Angela was not happy in this expedition to the Gaylor ranch, though she reassured herself from time to time, by saying that it was better to accept than refuse the invitation; and she was to be Mrs. Gaylor's guest only for a day, part of another, and one night. Still, she was vaguely troubled. The warm consciousness of being surrounded by kindness which had made the California sunshine doubly bright, was chilled. This visit would be like other visits which she had made in the past, before she was "Mrs. May, whom nobody knows." In Rome, in Paris, in London, Princess di Sereno had been obliged sometimes to go to houses of women whom she disliked or distrusted, and to have them in hers. Such obligations had been part of the inevitable disagreeableness of daily existence for the wife of Paolo di Sereno; but going to Mrs. Gaylor was the first false note in the music of this free, new world. Angela consoled herself by thinking of Lucky Star Ranch. She would like to see Nick Hilliard's home. * * * * * "Simeon, she's here," said Carmen, in a low voice, to the old squirrel poisoner. They stood together in the grove of bamboos, where they had talked about Nick, and about "old Grizzly Gaylor," on the May night when Nick was leaving for New York. Counting by time, that was not long ago. But Carmen's whole outlook on life was changed. She felt and looked years older. "That's all right then, my lady," Simeon Harp answered. "The whole thing's all right. Don't you worry." "Oh, I do worry. Every minute I'm in hell," she groaned. "Oh, Simeon, what will become of me?" "You'll be happy, and marry the man you love, my lady," the old man soothed her, the red-rimmed eyes, which had once been handsome, sending out a faint gleam of the one emotion that still burned in the ashes of his wrecked soul: devotion to the woman who had saved his life, who had given him a roof and food, and--above all--drink. "I can never be happy again, whatever happens," Carmen said, with anguish. "He loves some one else. He doesn't care for me." "He'll learn to care. This slip of a thing that's come between you and 'im, my lady, will fly away out of his mind like a bit of thistledown. When I'm done with her--she's got rid of for good."