"Oh, kind! That's a funny word."

"And these plans you draw for me are--are the sort of thing to make a
woman feel glad there are men in the world willing to take so much
trouble----"

"They're the sort of thing to make a man glad there are women--or better
still, a woman--to work for," he amended, so good to look at in his
enthusiasm, that Angela's eyes would not be banished to the _suède_ bag or
to the flowers on the table--Nick's flowers.

"But," she went on, "but----"

"Don't say that word to-day," Nick begged. "Whatever you decide afterward,
let me take you up to Rubidoux and on to Redlands? Make up your mind about
the rest when you've seen Mr. Morehouse's letter."

"Very well," she said. "Just for to-day, the 'make-believe' shall come
true."

Nick turned away his face lest it should betray him.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Well, then, I reckon it's time I went to
round up Billy. And we'll hit the breeze for Rubidoux and Redlands."

They saw the park and the millionaires' houses and the orange-packing,
passing on the way picturesque little towns, with Indian and Mexican
names, which charmed the eyes and ears of Angela. And always the air was
sweet with scent of orange-blossoms, roses, and alfalfa, the life of the
country. Once, at Redlands, Nick excused himself and jumped out of the car