"Not very young, I suppose?" she hazarded, her lips so dry that she had to
touch them with her tongue. But that was dry, too.
"Oh, about twenty-three or four, and looks nineteen."
There was no hope, then! Nick was with a woman, beautiful, young,
presumably a widow, and evidently in love with him, as Miss Dene said that
she would be here at Rushing River Camp if Nick had come. A deadly
sickness caught Carmen by the throat. Her love for Nick was one with her
life, and had been for years. Always she had believed that some day she
would be happy with Nick, would have him for her own. Anything else would
be impossible--too bad to be true. Even when he went East without asking
her to marry him, though she was free, she had assured herself that he
loved her. Had he not as much as said that the anniversary of her
husband's death was not a lucky night to choose for love-making? Carmen
had made certain that she was the only woman in Nick's life; and he had
laughed when she hinted that "some lovely lady" might persuade him to stay
in New York.
"Where is Mrs. May now?" she asked sharply, past caring much whether or no
Miss Dene saw her agony.
"In San Francisco--unless she's gone to the Yosemite Valley with Mr.
Hilliard.
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