He paused for half a second; but if the analogy meant anything to his companion she did not choose that he should know.  “And then?” she said.

“Then—­if you’d seen enough of Los Angeles, I’d ask you to let your Irish girl pack up.  And I’d start off with you—­for good.  I mean, you and the maid, and the cat, and Billy.  Billy’s the other shuvver, besides me.  I’d take you to Santa Barbara.”

“That’s one of the places on my programme.”

“And Monterey.”

“Another of my places.  But I want to go to the Yosemite.  You couldn’t motor me there.”

“I could guide you.  I’ve known horses longer than I’ve known motors.  And I know the Yosemite.  Once I got hurt in a kind of accident.  I wasn’t good for much, for a while afterward.  And as I couldn’t do any work I went and loafed in the Yosemite Valley.  I’d always wanted to go.  It was grand.  But it would be heaven to see it again with y—­with an angel.”

Angela traced the steel embroidery on a gray suede bag which lay on the table.  She had got it the other day to serve as understudy for the gold bag which was “taboo” for public use at present.  She was glad that the forest creature did not know, and never would know, that she had secretly bought back his gold bag.  If he found out, it might be his turn to misunderstand.

“How were you hurt in an accident?” she asked, for the sake of diverting the talk from angels.

“It was in a fire,” said Nick.

“Oh!  On your ranch.”

“No.  In San Francisco.”

Her interest grew.  “In the great fire?”

“Yes.”

“Did you live in San Francisco then?”

“No.  I just went there.”

“I think I guess.  You went on purpose to help?”

“I felt as if every man ought to do what he could.  I couldn’t do much.  Shall we go on making believe?”

“You don’t like talking of your good deeds.”

“Oh, good deeds!  I don’t like talking of myself when there are better things to talk of.  I could make you out a tour in the Yosemite, Mrs. May.  You shouldn’t travel by the ordinary stages.  I’d get you something special, for the driving parts; and you should have the finest trail pony in California.  I’d give ten years off my life to show you the Big Trees.  There are some mighty fine ones in other places, you know; the Santa Cruz forest is splendid.  But it’s the Mariposa Big Trees, in the Yosemite, I mean.  We’d drive from Wawona early in the morning, one day, and stay till the sunset.  You can’t think what sunset’s like among the giant Sequoias, with the red light, like a rain of ruby stars, falling through the branches.  And those trees are God’s own architecture.  I guess even you have never seen a cathedral to touch it; because there can’t be one.  All day you should stay in the forest.  I’d find you places for lunch and dinner, and the squirrels would come and help you eat.”

“It does sound nice,” said Angela, bewitched by the picture.