Angela, being on the way back to her hotel from Barrymore's when Nick caught sight of her, had returned by the time he strolled in to ask if Mr. Sealman was staying there. Mr. Sealman was not; but the clerk admitted acquaintance with him.
"I want to know if his car's engaged," began Nick.
Yes, the clerk happened to know that it was engaged for the next three days, perhaps longer, to a young lady in the hotel who intended to do some touring in the neighbourhood.
"Contract all fixed up?" asked Nick.
Everything was arranged; had just been settled; in fact, Mr. Sealman had gone home.
Nick stood still and thought for a moment, looking as sad as if he had earnestly desired the Model for himself, which was, of course, the impression conveyed. As he reflected (not so much wondering what he wanted to do next, as whether the thing he wanted to do would "work") Kate came down, with a letter in her hand ready to post to Mr. Timothy Moriarty, White Orchard, Oregon.
"Oh, sir!" she exclaimed, flitting up to Nick. "P'raps you don't remember me, but I'm maid to Mrs. May, and 'twas to me you gave that beautiful bag you said you'd throw out o' window if I didn't take it. Ye don't mind if I sold it, do ye?"
"Of course not," Nick assured her. "I gave it to you for that."
"I thought so, sir; and I've done fine with it to-day. A gentleman named Barrymore, who keeps a smart jewellery shop, paid me five hundred dollars. I'm all in a flutter, sir! Just to think, it's the same as if you'd give me the money."
"Not a bit of it," said Nick. "Some cow might have swallowed the bag by this time if you'd let me chuck it out of the car window. Or a goat, maybe."