burnt-out torches against the desert sky; no such rose-covered bungalows;
and, above all, no hotel so quaint as the Mission Inn.

The hour for luncheon was past, but Nick ordered flowers and a feast for a
dream-bride. Then, while it was preparing, the two walked in the garden
court and under pergolas where bunches of wistaria, lit from above by the
sun, hung like thousands of amethyst lanterns.

"I shall build a house like this in miniature," said Angela, half to
herself. "I can't have the shrines and the 'Mission' Arches with the
bell-windows; but I can have the court and the arcades and the pergolas;
and a well and lots of fountains. Inside there shall be walls of natural
wood, and great beams across the ceilings, and big brick
chimneys--'Mission' furniture too, and Indian rugs and pottery. I can
hardly wait to begin that house!"

"Where will it be?" Nick asked, afraid of the answer.

"In California somewhere," she said.

"You mean it?"

"Oh, yes! I don't know where, yet. I'm falling in love with the South now,
but I won't let myself fall too deep in, till I've seen the North."

"If you're in love, _can_ you keep yourself from falling deeper in?" said
Nick. "I don't think I could; I'd sure have to let myself go."

It had been so good to see the forest creature at the moment when he was
needed most, that Angela had melted toward him as snow melts in the spring