and America good-bye. How vividly that day came back to her now! She
could see her father, and feel his kisses as he said, "Never mind, little
girl. When mother brings you back then we'll have the time of our
lives--just you and I--in California together."

But that day did not bear thinking of. And, by and by, rattling through
the bright, busy streets, in the vivifying sunshine, she began to feel
happy again, as well as very young and eager.

"This is the gate of my future, and I'm driving into it," she thought.

The Hotel Valmont, which Mrs. Corning had said was small, loomed imposing
to Angela's eyes, as her taxicab stopped before the ever-revolving glass
wheel of the Fifth Avenue door. The building towered to a height of
sixteen or seventeen storeys at least, and appeared only a lesser mountain
among mountains.

A polite man in livery bowed her through the swift whirl of the glass
wheel, and she found herself in a large hall with floor and walls of
marble. Formally cut laurel-trees grew in huge pots, and the gilded
ceiling was higher than those of the Palazzo di Sereno.

There were many desks, and she explained to one of a dozen clerks that she
was Mrs. A.V. May, who had cabled for a bedroom and sitting-room.

She was expected, and her suite was ready. Would she kindly register? And
the young man, admiring the face framed in gold hair and black straw,
pushed forward a ponderous volume that lay open on the counter. As Angela
pulled off her glove and took the pen, she laid down a gold chain-bag
which she always carried hanging on her arm. Angela was used to it, and