"Is that any mitigation? I'd rather die in the gutter than live on money that was obtained by a vulgar fraud. She acted a lie--a damned despicable lie. That sort of thing is done every day, but the man usually knows what he is doing, and hasn't any scruples, and the girl sometimes learns to love him.... So we're living on the benevolence and innocence of a man who isn't good enough to be the _real_ husband of a Featherstone. I wish to God my name were Smith or Jones--or anything that is honest...." He broke away from Jim, humiliated by the knowledge that had come to him. On the morrow he dropped in at the club, his face set in a way strange to him. "I dropped in to say good-bye, Jim." "Eh!" "We had it all out last night--a real family gathering. I think I got a little militant. Anyhow, it's better this way. What sort of chance is there for a chap like me in Canada, Jim?" Jim put down his newspaper and stared. "You don't mean that, kid." "I do. I leave Liverpool this evening." Jim stood up and took his hand. "I reckon you'll do," he said. "But how's the bank? You wouldn't like a kind o' sleeping partner on a fifty-fifty basis, eh?" Claude shook his head. "I know what you mean, Jim. But I've money enough to get started at something. If ever I get a partner out there, I shall consider myself lucky if he's half the man you are." Jim sighed. "I wish I was coming too.... You're sure about the dough? Come, I'd like to invest a little in a real promising proposition. Say five thousand--jest a small interest----" Claude gripped his hand. "You're a real brick, Jim, but it can't be done. No, I can't stay to lunch. I've got one or two calls to make. Good-bye." "Good-bye." He was about to leave when he turned again. "You mustn't mind me saying this, Jim. Meredith is seeing a great deal too much of Angela. There is doubtless nothing in it, but--well, Angela is my sister, and I don't like Meredith." When he had gone Jim sat and pondered over the words. A similar hint had been dropped by Cholmondeley. So Angela was already considered fair spoil by men like Meredith! Meredith was out to win the love that he had lost. It rankled--it hurt. But behind his fury there lurked the sinister shadow of defeat and humiliation. There were giddy heights to which he could not climb, and to which Meredith was soaring--Meredith, a man he could have taken in his own hands and broken; a cheat, armed with every weapon that culture could forge, and little else. In the evening he summoned up his failing courage and went to Angela's house. It was one blaze of light and one tumult of sound. A dapper footman opened the door and took his card. He waited in the hall, running his eyes over the rich decorations. From higher up the hall came sounds of revelry, and now and again he caught sight of figures flitting to and fro. The sound of a string band drifted down to him, and then laughter--cultured, high-toned laughter that grated on his nerves.