Angela neither slept well nor lay awake well that night. Whenever she closed her eyes she seemed to meet Nick Hilliard's beseeching look; and next day, angrily pushing him and his problems out of her mind, she devoted herself passionately to scenery. He must have taken his meals very early or very late, or else had none at all, for not once did she see him in the dining-car. The following day at luncheon, however, he was going out as she came in. She bowed to him coldly, but her heart beat as if something exciting had happened. That night she forgot to set back her watch, and so went to dinner earlier than usual. Not far ahead, also bound for the dining-car, was Mr. Hilliard. She disliked the large tables laid for four; and when he could, her favourite waiter kept a place for Mrs. May at a small table for two persons. Often she got one to herself, but this evening, as she sat down, Mr. Millard appropriated the other chair. Had he not been rather stout, he would have squeezed himself into place before she could protest; but being a tight fit, inadvertently he gave her time to think.
"This seat is engaged," she said, raising her voice to reach the ears of Mr. Nickson Hilliard. He turned and saw invitation in her eyes. "I'm keeping your chair," she calmly informed him—since between two evils it is wise to choose the less.
"Thank you," said Nick, as quietly as if it had been a long engagement.
"Did that galoot annoy you?" he asked, dropping into the seat.
"No," said Angela. "But I preferred you for a neighbour."
Having explained her motives, she made it clear that conversation was not included, and Nick, knowing that a man in disgrace should be seen and not heard, was silent. When Mrs. May had finished a light meal, she unbent far enough to say: "It was clever—and kind of you to understand. One thing more! I must have your address at Bakersfield, to send the money."
Then Nick told her that he lived on a ranch a good many miles from Bakersfield. "I call it the 'Lucky Star Ranch,'" he added.
"I'll write you from Los Angeles," said she, and became conscious that her last words had been overheard by Mr. Millard. He had seated himself at a table close by, and now glanced up with such an intelligent look that she was sure he had taken in something of the situation.
When the journey through Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona was over, and the train slowed into the station at Los Angeles, she had cause to remember this incident, for Millard was on the car steps, just in front of her. He caught up the large dressing-bag which the porter had carried out of her stateroom, and, looking back, said:
"It's my turn to help you a little now, Mrs. May, since your friend's going on farther. You're English, I guess; and if you haven't got anybody to show you around here, you must let me make myself useful."