But it was too late.  The thing was done, and badly done.  Angela saw herself a worm, and Nick noble as a tall pine-tree of the mountains.  Still, it was best that the break should have come, one way or another.

“Why on earth should I care?” she asked herself angrily. ’"We could never go on having a real friendship, all our lives—­I and a man like that.  He’s a splendid fellow—­of course, above me in lots of ways; but we’re of different worlds.  I don’t see how anything could change that.  What a pity it all is—­not for my sake, but for his!” And she thought how awkward his fit of shy self-consciousness had made him appear in contrast with a cultured man, a cosmopolitan like Falconer.  It was she who had made him self-conscious.  She knew that.  But there was the fact.  Falconer was a man of her world.  Nick Hilliard was not.  It was sad that Nick, with his good looks and intelligence and fine qualities, could not have had advantages when a boy—­could not have gone to a university or at least associated with gentlefolk as their equal—­which he was in heart.  But now he had got those slipshod ways of speaking he could never change.  And there were a thousand other things which put him outside the pale of the men she knew.  She would not listen when a sarcastic voice within defended Nick, sneering, “Oh, yes, Prince Paolo di Sereno and some of his friends are far superior to Mr. Hilliard, aren’t they?”

Irritated because the “forest creature” had become of paramount importance in her life when he should remain the merest episode, she was surprised and even horrified to find herself despairing because he had done what she forced him to do.  She could have cried for what he must be thinking of her.  She wanted to go on seeing his faults, but in her changing mood she could see only her own.  “He is one of the noblest gentlemen in the world,” something inside her said.  “You aren’t worthy to black his boots!” Then the picture of herself blacking them—­the shiny ones that were too tight—­rose before her eyes, and she was afraid that she was going to laugh—­or else to sob.  Anyhow, he was gone, and there was an end of it all!

But when afternoon came, things were different again.  In Falconer’s private car, where she, Princess di Sereno, was the chaperon, and Sonia Dobieski was queen, Angela was so desperately homesick for Nick Hilliard that she did not see how she could get on without his—­friendship.  “After all,” she reminded herself, excusing her inconsistency, “I didn’t send him away.  He went of his own accord.  He might be here now.  He refused to come with us.  It’s only that we oughtn’t to be rushing about together any more in that absurd way.  It won’t do.  Things keep happening—­unexpected things—­like last night.  Still if he comes to San Francisco—­if he asks again to ‘show me the sights’ I don’t see why I shouldn’t say yes—­just to so small a favour—­and to make up—­in case his feelings are hurt.”