"Do I think I shall go?" Angela echoed the question lazily, for she was happier this morning, and basking dreamily in the change, not troubling to wonder what had brought it about. "I hardly know. They were very kind to ask me. Californian people seem so warm-hearted to strangers, and so hospitable, one can't help feeling one's known them for years instead of days. _You_ are like that too--otherwise I shouldn't be here! And I've almost forgotten to be surprised at myself for--anything. I like Mr. Falconer; Mrs. Harland, too; but he is what you said--splendid. I understand why you called him typically Californian." "I'm glad," said Nick. And he tried to be glad. But he had not been told the romance of Mademoiselle Dobieski. Falconer did not guess that Angela or Theo Dene knew it, though he proposed introducing Mrs. May to a "Polish lady, staying at Paso Robles." "Then, of course, you will go to Shasta, and they'll take you to their place on the McCloud River. They say Falconer's house is the prettiest place of the sort in California. Mrs. Gaylor's never been, but she reads a lot about society folk and their doings in the papers. You'll sure have a good time." "Why do you say 'you'? They invited you, too." "Yes, and that was _really_ kind," Nick said. "It isn't 'kindness' to ask you, because 'twould be an honour to have your visit. But they don't want me. I was asked only because I happened to be with you, and Mrs. Harland was afraid my feelings would be hurt if I was left out." "I'm sure you're mistaken," Angela insisted, laughing within herself because he had not seen Theo's manoeuvres. "Of course they want you." She could not add what was in her mind. "Anyway, Miss Dene does." As for Carmen, Angela had no idea that the invitation was to be extended to her, and the figure of Mrs. Gaylor, who, according to Theo, intended to marry Hilliard, loomed less important than after listening to Miss Dene's gossip. Of course, it would be a good thing for him to care for Mrs. Gaylor, and if she were really nice, to marry her in the end. Only, when a young woman is in a motor-car with a handsome "forest creature" who appears to live only for her pleasure, she does not think much beyond the hour. For that hour he may be hers, and hers alone, though to-morrow they part; and she shuts her eyes to anything so far away, so out of the picture, as an "end." "I'm not Mrs. Harland's kind," Nick explained; "nor Falconer's, though he's too big a man to care for what people call 'social distinctions.' They'd be kind to me if I went, and wouldn't let me feel any difference they could help. But there'd be a house-party, maybe, and I wouldn't know any one. I'd be 'out of it.' I couldn't stand for that, Mrs. May." "You're sensitive," Angela said.