He was congratulating himself he had wrapped that pill up not so badly for an unbusiness-like man. Jim took the bait quite well, too. He didn’t want to buy any property, but he wasn’t averse to keeping on the right side of Featherstone. Where Featherstone was there was Angela, and he might extend negotiations over months of time and then “turn down” the proposition if he felt like it.
“Say, is that property sold yet?” he queried casually.
“No. It was only recently that I decided to sell. I have another country place in Kent, much more convenient.”
“Mebbe I could see it?”
“Certainly. My agent will be pleased to show you over.”
As an afterthought he added: “Better still, we are spending a fortnight there, and I should be happy if you would spend the time with us. You could—ah—then examine the place at your leisure.”
Jim’s eyes glistened. The prospect of a fortnight 66 in close proximity to Angela—it was magnificent, unbelievable! He strove to control his eagerness.
“I’ll be sure pleased,” he said.
Jim went home with his brain in a whirl. Love had come, late, but with tremendous fury. He gained no sleep that night. The star of his desire shone like a mocking mirage before his mind’s eye. It was all impossible, hopeless, but to love and lose were better than to live in ignorance of life’s strongest passion. To dally with the impossible were sheer madness, he knew that. But what was to be done but obey the yearnings of his heart, though it brought its own revenge?
The next morning saw Featherstone in a perfectly angelic mood. The cause was soon revealed.