in New Orleans, but he wasn't strong enough. He did say I could mention
his name when I told him I meant to go back West and look after you; but
somehow it never seemed the right time in New Orleans. And now, when I
began to explain how I inquired about you at the Valmont, as if it was
from Morehouse, you didn't----"

"I felt there could be no explanation I'd care to hear," Angela finished
for him. "I beg your pardon! Still I don't see why you should take Mr.
Morehouse's responsibilities on your shoulders--for my sake."

"No, you'll never see that," Nick sighed. "Only, if you could just see
your way to forgiving me, I should be mighty thankful. I promise to switch
off till you send for me. I'm in the next car to yours, if you should need
to--if there's anything I could do, between here and Los Angeles----"

"How do you know my journey ends there? Did Mr. Morehouse tell you that,
too?"

"When he and I were travelling East, he said Mrs. May had the notion to
see California; and I thought you'd be sure to begin with Los Angeles."

"You, no doubt, will go on to Bakersfield," remarked Angela coldly, making
a statement rather than putting a question.

"I suppose so, pretty soon," Nick assented, too crushed by the angel's
displeasure to be flattered because she remembered where he lived.

"Of course you will, at once," she announced relentlessly. "Meanwhile, I
hold you to your word, Mr. Hilliard. It was--wrong of you to come, and
knowing Mr. Henry Morehouse--of whom I never heard till after I