Angela took the pen. She began to write the last card, hesitated, and then asked:

"Who is he?"

"Man named Conlan."

The pen dropped from her fingers.

"Not your cowboy friend?"

"Even so, fair sister. And why not? I tell you Jim--Conlan is the greatest thing on earth. Oh, you'll love him."

She frowned.

"Don't be ridiculous, Claude. You simply can't ask that man here. You told me he swore and----"

"But only when he's annoyed. You swear when you are annoyed, don't you?

I've heard you."

"Claude!" She jerked her beautiful head upward.

"Swearing isn't a matter of words entirely--it's an emotion. You say 'bother,' I should say 'd.a.m.n,' and Conlan would say something far more effective, and they each express exactly the same emotion. But you can't judge a man by his vocabulary."

"I judge him by your description of him--a retired cowboy, with few manners and less morals----"

Claude put the card into an envelope and sealed the latter with a heavy blow of his fist.

"Angela, you are perfectly cattish at times. Why shouldn't I ask Conlan here? He's as good as you or I, or any of the people who visit us. That he is rough in his ways and speech is due to the fact that he has had to work for his living."

Angela's lips curled a little.

"And, moreover, unless something happens to prevent it, I shall in all probability have to solicit orders for motor-cars, or some other necessary evil. You, Angela, may have to write figures in a ledger, or look after somebody else's children."

Angela treated him to a withering glance.

"It's not so big an exaggeration after all," he resumed. "You've seen Ayscough hanging around of late, haven't you? What does it convey? We're broke, Angela. Lord, we are an extraordinary family! Broke, and sending out invitations to scores of the high and mighty as though we owned the earth!"

Angela flushed. Even now the specter of bankruptcy failed to affect her.

She had never reckoned luxury in terms of money. Money values she was positively ignorant of. Things were ordered and delivered, and there was an end of it. She suddenly burst into laughter.

"You are most amusing, Claude. Bring your American Hercules here and we'll charge half a guinea for a sight of him."

Claude said nothing. He posted his letter, and meant to make it clear to Angela and the family that Conlan was a friend of his, and therefore should be treated as any other guest would be. When, later, he confessed his escapade to his parents, they were almost too shocked for words.

"You must write and tell him it was a mistake," urged Her Ladyship.

"My dear Claude!" expostulated Featherstone. "You let impetuosity carry you to the verge of insanity. What can this poor fellow----"

"Poor fellow be hanged!" retorted Claude, now thoroughly roused. "He's no more poor fellow than you. He's rich enough to buy us up lock, stock, and barrel; and he is as proud of his name as we are of ours, though he doesn't make a song about it."

Featherstone looked hurt at this exhibition of filial revolt. Being a wise man he dropped the subject _pro tem_. Later Claude went in and apologized.

"Pater, I particularly want you to meet Conlan. He isn't what you think him to be. If, when you see him, you don't approve of him, I'll never ask him home again."

Featherstone gripped his son's hand.

"Very well, my boy. You can rely upon me. But I do hope he won't swear--much."

Jim's sensations at receiving the invitation were indescribable. Claude's people were the cream of English aristocracy. At first he decided he wouldn't go, but second thoughts brought him to realize that Claude must have arranged this, and his regard for Claude was very deep. He hunted out the discarded dress-suit and tried it on again. Certainly he felt more at home in it than of yore. The collar caused him less torture, and he managed to keep the "breastplate" of the shirt from buckling, which it seemed to delight in doing. He had lost some of his facial sun-brown, and this lent him a more refined appearance.

"I'll go," he muttered, "if it kills me."

When the great day arrived he felt as though some invisible being were pouring quarts of ice-water down his spine. He had already made himself acquainted with "Enquire Within," and found that Claude's mother should be addressed as "Lady Featherstone"; but the question of Angela caused him anxious moments. He thought "Honorable Miss" sounded a little too j.a.panese. He tackled Claude on this delicate problem.

"Oh, call her anything," said that worthy. "What do you say to 'Angy'?"

Jim didn't feel like jesting on so serious a subject. He decided that in Angela's case he would drop the ceremonial form, and call her Miss Featherstone.

The memory of that evening is destined to live as long as the body of James Conlan inhabits this mortal coil. When he gave the servant his hat and stick and the footman his card, and heard that powdered monstrosity bawl "Mr. James Conlan" to a room filled with shimmering gowns and glistening shirt-fronts, Jim's flesh went cold. But the vigilant Claude helped him through. Claude was like a streak of greased lightning, bouncing Jim here and there to be introduced to a hundred and one people, leaving our hero a nervous wreck.

Featherstone and his wife acted in the most courteous fashion, her Ladyship having been coerced into accepting the inevitable with as good a grace as possible. Featherstone himself was instantly impressed by this muscular giant, who looked like an enlarged statue of Phoebus Apollo. He adjusted his monocle to get a fuller view.

"Claude has spoken a good deal about you, Mr. Conlan," he drawled. "It is a pleasure to meet you here."

Jim, scarcely trusting his voice, carried out a bow, at which much practice had been put in.

"Say, kid, how did I do that?" he whispered.

"Fine!" said Claude.

They found Angela strolling with a girl friend in the conservatory, which was gayly illuminated with Chinese lanterns. They turned at the sound of footsteps. Angela wore a dress of deep mauve, against which her pale Grecian face and her exquisite neck shone with enhanced beauty. The other girl was literally outshone by her beautiful companion. Jim felt a hot wave run through him. Never in his life had he seen anything so amazingly beautiful as Angela. He heard Claude's introduction, and bowed automatically. Then Claude did the most outrageous thing: he took the arm of Angela's companion and tripped away with her.

Jim was horrified. He looked round seeking for some way of escape, but there was none. Angela's face relaxed in a cold smile as she realized the terrible nervousness of this big uncouth man. It pleased her somewhat to feel that she was the cause of it.

"You are a member of my brother's club, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yep--yes," he stuttered.

He wondered if he ought to offer his arm as Claude had done to the other girl, and escort her back to the house; but he dare not. There was a seat near by. Angela sank into it.

"Won't you sit down?" she asked.

He did so, with a sigh of relief. He was more at his ease sitting than standing. For the first time in his life he was ashamed of his size.

Angela's delicate limbs and hands made his, by contrast, appear elephantine.

"Have you been long in England?"

"Few months."

"And what do you think of it?"