onte. Mrs. Harland was there, and made a
delightful hostess. It rather amused Angela to watch Theo Dene with Sonia
Dobieski, and to see how delightful Falconer's sister was to both. But
somehow she contrived that Miss Dene should not be of the motoring party
for the Seventeen-Mile Drive. A young officer from the Presidio was
produced, to compensate as far as could be for her frankly lamented
"failure"; and Theo resigned herself to a second-best flirtation. It was
consoling to think that Falconer had been in love with the Dobieski long
before he saw her: and Theo could almost forgive the Russian, whom she
considered plain and gawky compared to herself. She could not, however,
forgive "Mrs. May" for having come into the party, and for being liked by
the host better than she was liked. Judging another woman by herself, she
thought that, out of revenge for one or two little things (such as the
talk about Mrs. Gaylor and Nick Hilliard), Angela was trying to "take
away" her California friends. If Theo had considered it worth while, she
would have broken her word, and told who "Mrs. May" really was; but that
would be worse than useless, as it would only make Angela seem of more
importance than at present. However, on hearing that Mrs. May might
decide to "run up to Shasta and the McCloud River," she promised herself a
certain amount of fun. She had reminded Mrs. Harland so often about
writing to Mrs. Gaylor, that at last the letter had been sent. The lady
who was supposed to have a claim upon Nick Hilliard was asked to visit
Rushing River Camp, as Falconer's place was called; and a telegram had
been dispatched by Falconer himself to Hilliard at the St. Francis Hotel
in San Francisco, whither he was bound. If they all came--yes, Theo would
have her fun.

She thought of this, as she flirted with the officer from the Presidio,
and promised to make him the hero of her next book. But the party in
Falconer's motor thought of her not at all.

Angela was enchanted with the peninsula of Monterey. In the dark arbour of
the cedar forest Falconer kept ordering the chauffeur of a hired car to
slow down, or stop. The practically minded young man believed that this
great gentleman and the three ladies must be slightly mad. It was so queer
to stop a car when she was going well just to stare around and talk poetry
about a lot of trees.

One of the ladies, the prettiest and youngest, with yellow hair under her
gray motor-bonnet, said they wer