One of the ladies, the prettiest and youngest, with yellow hair under her gray motor-bonnet, said they weren’t trees but people—­either nymphs or witches—­and the rest of the party humoured her, talking nonsense about Greece and goddesses.  He thought the pleasure of a motor trip was “going some”; but his passengers seemed to have other ideas.  They were idiots, of course, but they seemed mighty happy.

Angela, however, was less happy than the others, less happy than she tried to seem.  She had a dim idea that, if she had come with Nick, she would have thought this the most beautiful place on earth, and that she had found the ideal spot for a home.  As it was, in spite of all the loveliness, she was not sure of herself, or what she wanted.  This made her ashamed.  She was as self-conscious as Nick had been yesterday, and in sheer panic fear lest “they” should think she was pining for Hilliard, or grieving over some stupid quarrel, she said that she would certainly buy land in the forest.  She must not lose such a chance.  If for any reason she should change her mind, she could always sell, couldn’t she?  On this point Falconer reassured her.  “You can sell to me,” he laughed in the light-hearted way that surprised the chauffeur.  “You build a house and furnish it, and take all the trouble, and I’ll buy it from you—­to live in myself when I want to imagine I’m in Greece or Sicily, as I do sometimes when I’m too busy to go there.”  And he looked at Sonia.

Though he laughed, he was in earnest, and Angela began to feel that she might want to keep her house—­if she built it.  She saw herself walking under the strange dark trees to the gray rocks, to look at the seals.  Nick was with her....  She hurried to think of something else.  Nick would not be here.  They would have forgotten each other by the time her house was built.  Perhaps he would be married to his Mrs. Gaylor.

[Illustration:  “Angela was enchanted with the peninsula of Monterey”]

After all it did not seem so romantic to have a place where she could go and look at some seals, alone.  Stupid!  Because she had come to California on purpose to have a place where she could be alone.

“How absurd women, are!” she thought, irritably.  “As soon as we can have what we want, we don’t want it.  I suppose it must be that.  Now I long for all kinds of new things I can’t possibly have, which would be very bad for me if I could.”

After lunching at the wonderful Club House built of logs, they went back by way of Monterey, and in the sleepy old town which holds more California history than any other they wandered about, “seeing the sights,” one after another.  They paid their respects to the monument of Father Juniperra Serra, who landed at Monterey with his soldiers a hundred and forty years ago—­a long time in America, where life moves quickly.  Then, next in interest, came the verandaed Custom House, built under Spanish rule, and looking just the place to spend a lazy afternoon