Little Badholme hung on the sheer edge of a precipice. Its hundred acres of park and meadow wooed the blue waters of the Atlantic on the western side, and climbed dizzy heights on the southern, affording the spectator an uninterrupted view of the Dartmoor Tors. The front of the house faced seawards and, in bad weather, the spindrift, hurled over the cliff, drenched the windows and the rather unsightly stucco which the position of the house rendered necessary.

Featherstone had shown considerable acumen in giving Jim the corner room on the first floor. It looked over country of unparalleled beauty. Patchwork farmlands stretched away, on the one hand, extending to the estuary of the Teign; whilst from the windows on the western side the rolling ocean shone under the summer sun. All 70 the best furniture had been placed in that room, including a genuine Hepplewhite suite of beautiful design. Jim had no eye for antiques, but he had a fine appreciation of scenery.

Ten days had passed on wings of magic. He saw Angela every day and Claude all day. Featherstone was perfectly charming. He could not have exhibited greater solicitude for the comfort of his guest had he been the Shah of Persia or the Prince of Wales. Lady Featherstone was polite, and no more. Angela was frigid. She seemed to be beyond his power to excite. Once or twice she showed a slight interest in his actions or reminiscences. She had even openly admired his wonderful horsemanship; but she never failed to make perfectly clear the huge gulf that loomed between a “cowboy” and a daughter of British aristocracy.

The ingenuous Claude was feeling extremely uncomfortable. He could not bring himself to believe that his father’s extraordinary behavior was genuine. Politeness was one thing, but flattery was another. All that “attention” seemed so out of place with His Lordship, who was notoriously vain of his name and antecedents. 71 Claude himself was a little sick of family pride. He had even on one occasion intimated to his mother that he knew for a fact that the first Featherstone got his Letters Patent for the noble act of assassinating a certain Duke whose wife Henry Eighth had taken a violent liking for, a remark which so upset Her Ladyship that she took to bed for ten days.

On convenient occasions Featherstone appropriated Jim to himself and deftly led the conversation into channels most dear to him. What did Conlan think of the property?

It was by pure accident that Claude stumbled across the plot. Featherstone was speaking to Ayscough on the telephone, on the question of the price of Little Badholme. Claude was flabbergasted—£25,000 for a place that was leaky and draughty through half the year, and which showed a tendency to slide seaward! The whole business was disgusting. He waited until his father had finished, and then interrogated him.

“Pater, you—you aren’t trying to sell this place to Conlan?”

Featherstone shrugged his shoulders.

“Mr. Conlan approached me on the matter.” 72

“But it’s not worth that price.”

The noble lord resented this remark.

“Claude, isn’t this a matter that concerns Mr. Conlan and me? It’s not at all pleasant to find you—eavesdropping.”

“Eavesdropping—great Scott! You don’t mean you think....”

Featherstone came up to him.

“I didn’t mean that. But this is a matter of business. Mr. Conlan wants to buy and I want to sell. He’s a perfectly free agent in the matter.”

He abruptly left the room. Claude felt sick, humiliated. It was all so perfectly clear. Jim knew nothing about English property. It was only natural he should place himself in Featherstone’s hands. He determined to put a stop to such a swindle as was contemplated. But his plan to warn Jim was frustrated by the later realization that Jim was madly in love with Angela. This astonishing fact was sufficient to drive everything else from his mind. He had no delusion as far as Angela was concerned. Dozens of men had tried their luck on Angela, and Angela remained as frozen as the North 73 Pole. Poor Jim! He blamed himself for having been instrumental in bringing this meeting about. In her proud heart Angela would merely despise any advances that Jim was foolish enough to make. He watched Jim carefully for the next two days. The evidence thus gained was painful to bear. The honest, magnificent, unsophisticated Jim was torn and tortured by a mad, hopeless love. Claude could stand it no longer.

“Jim,” he said, “don’t think me impertinent. I can’t help noticing—you’re in love.”

Jim started and the color flamed up in his cheeks.

“Wal.”

“It’s mad, Jim, mad. She has no heart. You don’t know her as I do. She’s my sister and I love her, but I can’t bear to see you living on hopes that are doomed to be fruitless. If you speak of this to her she’ll hurt you. She doesn’t mean it. It’s her temperament. Don’t you see that to a girl of Angela’s social status a proposal from a man—like you is——”

Jim’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like this.

“Jim,” added Claude swiftly, “don’t do me 74 an injustice. I’d be damned proud to have you as a brother-in-law. But don’t court disappointment and pain by speaking to her——”

“Who said I was going to speak?”

“I can see it—in your eyes.”

Jim shrugged his shoulders.

“You’re right. I am,” he jerked out.

Claude drew in his breath with a little hiss. Jim suddenly swung round on him.

“See here, I’m not quitting on this. I’ve never been a quitter and I’ve clinched bigger propositions than this. What’s wrong with me, eh? I guess I’ve bin taking a lot lying down of late. Last night I see it all—cut and dried. There ain’t nothin’ in this blood business—nothin’. If your family sprang from William the Conqueror I guess mine was there at the time. If there’s anything in that Adam and Eve yarn, I reckon they were my grandparents as well as yours. What’s wrong with me? Am I blind, lame, consumptive? See here, kid, I know what it is to work. I know what it is to starve. I’ve never stolen or lied or murdered.... There’s never been a gal on this earth that had cut any ice with me. I’ve bin too busy working to go galivanting 75 after skirts. But this ’ere’s different. I—I—wal, I guess I love her some. Oh, I know she’s proud and cold and thinks there ain’t nothin’ in trousers good enough for her. But I’m obstinate and I’m free with my tongue—at times. So we both got our faults. They kinder equalize. Anyway, I love her, and that’s good enough excuse for anyone who cares a damn about himself. And there ain’t no law on this earth, sir, that says a man can’t put a straight proposition to a gal he loves—no, by God!”

There was something different about him. He had changed in one day. The old nervousness had gone. He was dogged, determined. There was nothing to be done with him. He meant to speak to Angela, though she took the compliment as a dire insult. Claude, fascinated by the ring of his bass voice and the flash of fire from his amazing eyes, wondered if, after all, he had not cause for courage—and optimism.

But something strange happened the following morning. Angela, with a smile, asked Jim to go riding with her. It was the first time she had expressed the slightest desire for his company, and it sent thrills of delight running down his 76 spine. They took the best two of the borrowed horses, and under a perfect July sky rode out into the moors.

Jim was like a boy. The intoxication of her presence sent all the foreboding from his brain. He did riding tricks, at her request, and set her marveling at his uncanny control of his mount. He seemed to be on intimate terms with the latter, stranger though it was. Weird “cluckings” from his mouth were understood and obeyed without use of spurs.

“It’s marvelous!” she said. “He seems to understand all those noises.”

“It’s horse language,” he replied simply.

“Oh, come!”

He made no reply, but dismounted. The horse stood perfectly still.

“You watch out,” he said. “I’m going to tell him to walk forrard.”

He made a queer noise, like water running out of a bottle, and the animal walked forward. A slight variation of the sound, and it stopped. He laughed at her mystified expression, and bidding her ride on, ran at his horse and with a magnificent leap sprang clear on to its back. In a 77 second he was rushing like the wind across the moor. He jerked up the animal until it stood almost perpendicular on its hind-legs, and came back to her.

“It’s jest thinking in horse-sense,” he said. “I ran a ranch for seven years, and you can’t do that without thinking like a horse.”

They sat on the top of Hay Tor, and looked across the tumbling country to where the sea lay like a strip of cloth twenty miles away. Right across the moors came the steady westerly wind, sighing and soughing, touching their cheeks with its fresh fingers.

“Is Colorado better than this?” she queried.

“You shouldn’t ask me that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s your home, and one loves one’s home.”

“One loves one’s home.” The phrase amused her. He must have read that somewhere. She laughed, and instinctively he knew the cause of it. He bit his lips in anger as he realized that she merely mocked his attempts at better speech.

But he forgot that later as they rode home through the gloaming. Once only it occurred to him that to mock her horsemanship would be 78 scarcely worse than jibing at his mode of expression—a thing which would have seemed sacrilege in his eyes. So all the culture—if culture meant refinement of thoughts and actions—was not confined to the blue-blooded aristocrats!

Sweet dreams, Colorado Jim! Dreams of a pair of blue eyes in the face of a Greek goddess, with limbs that Praxiteles never surpassed. And these to be won by a man from the wilderness! He awoke to despise the day with its uncertainties. She might be cold again this morning—cold as she had been the day before yesterday.

But it proved to be otherwise. She greeted him with a soft “Good-morning,” and walked with him into the garden, among the roses and sweet-smelling things of summer. And then—oh, wonderful, exquisite marvel!—plucked a sprig of mignonette, smelled it, and placed it in his buttonhole.

After breakfast he bought the property; and he bought it in a manner dear to the heart of the vendor. He wrote a cheque, then and there, for £25,000, and took a receipt, intimating that the “lawyer-man” would see to all the details later.

Something wonderful and mysterious had happened to Angela. Jim was too dazed to do anything but sit and gasp. He had held her hand, and she had let him do it. He had, with amazing intrepidity, taken her arm walking down the long avenue of trees, and she made no attempt to withdraw it. Quick work was needed before some fly came and settled in the ointment! He got in his quick work that evening after dinner.

“Won’t you come to the top of the hill? It’s a full moon and a fine night,” he whispered.

She nodded and, getting a scarf, went out with him. Blue, brilliant moonlight flooded the country. From out of the trees came the eerie cry of owls, and crickets sang out of nowhere. A few bars of gold still lingered in the western sky, deepening as the world moved over.

“I’m going back to-morrow,” he said suddenly.

“Ah——!”

Was it a sigh, or merely an indifferent ejaculation?

“This holiday has been right down beautiful.”

“I’m glad of that.”

A slight breeze blew the scarf from her neck. He took it and replaced it, and his hand touched 80 the soft warm flesh. It stayed there. He had no power to remove it. This girl of unearthly beauty and fascination paralyzed him. To think that he should be sitting there with the perfectest woman God ever made——! The storm within him broke. His body quivered, and his great hand took the warm slim one and held it like a vice.

“Angela—I’ve gotta tell you. I—love you. I’ve loved you since the first night I saw you. I’ve never wanted anything in my life like I want you.”

He stopped, realizing that he was gabbing at a terrific rate.

“I’m rough—real rough, I know. But a man’s a man for all that, I guess. And what can any man offer you better’n love—love that ... I’m no good at words—you’ll understand that. Chin music ain’t my line. But I’m sure crazy about you.”

The hand he held trembled a little, but it stayed there.

“Angela—will you marry me?”

Her head turned. He saw the moon reflected in two glorious eyes. 81

“Yes,” she said slowly.

“You mean—you mean that?” he gasped, his voice almost choked with unutterable joy.

“Yes—I mean that.”

In another second she was swept up in his arms. All the world went out in that passionate embrace. For the first time in his life his mouth touched a woman’s lips.

Featherstone paced up and down the library under the strain of considerable emotion, not to say excitement. Her Ladyship sat with an unread book on her knees gazing into nothingness.

“They’re a long time,” said Featherstone.

“Perhaps Angela——”

“Angela was sure,” he interrupted. “Dear, dear! I wish they’d come back.”

Lady Featherstone fidgeted.

“Claude, I don’t like this business at all. Oh heaven! to think of Angela married to a parvenu—a common nouveau riche!”

“She might do far worse. Angela herself realizes that. Conlan undoubtedly loves her. It’s for him to win her love. Once the marriage is celebrated, she need see him no more—er—that 82 is to say, they can make arrangements whereby they do not become a nuisance to each other. He is apparently fond of this place, and Angela is not. What could be more natural than for Angela to take a flat in town and Conlan to live here?”

Lady Featherstone shivered.

“You think this man will reconcile the situation, once it becomes plain to him? Claude, he is a veritable giant. I—I don’t like the look of him at all.... Oh, why couldn’t we have waited and found a husband for Angela in her own set!”

Featherstone shrugged his shoulders impatiently.

“Time brooks no delay. We are, my dear, in a pretty devilish position. Thank God Angela realizes that. Rich husbands are not to be picked up every day, and it is essential that Angela marries a wealthy man, and that immediately.”

“But to marry a—a cowboy!”

“He may make the best of husbands. Titles are to be bought. I think I could arrange that. No, on the whole I think it is a perfectly happy arrangement for us—and for him. As Angela’s 83 husband he will have access to certain houses and clubs that otherwise would be closed to him.”

Lady Featherstone lapsed into gloomy silence.

“Claude was coming back to-night, too,” said Featherstone. “I don’t like the idea of that boy spending nights in Town. He’s getting blasÉ, and at times very out of hand. What business could he have in Town——?”

Voices drifted in through the open window. A few minutes later Jim came into the library. Lady Featherstone immediately departed.

“I’d like a word with you, Lord Featherstone.”

“Certainly. Take a seat.”

Jim sat heavily in the armchair which Featherstone offered.

“To come to the point right now—I’m in love with Angela, and we want to get hitched up—er—married.”

Featherstone looked surprised.

“I guess it’s a bit of a blow. But you needn’t fly off the handle. I love her all right, and I ain’t ’xactly penniless.”

Featherstone stroked his chin.

“There are certain conditions to my approval. You will realize that Angela occupies a prominent 84 position in the social world, and I should naturally like to be assured that you are in a position to provide for her in a way commensurate with her needs. There would be, of course, some marriage settlement. But I do not wish to deal with that side. My lawyer, Mr. Ayscough, is a very old family friend. He has Angela’s interest at heart no less than I. His assurance on the—er—financial side would be sufficient guarantee. In such circumstances I should see no reason to withhold my consent.”

“Thanks. Put it there!” said Jim. “Now, where does he hang out?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Where does he live?”

“Oh, Ayscough? Lincoln’s Inn Fields.”

“Good. I’m off. I’ll be along there first thing in the morning and get that settlement fixed up. I ain’t a man that wastes time.”

The meeting between Ayscough and Jim was very brief. Ayscough explained the position in choice language, and hit up for £50,000 marriage settlement. Jim, who didn’t quite see why he couldn’t be trusted to look after his own wife, 85 agreed without demur and went out like a whirlwind.

“Gee, it’s all over bar shouting,” he muttered. “Jim, you husky, you’re sure a lucky feller!”