h, 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.

Kate had already opened her mistress's luggage, and spread gold and
crystal toilet things about. There were flowers, too, on the sitting-room
tables and mantel, California poppies with flaming orange hearts. Nick had
telegraphed for these; but Angela supposed that they had been ordered by
the "management." This impression was unlikely to be contradicted, because
Nick had wanted her to have the flowers, not to get the credit for giving
them. But Theodora Dene, who was experienced and shrewd in matters of the
heart, wondered about the poppies. She made no mention of them, however,
to Angela.

"I wanted you to myself for a minute," she explained, "to tell you I won't
forget you are Mrs. May--_toujours_ Mrs. May. And you needn't tell
me--anything, unless you like."

"I have told you why I came to California," said Angela. "I came to see
it."

"And I do think you're seeing it in the _nicest_ way!" Miss Dene
commented, sweetly. "I came for something quite different. I don't one bit
mind confessing."

"To write a book about California?"

"That was what I said to reporters. And that I was going to visit Mrs.
Harland. She's quite a dear, and I made her ask me, last time she was in
England, because that was the first time I met her brother. I really came
over with the idea of marrying him. He's splendid, and has loads of
money--which I badly need, for I've spent every penny I've made from my
books, and I've only eight hundred a year of my own. That won't buy my
frocks! I took the greatest fancy to him. But I see now it's no use.
Rather a bore! One hates to fail--and I'm not used to failure. However,
there's a great romance--