you'd admire, I think. Not mine. I'd like you to see that, too. But the
one I mean is a show place. It belongs to Mrs. Gaylor, the widow of my old
boss. She's a mighty nice woman, and handsome as a picture. She's pretty
lonely and likes visitors. If she invites you, will you come?"

"Perhaps, some day," said Angela, in a mood to humour him, because
everything round her was so charming that to refuse a request would have
sounded a jarring note. Not that she had the slightest intention of
visiting Mrs. Gaylor, the widow of Mr. Hilliard's "old boss."

"But I've mapped out a programme for myself already," she went on, "which
may take a long time, for if I like a place very much I shan't want to
hurry away. For instance, maybe I shall have a whim to come back here and
stay a week or a fortnight. You see, some one I loved dearly, long ago,
lived in California, and there are parts of the country I want to visit,
for his sake as well as my own."

This was a blow in spite of her late confession. But in a moment he took
courage. If this girl (who looked eighteen and couldn't be much over
twenty) had loved a man long ago, that man must have been a father or an
uncle. And with a sense of relief he remembered the miniature frame.

"Would you tell me what parts you want to see most of all?" he asked, with
an air of humility which was engaging in a man so big, so strong, and
brown.

Angela's eyes smiled mischief.

"Why do you want to know?" she catechized him. "I think you'll admit that
after--after several things which have happened, I've a right to ask--a