"I wanted you to myself for a minute," she explained, "to tell you I won't
forget you are Mrs. May--_toujours_ Mrs. May. And you needn't tell
me--anything, unless you like."

"I have told you why I came to California," said Angela. "I came to see
it."

"And I do think you're seeing it in the _nicest_ way!" Miss Dene
commented, sweetly. "I came for something quite different. I don't one bit
mind confessing."

"To write a book about California?"

"That was what I said to reporters. And that I was going to visit Mrs.
Harland. She's quite a dear, and I made her ask me, last time she was in
England, because that was the first time I met her brother. I really came
over with the idea of marrying him. He's splendid, and has loads of
money--which I badly need, for I've spent every penny I've made from my
books, and I've only eight hundred a year of my own. That won't buy my
frocks! I took the greatest fancy to him. But I see now it's no use.
Rather a bore! One hates to fail--and I'm not used to failure. However,
there's a great romance--which is one consolation. I'm thinking whether or
not I shall use it for the book. I'd like to--only Mr. Falconer's so well
known. Perhaps I shall pick up another plot. Anyhow, I'm recovering from
the blow, and beginning to take notice--as they say of babies and widows.
That brown man of yours is a dream of beauty. Do you mind if I smoke?"

"No. And he _isn't_ mine," said Angela, taking off her motor-veil in front
of the mirror.