family, shook his head.

"There's Little Badholme."

"Mortgaged to the last penny. It was never worth the ten thousand they
advanced."

Featherstone paced up and down and blew rings of smoke into the air.

"We shall have to economize, my dear Ayscough. We shall have to
economize."

He had said that so many times before, that like the production of his
autograph it had become a habit. Ayscough, seeing Carey Street looming in
the distance, was unusually glum. Economy was scarcely an antidote at this
stage, for mortgagees were threatening foreclosure.

"I rely upon you, Ayscough. I rely on you absolutely."

Ayscough looked blank. It was no use trying to explain to Featherstone the
exact state of the family's finance. Generations of Featherstones had
eaten well into the coffers. Prodigality was their outstanding
characteristic.

"If I might make a suggestion----"

Featherstone was in the mood to consider the wildest suggestion. He had
none of his own.

"There is--er--Miss Angela."

"There is, Ayscough. Precisely--there is." Then he suddenly halted and
looked at the lawyer. "By Jove! I see your point. But it won't avail us.
Angela is a queer girl. She has distinct aversions to marriage."

"But if she knew that a wealthy--er--fortunate marriage would save you and
Lady Featherstone a certain amount of anxiety----?"

"I doubt it. Besides, wealthy husbands are not so easily picked up. There
are a dozen girls after every man of ample means. No, I think we may
discard that possibility. Think it over, my dear Ayscough. I leave it
entirely in your hands."

Ayscough had been thinking it over for the last three years. He went away
with visions of the fall of the house of Featherstone at no very distant
date.

At that moment the Honorable Angela was busily engaged sending out
invitations to a dinner party. She was two years older than Claude, a
typical Featherstone, fair and straight of limb, with finely chiseled
features and delicate complexion. Her eyes were large and long-lashed, but
somewhat cold. A life of indolence and luxury had bred a certain air of
imperiousness in her. She was known to her friends as Angela the frigid.
But this appellation was not quite justified. At times she was far from
frigid. Under different circumstances she might have been as warm-blooded
as any Southern peasant-girl, but pride of birth and breeding had dampered
down most of the natural emotions. She was exquisite in every physical