"Thank you," said Nick, as quietly as if it had been a long engagement.

"Did that galoot annoy you?" he asked, dropping into the seat.

"No," said Angela. "But I preferred you for a neighbour."

Having explained her motives, she made it clear that conversation was not
included, and Nick, knowing that a man in disgrace should be seen and not
heard, was silent. When Mrs. May had finished a light meal, she unbent
far enough to say: "It was clever--and kind of you to understand. One
thing more! I must have your address at Bakersfield, to send the money."

Then Nick told her that he lived on a ranch a good many miles from
Bakersfield. "I call it the 'Lucky Star Ranch,'" he added.

"I'll write you from Los Angeles," said she, and became conscious that her
last words had been overheard by Mr. Millard. He had seated himself at a
table close by, and now glanced up with such an intelligent look that she
was sure he had taken in something of the situation.

When the journey through Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona was over, and the
train slowed into the station at Los Angeles, she had cause to remember
this incident, for Millard was on the car steps, just in front of her. He
caught up the large dressing-bag which the porter had carried out of her
stateroom, and, looking back, said:

"It's my turn to help you a little now, Mrs. May, since your friend's
going on farther. You're English, I guess; and if you haven't got anybody
to show you around here, you must let me make myself useful."