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 detail. She had almost finished her list of invitations when Claude burst into the library. She turned her head for a second and went on writing. He strode up to the table and began to read the cards. "Please go away, Claude. Don't touch them. They're still wet." "Great heavens! You aren't asking Mrs. Carruthers!" he ejaculated. "Why not?" "She's simply impossible. Angela, take her off the list." "This is mother's list, not mine." "But that woman--Angela, she isn't proper." "What do you mean?" "Oh, you know." "I don't." "Well, ask any of her friends. Oh, by the way, I want one of those cards. Thanks!" He took one, to her great annoyance, and then asked for a pen. She gave it to him with a little sigh. He filled in the blank card and read it with a grin. "Mother will be annoyed if you send out invitations without consulting her." "I'll tell her when I've posted it. It's to a fellow I know very well." Angela took the pen. She began to write the last card, hesitated, and then asked: "Who is he?" "Man named Conlan." The pen dropped from her fingers. "Not your cowboy friend?" "Even so, fair sister. And why not? I tell you Jim--Conlan is the greatest thing on earth. Oh, you'll love him." She frowned. "Don't be ridiculous, Claude. You simply can't ask that man here. You told me he swore and----" "But only when he's annoyed. You swear when you are annoyed, don't you? I've heard you." "Claude!" She jerked her beautiful head upward. "Swearing isn't a matter of words entirely--it's an emotion. You say 'bother,' I should say 'damn,' and Conlan would say something far more effective, and they each express exactly the same emotion. But you can't judge a man by his vocabulary." "I judge him by your description of him--a retired cowboy, with few manners and less morals----" Claude put the card into an envelope and sealed the latter with a heavy blow of his fist. "Angela, you are perfectly cattish at times. Why shouldn't I ask Conlan here? He's as good as you or I, or any of the people who visit us. That he is rough in his ways and speech is due to the fact that he has had to work for his living." Angela's lips curled a little.