“I reasoned,” he said, “that it would be better for you to hear what is going on from me rather than be exposed to a surprise and shock from some London or Paris paper lying on a hotel table.”

Angela interrupted him to reply that nothing the Prince di Sereno could do had power to shock her, for they had never been really in each other’s lives, and had now passed out of one another’s orbits forever.  In spite of this assurance, however, when Mr. Morehouse saw the Princess looking pale and listless taking little interest in the plans for her new house, he attributed the change to humiliation, or possibly even to fears for the Prince’s safety, for women are strange.  Luckily she could not be annoyed in this new country where she would make her home, for nobody knew who she was or could associate her with the Prince’s eccentricities!  Nevertheless, Mr. Morehouse thought it natural that her health and spirits should suffer; and because of his old and close friendship with Franklin Merriam he longed to find some wholesome distraction for Angela.

But after all it was Kate, not he, who succeeded in supplying it.  Poor Kate, so near to, yet so far from, Oregon, dared in her insignificance to follow her mistress’s example.  Though she would have had a hand cut off rather than “give notice” to her beloved lady, as a matter of fact, she was pining; Tim was growing impatient.  His affairs were marching well.  Something had been saved out of the disaster caused by his dishonest partner.  He had got in with a “good man,” and they believed that together they would some day “beat the world” with their apples.  Already they had obtained a London market.  There wasn’t much ready money to spare yet; but Tim could manage to pay Kate’s way from San Francisco to Portland, and on to his place, if she would come.  Besides, there was her nest egg, her dowry, from the sale of the gold bag.

Of course, Kate was dying to go, but would not even tell her sad-eyed, pale-cheeked mistress that Tim was wanting her.  It was only when, one day, Angela noticed how miserable poor Kate was looking, that little by little she drew out the whole truth.  Then she was roused to interest, and forgetfulness of herself.

“I’ll tell you what I will do, Kate,” she said with more animation than she had shown for weeks.  “I’ll take Mr. Morehouse’s very latest advice, and run up north to Lake Tahoe, to stay till my new house is born.  Then, instead of your going to your Tim, he must come to you; and I’ll give you a wedding—­oh, a beautiful wedding, with a white silk dress and a veil and orange blossoms, and a cake big enough to last you the rest of your life.  You’re not to make any objections, because I shouldn’t be happy to have you stay with me now that Tim’s ready, and you know the idea always was for you to go when I’d reached my farthest point north and nearest to Oregon.  Besides, it will do me good to plan for a wedding.  And I mean to give you your trousseau.  You shall get the things here in San Francisco before we start for Tahoe.”