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 55 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 56 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.”