words. "Something made me do it. Something stronger than I am. You were a
kind of dissolving view, and I couldn't let it get out of my sight for
good. When I heard you'd gone to New Orleans by boat----"

"How did you find out?" Angela's sweet voice had a sharp edge.

"In the travel bureau of the Valmont Hotel."

"Ah! Was that quite--considerate?"

"I know how it sounds to you. But it wasn't so bad as you think. I
inquired as if from a friend of yours, a man I know out home----"

"How--how _horrid_ of you! I'd rather you didn't explain any more."
Angela's cheeks were bright pink, and she was more beautiful than Nick had
ever seen her before, except the night of the burglar, when she had been
drowned in the gold waves of her hair, the angel of his dreams. "But you
may go on about the rest," she added hastily, when he was struck into
silence, without being able to bring in the name of his one excuse, Mr.
Henry Morehouse. "I'd better know the _worst_. When you heard where I'd
gone----"

"Well, I was too late for your ship, because I had to hang on and see
Dutchy's case through, so I took the first train I could get when that
business was wound up. And in New Orleans I found you. I didn't know for
certain where you were going next, but----"

"But what?"

"I was pretty sure you were bound for California. And anyhow, wherever it