Angela smiled.  “I’m just beginning to learn,” she said, “that it’s a mistake to think of the worst.  I used to make a point of doing it, and it generally happened.  Now—­I expect the best!” She spoke to Kate, and looked at Nick.  “But tell me what poison-oak can do.”

Nick shivered.  For an instant, a picture of that adored young face hideously disfigured turned him sick.  And even her little white hands—­no, it did not bear thinking of!  But he controlled himself and tried to speak coolly.

“Why, it affects some people so their faces and hands swell up, and—­and get red and spotted.  Of course, that doesn’t last many days:  but—­it isn’t nice while it does last, and I—­couldn’t bear the thought of its happening to you.  I just couldn’t bear it!  It isn’t going to happen, though,” he added hastily, seeing the colour leave her lips.  “By this time you’d have begun to feel mighty bad, if you were in for trouble.  You can’t be easy to affect, for if you were, the poison might have gone to your face, without your even touching the leaves.  Your hands don’t burn, do they?”

“Only a little—­from the ammonia.”

“That saved them.  If you feel all right in an hour more, you can have the bandages off, and the danger’ll be over for good.  Then we can start, unless the shock’s been too much for you?”

“I’m too bewildered to be shocked,” said Angela.

“Who could have played such a horrid practical joke on me?  It’s a little bit like—­in a ridiculous way—­the play of Adrienne Lecouvreur, where a woman is poisoned by a bouquet of flowers sent by a jealous rival.  Only I haven’t a jealous rival!”

Nick’s face hardened.  “I’m going to find out who did send the stuff.  While you were in the other room I was looking at the wrapper of the box.  I can’t make out the postmark; but I reckon there are those who can, and I won’t rest till I know.”

“What can you do to find out?” asked Angela.

“I can put the best detective in San Francisco on to the job.  He shall follow up the clues like a bloodhound, and hang on to them when he’s got ’em, like a bulldog.”

“Oh, but don’t let’s put off our journey!” Angela exclaimed.  “I feel, if we do that, we’ll never go.  It has always——­” she half-whispered, “seemed too good to come true.”

“I’d rather do ’most anything than put off the trip,” said Nick.  “But there’s time for everything.  We don’t leave the hotel till after nine.  Dinner won’t be ready for a bit; and if you’ll let me, I’ll go out now and see a man I’ve heard of—­a very smart detective.”

But Angela begged him to wait.  She hated the thought of being left alone till she was sure that no ill effect need be feared from the poison.  So Nick stayed, not unwillingly, and a simple dinner was ordered in haste.

Kate was sure that after what had happened she would have no appetite for dinner; but, like a true Irish girl, she was romantic to the core of her heart; and because she was deeply in love with her Tim, she had the “seeing eye” which showed her clearly what was in Nick Hilliard’s heart for Angela.