ren."

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