"I'm not beginning anything," he growled. "I'm jest telling you we can't go on like this, living in the same place and acting like strangers. I'm beginning to get wise to this queer shuffle of your family's----"

She shivered a little as his intense gaze searched her face.

"It wasn't a straight proposition, because all the perticlers wasn't put in. I didn't know I was buying a woman----"

She flared up in an instant.

"How dare you----!"

"Wal, put it how you wish, it comes to the same thing in the end. I fell to it all right, and I ain't squealing. If I was the sort o' man you, no doubt, take me for, I might want value for money, and I'm big enough to get it.... No need to get scared. Though you love me like you might a rattlesnake, I happen to love you. You might as well know it."

His calmness amazed her. She had half expected a furious onslaught. On one point she wanted to put him right.

"You think I despise you, but that's not true," she said. "I couldn't have married you had I despised you. But I can't love you--I can't. Can't you see that our ways lie far apart? All your life, your very mode of thought and speech, are the direct ant.i.thesis of mine. Isn't it plain--wasn't it plain at first that it was a mere bargain? You and I can be nothing to each other but--friends."

"No, it wasn't," he growled. "If you'd have told me that, I'd have seen you to h.e.l.l before I married you, or even kissed you. Blood is blood, and nature's nature, and pa.s.sion's pa.s.sion, and gew-gaws don't count--no, nor polite chin-music either. You were my woman, and I wanted you before all the other wimmen on G.o.d's earth. It's the little things that don't matter that fills your mind. If men were all tea-slopping, thin-spined, haw-hawing creatures like some I seen here, with never a darned notion of how to dig for their daily bread, though they talked like angels and acted like cardboard saints, this world 'ud be a darned poor show.... Anyway, you've got to learn that.... We're going back to-morrow, and I guess we'd better finish this play-acting. Devonshire's good enough for me if you'll take the London house."

She nodded. That had been her own innermost desire. She was glad he made the suggestion himself. Before coming away he had leased a house in Maida Vale, and had given instructions to Liberty's to furnish it. It would be pleasanter there, in the midst of friends, than planted away in the wilds of Devonshire with a "cowpuncher."

The months that followed were purgatory to Jim. Once or twice he ran up to the club, where he heard things that were not conducive to a happy state of mind. Angela was entertaining on a lavish scale. Cholmondeley told him of the extraordinary "success" of his wife's parties. According to Cholmondeley every other hostess was completely outshone by the beautiful Angela, whose photograph was now an almost permanent feature in the daily press.

It was on one of these visits that he met Claude. The latter shook hands with him heartily, but seemed ill at ease.

"What's wrong, young feller?" queried Jim.

Claude pa.s.sed off the question with a laugh. Later, however he came to Jim.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Jim looked at him from under his eyebrows.

"Look here, Jim," said Claude impetuously, "can't you make it up with Angela? It seems silly to prolong a quarrel."

"Eh!"

The e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n made Claude start.

"Well, whatever you quarreled about, it can't be much. Come along and see her now."

His frank smile dissipated any suspicions in Jim's mind. Claude actually didn't know what was wrong with the Conlans! He believed it to be a mere marital squabble, that would blow over sooner or later.

"Kid," gasped Jim, "you are the pink limit! I guess there ain't nothing that would stop Angela from regarding me as unsifted muck, just as she has since the first time I saw her."

"What!"

"And you didn't know. Wal, it's all in the family, and you may as well git wise to it."

"But she's--she's your wife----!"

"Yep.... Don't hurry, youngster. Get it right back and masticate it well.

They've fine heads for business in your family, not to mention play-acting."

Claude flushed. He stood up and gripped a chair by the back.

"Steady," said Jim. "I'm telling you the truth.... But I thought you knew."

Claude was realizing it fast enough.

"Then there was no quarrel?" he gasped. "She--she simply left you?"

"I told her she might--and she did. But you needn't worry none, I've staked bad claims afore."

Claude came over to him, much affected by the deep emotion that had crept into his voice.

"Jim, I didn't know. I swear I didn't know. I warned you because I didn't believe she could love and respect you as you deserve. But when I heard you were engaged I believed you had melted her in a strange way.... I see now where the money came from.... G.o.d! and she was mean enough to do that--to my--my friend."

Jim took him by the shoulder and steadied him.

"She saved your people from a big financial crash, anyway--remember that."

"Is that any mitigation? I'd rather die in the gutter than live on money that was obtained by a vulgar fraud. She acted a lie--a d.a.m.ned despicable lie. That sort of thing is done every day, but the man usually knows what he is doing, and hasn't any scruples, and the girl sometimes learns to love him.... So we're living on the benevolence and innocence of a man who isn't good enough to be the _real_ husband of a Featherstone. I wish to G.o.d my name were Smith or Jones--or anything that is honest...."

He broke away from Jim, humiliated by the knowledge that had come to him.

On the morrow he dropped in at the club, his face set in a way strange to him.

"I dropped in to say good-bye, Jim."

"Eh!"

"We had it all out last night--a real family gathering. I think I got a little militant. Anyhow, it's better this way. What sort of chance is there for a chap like me in Canada, Jim?"

Jim put down his newspaper and stared.

"You don't mean that, kid."

"I do. I leave Liverpool this evening."

Jim stood up and took his hand.

"I reckon you'll do," he said. "But how's the bank? You wouldn't like a kind o' sleeping partner on a fifty-fifty basis, eh?"

Claude shook his head.

"I know what you mean, Jim. But I've money enough to get started at something. If ever I get a partner out there, I shall consider myself lucky if he's half the man you are."

Jim sighed.

"I wish I was coming too.... You're sure about the dough? Come, I'd like to invest a little in a real promising proposition. Say five thousand--jest a small interest----"