This concession gave Nick an unexpected chance.  He dared to hope that it was an olive branch held out.  “Did you really think that?” he asked quickly, in a low voice.

“Certainly.  Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know!  That’s the trouble.  But—­if you did think it, maybe you’ll let me see you again—­maybe this won’t be good-bye for always?”

“Dear me, I hope not, indeed!” she answered in a light, frivolous tone again.  “We’re sure to meet.  You come to San Francisco sometimes I’ve heard you say.  I shall be there—­oh, ages.”

“You’ll let me call?” Nick was faintly—­very faintly—­encouraged, not to hope for much, but for a very little; for a chance to retrieve some of the ground he had lost in a night; to begin low down, and work up.

“I shall be glad to see you at the Fairmont Hotel, when I get there.”  She was almost too frankly cordial suddenly.  The tone would have been perfect if the words had been spoken in New Orleans, before a thousand things had happened.  But they had passed that stage now—­for good or ill.

Then they finished shaking hands, and a few minutes later Nick left her with Falconer and Sonia Dobieski.  The instant he had gone, Angela would have given a good deal to call him back, although she was sure she had done only her duty to herself and him.

Her reasons for the great change were not mysterious at all.  They were very clear, and seemed to her very virtuous, very praiseworthy—­up to the last minute.  Then she thought that she was a prig, and a wretch, and several other things which she would have been furious to be thought by anybody else.  She had wanted Nick to realize—­that is, she had felt it her duty to make him realize—­that things could not go on as they were, after last night.  She had been incredibly silly in the Mission church.  All night long she had scolded herself for the way she had “behaved” and let the “forest creature” behave—­holding her hand, and sitting as close to her on the gallery stairs as if they were engaged in a desperate ballroom flirtation.  She must show him that she was not really a stupid, sentimental person.  She made up her mind that they must begin all over again, the very first thing in the morning; and, true to her resolution, she had, indeed, begun all over again.  She had torn a hole in the net which was binding them together—­all through her own silly fault!

In her heart, she had wanted him to accept Falconer’s invitation; but she had not wanted him to know that she had wanted him.  The thing was to give the impression that she would be pleased if he went, and not miserable if he refused.  If they all went to Monterey together on Mr. Falconer’s private car, they would not be losing each other—­as friends; they would merely be adjusting their relations, which, owning to San Miguel, had suddenly got dangerously out of hand.

It was only when Nick’s back was turned, and he was going, that she saw things from his point of view.  Why had she not been clever enough to keep to the happy medium and not make him think that he had done something dreadfully wrong—­that on second thoughts she was blaming him for last night, and punishing him?  Surely she might have managed better—­she a woman of the world, and he a mere “forest creature”?