The months passed and a New Year was ushered in. The lonely man at Little Badholme wondered what it held for him. He had seen Angela only once since the evening when he had called on her. She was riding in the Row with Meredith. She had not seen Jim, but Meredith had, and smiled to himself as though he was pleasantly conscious of the pangs he gave the former.

It was after breakfast one morning that the newspaper brought amazing news to Little Badholme. The first piece of news was to the effect that gold had been discovered in big quantities in the Klondyke, and that a vast stampede was taking place. The second was of far greater importance, so far as Jim was concerned. It was announced in a comparatively small headline, 101 but it leaped out to him as he casually glanced over the columns.

It came as a shock to him. But a few months since he had invested all his money in the Amazon Company! He ran to the telephone and got through to his broker. The reply was what he expected; the Company had gone smash without hope of recovery, the shares were not worth the paper on which they were written. He put up the receiver and sat down to think things over. He was broke. Save for his small bank balance and the house over his head, he had nothing in the world.

He laughed grimly as he reflected upon his meteoric career. In the meantime there was Angela spending as though money came from some eternal fountain! He frowned as he remembered the precious checks that had been 102 paid during the past few months, checks that had reduced his liquid cash reserve to a mere fragment. Though he was unwilling to confess it, it gave him a certain amount of joy to anticipate her fall to earth when she realized that the lavish entertaining must cease—that the source of the magic spring had suddenly dried up.

He took the next train to London, dined at the club, and then prepared to break the news to Angela.

At that moment the adorable Angela was receiving a friend. Hilary Meredith, spotlessly garbed, was lounging in the drawing-room, drinking in the strains of a Chopin Nocturne. Not only were his ears gladdened by romantic music, but his eyes were equally exercised by the radiant figure of Angela, bending over the piano, with the red-shaded lights throwing her bare shoulders into perspective and turning her hair to liquid gold. The nocturne ended, she swung round on Meredith.

“How did you like that, Hilary?”

“Superb—dark avenues on a June night, with odorous breezes and the lap of the sea on the 103 beach below—and you, Angela—always you, dreaming in the moonlight.”

“Don’t be absurd! Why should I dream in the moonlight? And what should I dream?”

He looked at her from under his long eyelashes.

“Of Love, perhaps—who knows?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“I think not.”

“Is it then so odious to you?”

“Perhaps.”

He flung the end of his cigarette into the fireplace and, standing up, walked across to her.

“You are dazzlingly beautiful to-night, Angela.”

“You say that almost every night.”

“Why not? A truth cannot too often be reiterated.”

She ran her white fingers over the notes of the piano, producing a rippling arpeggio that was like running water.

“Compliments are cheap.”

“You think that is a mere compliment? No, you know it isn’t. You know I love you madly, desperately, Angela. Let us cease this—acting. 104 Aren’t we made for each other? I’m tired of London—tired of everything but you.”

She stopped playing and sat perfectly still.

“Aren’t you a little impatient, Hilary? You seem to forget I have a husband.”

“Husband!” he laughed loudly. “I thought you, too, had forgotten that by this time.”

“I haven’t,” she said.

“Well, it must be an unpleasant memory—the most beautiful woman in London wedded to a cowpuncher! Angela, are you going to waste your life tied to an undesirable? Here is love and devotion waiting.... I haven’t all the gold in the universe, but doesn’t breeding count?”

“Hilary, you are talking the veriest nonsense.”

“Am I? Then why did you ask me here to-night? You knew I would talk this nonsense, and yet you asked me.”

“I was lonely—that’s all.”

She stood up and pushed the stool aside. Her shoulder came up against him. In a moment he seized her arm and held her in a passionate embrace.

“Hilary!”

“Angela. It’s got to be to-night—or never. 105 I’ve waited until I can wait no longer. I’ll call for you in an hour’s time, and we can catch the midnight train——”

She tried to push him away, but he clung on desperately.

“It’s impossible!” she cried. “Please let me go.”

“Angela——”

Meredith suddenly stopped. His arms fell to his side. Standing just inside the door was Jim Conlan. Angela turned and saw him too—a great grim figure, with head thrust forward and hands on hips.

“How did you get here?” she demanded.

“Your powdered monkey outside got obstinate. Said you weren’t at home. Seems as though he made some error.”

He came down the room and planted himself opposite Meredith. He raised one arm and pointed to the door.

“Get out!” he snapped.

Meredith looked at Angela. He would have been glad to get out just then, but he wasn’t anxious for Angela to be conscious of that desire.

“Did you get me?—get out!” 106

Meredith fidgeted. Then to his horror Angela said slowly:

“I beg that you will stay, Mr. Meredith.”

The latter began to retreat to the settee. But he never got there. He felt a hand of steel grip him by the shoulder, and looked round to find a pair of infuriated eyes blazing down on him.

“You ain’t wanted here, you dirty tinhorn!” yelled Jim. He ran him to the door, opened it, and then shot him into the passage. When he came back Angela was standing exactly in the same place. Her face was white with indignation.

“How dare you—you brute!” she said. “I’ll have you put out!”

“Sit down!” thundered Jim.

It was the first time he had ever addressed her in that way and she felt decidedly uncomfortable. She dropped leisurely on to a chair.

“Now then, listen! I’ve got my wind back agin. Oh, I ain’t going to start—recriminations—some word, that! It’s plain business between me and you. In the first place, we’re broke. Did you git that?”

“What!” 107

“Stoney—clean bust. Wal, money never did cut much ice with me, but it did with you. You’ve squandered a hell of a lot of money on things that didn’t matter, and now here’s old man Ruin come to say How-do.”

Angela regarded him in astonishment.

“You mean to say—you’ve lost all your money?”

“Oh no. I only lost some of it. You lost the other. Don’t talk. I don’t suppose you have any notion of what you’ve spent in less than six months. Anyway, it’s done, and squealing won’t help matters.... I jest came to tell you to pack up. Me and you’s going to make some more money.”

She jumped up.

“What are you talking about?”

“You will pack a box or two with things that are essential for a trip to Alaska.”

“Alaska!”

“Jest that. We’re joining the stampede—you and me. I’ll call for you to-morrow morning at ten. Stampedes don’t allow for no waste time. First come first served.”

She suddenly burst into laughter. The whole 108 thing was so ridiculous. He imagined she was going to accompany him into the frozen wastes of Alaska to dig gold. It was excruciatingly funny. But when she looked again at him she didn’t feel like repeating the laugh. She had never seen such fixity of purpose in any man’s expression. He seemed to have added more inches to his colossal height.

“You must be mad!” she said. “I’m sorry you have lost the money, but——”

“You’ll be ready at ten o’clock to-morrow.”

She saw he was in deadly earnest, but believed he was overreaching himself.

“At any rate, let us talk sense,” she said coldly.

“You’ll find I’m talking sense all right. I’m through with any other kind of talk,” he replied. “I’m making the Klondyke. Ain’t it natural for a man to take his wife with him—even though she’s only a bought wife?”

“You talk as though I might be fool enough to come. Understand, once and for all, I refuse to go anywhere with you. Please leave me.”

He took up his hat.

“I’ll be round to-morrow. Get them bags packed, or you’ll come without them.” 109

“You are not in Colorado now,” she said icily. “You can’t abduct women by force in London.”

“I guess you’ll find I can,” he replied. “Good-night!”

After he had gone she sat down and thought the matter over. The financial catastrophe appalled her. She had grown so used to a life of luxury. And the threat? It seemed fantastic, impossible of fulfillment. Never in her life had she been coerced by force. There was one way out—Meredith’s way. But she could not bring herself to take that course. Meredith had never succeeded in arousing the slightest passion within her. He had been merely a plaything—a simpering, compliment-throwing nincompoop of a type that most society women felt a need for, as food for their vanity. She decided that the most sensible plan would be to spend the next day with her people.

Jim arrived at ten o’clock precisely, in a cab, with a single bag of luggage. The footman, who had already suffered once at Jim’s hands, tremblingly 110 vouchsafed the news that Mrs. Conlan was out.

“Where’s she gone?”

He didn’t know. She went out very early and had said she might not return that day.

“Tell her maid to get some clothes packed up for her mistress—strong ones. Have ’em ready in an hour.”

The man stared.

“Beat it!” growled Jim, “or I’ll come and superintend it myself. If they’re not ready when I come back, watch out for trouble!”

He ran down the steps and told the driver to drive to Lord Featherstone’s house. Instinctively he guessed Angela’s port of refuge. Arriving there, a burly footman told him that His Lordship was not at home. The next instant Jim was in the hall. The second flunkey looked at the first. They had received strict instructions that Mr. Conlan was not to be admitted. They both came to the conclusion that physical obstruction in this case was tantamount to suicide.

“Lead the way,” said Jim.

“Sir——”

“Lead the way, you powdered nanny-goats!” 111

Ultimately he arrived at the drawing-room door. He knocked loudly and entered. Angela was sitting reading. Lady Featherstone was doing likewise, and His Lordship was standing before the fire with his hands in his pockets.

“Conlan!” gasped the latter. “How dare you come here?”

Jim fixed his eyes on Angela, who had closed the book and was regarding him in amazement.

“I’ve come,” he said grimly. “Get your clothes on.”

“What is the meaning of this?” asked Featherstone.

“I’ve come to remove my property,” said Jim. “You didn’t think I was hiking to the Klondyke and leaving fifty thousand pounds’ worth of property lying about, did you?”

Featherstone felt the jibe, but he was furious at the intrusion. Jim turned to Angela.

“I’m waiting,” he snapped.

“You’d better go,” she reported. “You merely succeed in making a fool of yourself.”

“Oh dear!” moaned Lady Featherstone. “The man is dangerous. Claude, call John and Henry.” 112

“Yep, call in your tame leopards. Gee—I’m starving for a fight!”

Featherstone, eyeing this six-feet-three of hard knotted muscle, attempted to bring diplomacy to the rescue.

“Conlan,” he pleaded, “I beg you to act reasonably. I understand you are going to the Klondyke. But you can scarcely expect Angela to accompany you there. There are certain limits to a wife’s marital responsibilities.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed.

“There ain’t no sentiments in business. I bought her for fifty thousand. I’m not writing off anything for depreciation, cos I allow there ain’t no depreciation, in a material sense. I’m jest hanging on to my property till I can get a price that leaves a margin of profit—say ten per cent. Make the bidding and I’ll quit.”

Nothing was more calculated to arouse Featherstone’s unbridled wrath.

“You vulgar cowpuncher!” he retorted. “You dare insult me in that way! You dare treat my daughter as bag and baggage—to be sold at auction like an Asiatic slave——!”

“I made the offer,” said Jim casually, “because 113 I thought, from experience, that was your line of business.”

“Leave my house!” stormed Featherstone.

“Sartenly. Angela, come on, we ain’t wanted.”

Angela sat like a statue. Suddenly Jim sprang to action.

“I’m giving you two minutes,” he snapped.

“If you ain’t ready then I’ll carry you out. And if any guy tries buttin’ in, wal——”

Lady Featherstone gave a shriek of terror.

“Call the police,” she wailed.

“My dear Conlan——” commenced His Lordship.

“I’m through with talking. One minute gone!”

Angela stood up.

“I’m not coming to Alaska,” she said defiantly, “but I’ll come with you out of this house, to save my mother and father further annoyance and insult.”

Jim walked to the door and held it open.

“We leave for Liverpool at five o’clock to-morrow morning,” he said.

She got her hat and coat and walked majestically to the cab.