ds 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 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. 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--L25,000 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."

"But it's not worth that price."

The noble lord resented this remark.

"Claude