The rest of the evening was a dream to Jim. Occasionally people stared at him as though he were a creature from a menagerie, and several adventurous folks actually talked with him. But all this was like a hazy background against which shone the almost unearthly beauty of Angela. A new phase had been entered in the life of Colorado Jim. Passion, long dampered down by wild living and arduous toil, leaped up in one soul-consuming flame. He was in love with a woman--a woman as far above him, and as unattainable as a star. He moved about like a drunken man, bewildered by this new and terrible desire. "What do you think of Angy?" queried Claude. "Why didn't you tell me?" he said fiercely. "Tell you what?" "Tell me she was like that." "What on earth are you talking about?" Jim shut his mouth with a snap. "Nothin'," he said. These Featherstones knew how to enjoy themselves. For hour after hour the dreamy strains of waltz music came from the string orchestra, and couples moved rhythmically round the big room, as though fatigue was a thing unknown. Once or twice Jim caught sight of the angel of his dreams, with face no longer pale, hanging on some man's arm, immersed in the all-consuming measure. It was maddening.... He was sitting in the conservatory, smoking, when Featherstone came out. All the evening he had kept an inquisitive eye on Jim. This was Featherstone's mental day, and one of those rare occasions when he thought about money and things. "Ah, Mr. Conlan," he drawled. "So you don't dance?" "No--leastways, not that sort." "Pity. Dancing is a fine exercise." "I guess I'm not in want of exercise." "No?" He looked at Jim's huge figure. "'Pon my word, I think you're right.... Are you settling down in this country--buying a small estate, making the most of your fortune, and all that sort of thing?" "There ain't no place in this country big enough to hold me long. I could swaller all the oxygen in the Strand in one gulp." Featherstone laughed amusedly. "London isn't England. It's a growth upon the land. There is still Wales, Scotland, Devonshire----" "Ah, Devonshire! Now, that is some pretty little garden, I agree." "Oh, you like it?" "Sure." "So do I. Wish I might live there always, but one must consider one's family, and Bond Street and the Opera have their attractions for the young people. That is why I am selling the Devonshire place. Can't let good property lie unoccupied, and letting is so devilishly unsatisfactory." 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.