Mademoiselle Dobieski followed
suit, and, in common civility, Angela had to say what they said whether
she meant it or not. She had to look up, too, when she spoke, and Nick's
eyes met hers. She blushed like a schoolgirl, and glanced away, adding
quickly that she would have liked his advice as well as Falconer's, at
Monterey. "You know, Mr. Falconer thinks I shall want to buy land along
the Seventeen-Mile Drive, and build my house there," she said. "I wonder?
Since Santa Barbara, I've been thinking I might prefer the North. But I
can't tell, one bit. There's something about the climate of California--I
suppose it must be the climate!--which makes me in two minds about the
same things, every day."
Nick was not sure whether to take this as an excuse or a stab. He was sure
of but one thing. Something hideous had come between him and his angel,
while he slept and dreamed of her; and nothing would ever be the same
again. Of course it must be his fault; and if he were used to women he
would perhaps see what he had done that a woman would disapprove. Or
perhaps, even so, he would be in the dark, for there were all the other
women in the world, and there was Angela May. She was a law unto herself.
It looked just now as if she were a hard and cruel law, but she must not
be blamed.
Pages:
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249