"No, that came out of my head. But I've been thinking a whole lot. About a
good many things--only most of them were about you, or came back to you if
they didn't begin there. Don't you know how one idea can sort of run
through all your thoughts?"
"I know," said Angela. Just so had the idea of him been running through
all her thoughts these last few days. "But," she added with an effort,
"why should you have been thinking of me? We're such--_new_ friends."
"Yes," Nick admitted, "but you can't always account for your thoughts."
"Of course not. And I'm grateful for a few of yours. Have you been
enjoying San Francisco? Do sit down. And would you mind putting on the
electricity?"
"Must I? It's beautiful like this."
"Very well. Leave it so."
She sat on a sofa, still with her back to the window, and Nick took a
chair facing the light.
"I've had a feeling on me of waiting," said Nick. "Just that. I haven't
gone around much, though this is the first time I've been in San
Francisco, except for a day, since the city's grown up after the fire. I
was waiting to see if you'd let me show you things, as you----"
"As I--what?" Angela asked, when he paused.
"I was going to say, as you partly promised. But that wouldn't be fair,
because you didn't really promise anything."
If he had claimed a right, it would have been easy to say that it didn't
exist, but he made things harder by claiming nothing. Still, she went on:
"No, of course, I couldn't promise. As I'm situated now, it's difficult to
make plans. However, if you've really waited for me, it was kind, and
there's no reason why I shouldn't ask you to show me San Francisco.
Already, even though I haven't gone about at all, except just 'taxying' up
to the hotel, I can see it's wonderful. From this window, it's like
looking out on Rome, with all its hills--Rome transplanted to the sea. And
I know you, and don't know Mr. Morehouse, who's my only other resource
here. Besides, he's a busy man; and if you're busy, you pretend not to
be."
"I'm having a vacation," Nick explained.
"All the nicer of you, spending some of it on me. But I mustn't let you
spend too much. Besides, I have as little time as you have for running
about the country. Everything has changed with me since I saw you last."
"I was afraid so!" Nick exclaimed, before he could stop to think.
"Only because I've bought land," Angela said hastily. "Some of
California--five acres on the peninsula of Monterey--is mine! I must
decide on an architect. Isn't that exciting? Then, while he's working out
our joint ideas, perhaps I'll make a visit to Mrs. Harland. I'm rather
tired, and I believe it will do me good."
"I expect it will," said Nick bravely.
"Think of the journey I've had from Europe, and not a day's rest since,"
went on Angela, with the air of excusing herself.
"It must have been mighty hard on you," Nick agreed. He flushed faintly,
as if he deserved reproach for inconsiderateness.
"Not that I felt the need of rest till--till now," she hurried on. "It was
delicious sailing along with your Bright Angel. When I'm at Rushing River
Camp I shall think of her again, wondering who is spinning about with you
in my place. For you'll often take your friends out when you're at home?"
It was on the tip of Nick's tongue to answer, "Bright Angel was bought for
you; named after you, and I can never bear to take anybody else, now
you've finished with her--and me." But that, like claiming a promise half
made, "wouldn't have been fair." If he hinted that the car had been got
for her sake, she would be distressed. Some men in his place would have
said--whether meaning it or not--"No other woman shall ever go with me in
that auto." And the wish to say this was in Nick's mind, but he knew that
it would be in bad taste. Besides, there was a woman who would want to try
his car, and it would be unfriendly to deny her. So he said, "There _is_
one friend I must take: Mrs. Gaylor. I've talked to you about her. She'll
be interested in Bright Angel when I get home."
"Yes; of course," replied Angela. It was extraordinary how much she
disliked the picture of Nick and a beautiful dark woman together in the
car where _her_ place had been by his side. Could it be that Theo Dene was
right? Was Nick's interest in her--Angela--less than, and different from,
his interest in Mrs. Gaylor? She had no right to know, no right to want to
know, still less to try to find out. Yet she felt that not to know very
soon would make her lose sleep, and appetite, and interest in daily life.
Silence fell between them for a moment. The rose of sunset burned to
ashes-of-rose. A small clock on the mantelpiece mentioned in a discreet
voice that it was a quarter to eight. Nick got up, rather heavily for a
man so lithe as he.
"Well, I must go," he said. "Thank you for letting me take, you around San
Francisco. May I come to-morrow morning?"
"Oh, do. About half-past nine." She got up also, feeling miserable,
though, as she pointed out to herself, for no real reason.
"I'll be prompt." He put out his hand, and she laid hers in it, looking up
to his face with a smile which would not for the world have been wistful.
Suddenly his fingers gripped hers convulsively.
"So it's all over!" he whispered.
"No, no; not all over," she contradicted him. "There's to-morrow."
"Yes, there's to-morrow," he echoed.
"I told you at first," and she tried to laugh, "that 'sufficient for the
day was the trip thereof.' Nothing was to be planned ahead."
"It's all right, Mrs. May," Nick answered.. "I want to be glad you're
going to have that McCloud River visit. And, of course, you've got your
new place to think of. No wonder you're sick of travelling and want to
settle down. It's all right, and there's to-morrow, as you say."
He shook her hand, moving it up and down mechanically, then dropped it,
and turned to go. Another second and the door was opening. Then it was
shutting behind him. He had gone! And though he was coming to-morrow for a
little while, nothing would ever be as it had been between them. It was
now, not to-morrow, that she was sending him definitely out of her life;
and he understood.
Never had Angela thought so quickly. She trembled as she stood staring at
the shut door. Her cheeks burned, and a pulse beat in her throat, under
the string of pearls. She clasped and unclasped her hands, and they were
very cold.
"He _shan't_ go to that woman, and take her out in my place in the Bright
Angel!" she said out aloud, and flew to the door.
"Mr. Hilliard!--Mr. Hilliard!" she called.
Everything seemed to depend--though this was nonsense!--on his not having
got to the elevator. She stood in the doorway, waiting to see what would
happen, her blood pounding as if she had taken a really important step;
which, of course, was not the case.
He had turned a corner of the corridor and was out of sight, but her voice
reached him, and he came back.
"Was there something you forgot to tell me?" he asked. Perhaps she was
going to say that after all she would not go out to-morrow.
"No, not that I forgot--something I _want_ to say. Come in again."
She whisked the tail of her black chiffon dress back into the room. He
followed her, wondering and silently anxious.
"I've changed my mind," she said in a low voice. (There! He had known it.
She was not going.)
"_Would_ you still care to be my 'trail guide' in the Yosemite Valley?"
"Would I care?" echoed Nick.
"Then we'll go. I'll give up the McCloud River. I'll telephone Mrs.
Harland--she's in San Francisco till day after to-morrow. I'll find an
excuse--I haven't had time to think it out yet. But I don't care _what_
happens, I won't change again! I'm going to the Yosemite if you'll take
me."
He looked at her searchingly. "Because you're kind-hearted, and afraid
you've hurt me----"
"No--no! _Because I want to go!_"
Women are strange, and hard to understand, when they are worth taking the
trouble to understand; and even then they cannot understand themselves.