraphed.