“Yes—­to-morrow.  However, that doesn’t matter.”

“It does, if you wanted to.  But, see here, ma’am, I’ve thought of something.”

“My name is Mrs. May,” said Angela, smiling.

“I know—­I mean, are you willing I should call you it, just as if I was really acquainted with you?”

“Of course.  Why not?”

“Well, you see,” he explained.  “What I don’t know about society and the right way to act with ladies could be put in a book bigger than the Bible.  And I wouldn’t offend you, for—­for a good deal.”

“I feel certain you’d know the ‘right way to act,’ by instinct,” Angela assured him.  “You were splendid to me that night in New York.  Very few men would have known how to do what you did.”

“Thank you a thousand times for saying that, though I don’t deserve one word,” Nick burst out, flushing again, and hoping she did not see, because he had a trying task before him.  “But my idea is this.  Couldn’t you let me lend the money you need, and go on when you like, instead of waiting?  You could send it back, any old way—­check or anything.  And I wouldn’t care a hang—­I wouldn’t care a red cent—­when.”

“Oh, I couldn’t——­” Angela began, but the look on his face stopped her.  It was so strong a mixture of disappointment and chagrin, as to make him instantly pathetic in her eyes.  She had just said that he was a man whose instinct would always be right, and she had meant it sincerely.  She knew, if she knew anything about men, that here was one of Nature’s gentlemen.  He had proved that already; and—­it was a shame to hurt his feelings after all he had done for her.

“I beg your pardon if I’ve said the wrong thing.  I meant no harm,” he apologized warmly.  “But I get left-handed and tongue-tied, I guess, when it comes to being civilized—­where there’s a lady in the case.  It must have been I said it the wrong way, for, I do know the thing itself would be right.  You want to go.  You’ve lost your money.  And I expect your bank wouldn’t send it on a telegram.  They mostly won’t.  That means waiting days, perhaps.  So I thought——­”

“It would mean waiting,” she broke into his pause.  “My bank is a long way off.  You’re very kind, and I will borrow the money, if it won’t inconvenience you, on condition that—­you let me give you security.”

“That would hurt my feelings badly,” said he; “but I’d rather you’d do it than not take the money, because your convenience is a heap more important than my feelings.”

“If I go I can get money in a few days, and wire it back to you here,” Angela reflected aloud, at a loss how to treat the situation when it became a question of hurting Mr. Hilliard’s feelings.

Nick’s face fell.  “I—­unless you give me your orders—­I don’t want to stay here very long,” said he.  “I don’t care when I get the money back.”

“Why, you’ve only just arrived, haven’t you?”

“Ye-es.  But I feel my homesickness coming on again.  I shouldn’t wonder if I’ll always be sort of restless, now, away from the West.  It’s my country—­anyhow, the country of my heart.”