The poster-simile did not occur to Nick; but he thought that the red-haired girl with the self-conscious eyes, standing beside Mrs. May, was like a coloured lithograph in a magazine, compared with a delicate painting in a picture gallery, such as he loved to go and see in San Francisco. Miss Dene's peculiar attraction, strong for many men, left him cold, although he might have felt it if he had never seen Angela. "I'm travelling with Mrs. Harland, and her brother, Mr. Falconer, in his private car," Theo explained. She turned to them. "Mrs. May won't mind my claiming her as a friend I hope. She was immensely nice to me in Rome. And we've met in London, too. I don't know why I was surprised to see her. Every one comes to this country. And Mr. Hilliard, perhaps, you both know?" "We have met," said John Falconer, whom Nick had praised yesterday as the "typical" man of California. He put out his hand, and Nick took it, pleased and somewhat surprised by the recognition. For he was in his own eyes an insignificant person compared to John Falconer, who had done things worth doing in the world. Angela remembered Nick's eulogy of the man. He was about forty, as tall as Hilliard, though built more heavily. Nick was clean shaven, and Falconer wore a close-cut brown beard, which gave him somewhat the air of a naval officer, though his face was not so deeply tanned. His features were strong, and behind his clear eyes thoughts seemed to pass as clouds move under the surface of a deep lake. Such a man was born to be a leader. No one could look at him and not see that. Mrs. Harland, his sister, who--as Nick was aware--kept house and entertained for Falconer, was as like him as a very feminine woman can be like an extremely masculine man; and, in fact, they were twins. Ralph Harland, an Englishman, who had owned a California ranch, was dead; and when his widow was not in Europe she stayed with her brother. They all talked together for a few minutes, or Theo Dene talked and let the others speak occasionally. Then Nick said that he must take his car to the garage, but would come back for luncheon; and when he had flashed away, Miss Dene invited herself to Mrs. May's room. "Do let me go with you," she pleaded, with a girlish air which she liked to put on with married women younger than herself. She thought that amusing. It impressed upon them the fact that she was a girl--free, with life before her. And, indeed, "The Free Lance" was a nickname of hers, which she liked rather than disliked. Of course, Angela said, "Do come." She had found out that she was tired of Miss Dene. Still, she was curious to hear what she would say.