He laughed grimly as he reflected upon his meteoric career. In the meantime there was Angela spending as though money came from some eternal fountain! He frowned as he remembered the precious checks that had been paid during the past few months, checks that had reduced his liquid cash reserve to a mere fragment. Though he was unwilling to confess it, it gave him a certain amount of joy to anticipate her fall to earth when she realized that the lavish entertaining must cease--that the source of the magic spring had suddenly dried up. He took the next train to London, dined at the club, and then prepared to break the news to Angela. At that moment the adorable Angela was receiving a friend. Hilary Meredith, spotlessly garbed, was lounging in the drawing-room, drinking in the strains of a Chopin Nocturne. Not only were his ears gladdened by romantic music, but his eyes were equally exercised by the radiant figure of Angela, bending over the piano, with the red-shaded lights throwing her bare shoulders into perspective and turning her hair to liquid gold. The nocturne ended, she swung round on Meredith. "How did you like that, Hilary?" "Superb--dark avenues on a June night, with odorous breezes and the lap of the sea on the beach below--and you, Angela--always you, dreaming in the moonlight." "Don't be absurd! Why should I dream in the moonlight? And what should I dream?" He looked at her from under his long eyelashes. "Of Love, perhaps--who knows?" She shrugged her shoulders. "I think not." "Is it then so odious to you?" "Perhaps." He flung the end of his cigarette into the fireplace and, standing up, walked across to her. "You are dazzlingly beautiful to-night, Angela." "You say that almost every night." "Why not? A truth cannot too often be reiterated." She ran her white fingers over the notes of the piano, producing a rippling arpeggio that was like running water. "Compliments are cheap." "You think that is a mere compliment? No, you know it isn't. You know I love you madly, desperately, Angela. Let us cease this--acting. Aren't we made for each other? I'm tired of London--tired of everything but you." She stopped playing and sat perfectly still. "Aren't you a little impatient, Hilary? You seem to forget I have a husband." "Husband!" he laughed loudly. "I thought you, too, had forgotten that by this time." "I haven't," she said. "Well, it must be an unpleasant memory--the most beautiful woman in London wedded to a cowpuncher! Angela, are you going to waste your life tied to an undesirable? Here is love and devotion waiting.... I haven't all the gold in the universe, but doesn't breeding count?" "Hilary, you are talking the veriest nonsense." "Am I? Then why did you ask me here to-night? You knew I would talk this nonsense, and yet you asked me." "I was lonely--that's all." She stood up and pushed the stool aside. Her shoulder came up against him. In a moment he seized her arm and held her in a passionate embrace.