which is one consolation. I'm thinking whether or
not I shall use it for the book. I'd like to--only Mr. Falconer's so well
known. Perhaps I shall pick up another plot. Anyhow, I'm recovering from
the blow, and beginning to take notice--as they say of babies and widows.
That brown man of yours is a dream of beauty. Do you mind if I smoke?"

"No. And he _isn't_ mine," said Angela, taking off her motor-veil in front
of the mirror.

"Well, then, dear Princess, if he isn't yours, and you don't want him to
play with, do hand him over to me. I won't grab him, if you want him
yourself. You were too nice to me in Rome."

"You saw in Rome that I didn't play." Angela stabbed a hatpin viciously
into her hat.

"There were cats there. Here there aren't--at least not any who know the
mouse."

Angela daintily ceased to be a fellow-being, in a disconcerting way she
had when she chose, and became a high personage. She did this without a
word, without a gesture, without even lifting her eyebrows. There was
merely a change of atmosphere. Miss Dene felt it, but she did not care
here as she would have cared in Rome. There, the young Princess di Sereno
could have made or marred her socially. In California she was on the same
ground as Mrs. May. Besides, she knew a thing about Mrs. May which, for
some reason or other, Mrs. May did not want other people to know. So Theo
sat on a green sofa and smoked a cigarette, hoping that she looked like a
snake charmer with the sinuous, serpentine smoke-loops weaving and
writhing round her head.

"Pray don't joke in that way before any one else," said Angela. "It is
rather horrid, don't you think? No doubt Mr. Hilliard will be delighted to
have you 'play' with him, if you see enough of each other to make it worth
while wasting your energy."

As she spoke, she wrestled with a violent desire to show Miss Dene that
Nick was not to be detached from his present position of guide,
philosopher, and friend.

"I don't do that sort of thing with 'energy.' I do it with magnetism,"
Theo drawled. Her cigarette was smoked out, and she got up. "Well, I must
run down to Mrs. Harland, I suppose. We arrived only this morning, early,
from Monterey, and to-morrow we're going on to Paso Robles. That's where
Mr. Falconer's romance comes in. Did you ever hear of Paso Robles?"

"Yes," said Angela. "My father owned land there, with a warm sulphur lake.
There's a legend about it, which he used to tell me. The place is sol