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"I don't see any reason against our stayin' all day," said he. "And I guess the machine don't." "Hateful little beast!" exclaimed Angela. "Who, me or the Model?" Sealman wanted to know. "I meant the alleged Model. She's a fraud a horror. If only I get somewhere I don't care where I'll never come out with you again, never, never!"
The chauffeur, a reedy and extremely young youth, with a sharp nose and a keen sense of humour, had scraped acquaintance with Sealman. Without giving away any information on his side, he had always contrived to find out, if not where the Model was going, at least where it was hoped she might go.
Angela, being on the way back to her hotel from Barrymore's when Nick caught sight of her, had returned by the time he strolled in to ask if Mr. Sealman was staying there. Mr. Sealman was not; but the clerk admitted acquaintance with him. "I want to know if his car's engaged," began Nick.
If there ain't that bandy-legged, crop-eared, broken-nosed auto Sealman came to offer Mrs. Gaylor last winter, and wanted to palm off on me!" he grumbled to himself. "How in creation did that maverick get hold of Mrs. May? Bet there've been bribes flyin' around somewhere."
And he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief that left green streaks of oil. "But you mustn't give it up. We can't stop here all day." Sealman grinned viciously. Perhaps he, too, hungered. Certainly he was hot, and felt like a Socialist. What was this young woman that she should sit there comfortably and nag him while he was down in the dust?
Sealman inquired, when, full two hours later than she had expected, he brought her back to the door of her hotel. Angela hesitated. In California, at most times of year, it is hopeless to use the weather as a handle to hang an excuse upon. She looked at the sky. It was a vast inverted cup of turquoise. "Are you sure the car is equal to so long a run?" she asked mildly. The likeness between Mr.
His little car looked a badly made toy compared with that golden chariot. She wondered if it had been sold, or if it would be worth while to make inquiries. Somebody was perhaps trying it, she thought, for often it followed the road taken by Sealman; or, when their car broke down, as it usually did, the yellow giant shot ahead, disappeared and occasionally appeared again.
There was time to buy California jewels in the bazaars tourmalines and pearl-blisters before the car came up, purring sweetly, and looking innocent as a cat gorged with canary birds. Mr. Sealman was so sure that nothing could or would go wrong ever again that Angela had no heart to receive him coldly.
Hilliard could not possibly be the hero of this story, and his opportune arrival was, on his own confession, never a coincidence. He came on purpose; and that was bad taste. But as he had done it so often, why couldn't he have transgressed just once again, to rescue her from Sealman? She thought of the tall forest creature with yearnings, which interfered with her appetite for sand-dabs.
"Can't see nothing," said he, increasing in codfishiness. "She'll be all right in a minute. Give her time to breathe!" Angela gave her time to breathe, but the minute passed, and other minutes limped after. Sealman sweated and grunted under the open lid of the bright bonnet. Angela was sorry for him.
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