in taxes upon the acreage, but, secretly, a solid sum in addition
to little Mr. Ruthven whom he was binding to him by every tie he could
pay for.

Neergard did not regret the expense. He had long since discounted the
cost; and he also continued to lose money at the card-table to those who
could do him the most good.

Away somewhere in the back of his round, squat, busy head he had an
inkling that some day he would even matters with some people. Meanwhile
he was patient, good-humoured, amusing when given a chance, and, as the
few people he knew found out, inventive and resourceful in suggesting
new methods of time-killing to any wealthy and fashionable victim of a
vacant mind.

And as this faculty has always been the real key to the inner Temple of
the Ten Thousand Disenchantments, the entrance of Mr. Neergard appeared
to be only a matter of time and opportunity, and his ultimate welcome at
the naked altar a conclusion foregone.

In the interim, however, he suffered Gerald and little Ruthven to pilot
him; he remained cheerfully oblivious to the snubs and indifference
accorded him by Mrs. Ruthven, Mrs. Fane, and others of their entourage
whom he encountered over the card-tables or at card-suppers. And all the
while he was attending to his business with an energy and activity that
ought to have shamed Gerald, and did, at times, particularly when he
arrived at the office utterly unfit for the work before him.

But Neergard continued astonishingly tolerant and kind, lending him
money, advancing him what he required, taking up or renewing notes for
him, until the boy, heavily in his debt, plunged more heavily still in
sheer desperation, only to flounder the deeper at every struggle to
extricate himself.

Alixe Ruthven suspected something of this, but it was useless as well as
perilous in other ways for her to argue with Gerald, for the boy had
come to a point where even his devotion to her could not stop him. He
_must_ go on. He did not say so to Alixe; he merely laughed, assuring
her that he was all right; that he knew how much he could afford to
lose, and that he would stop when his limit was in sight. Alas, he had
passed his limit long since; and already it was so far behind him that
he dared not look back--dared no longer even look forward.

Meanwhile the Ruthvens were living almost lavishly, and keeping four
more horses; but Eileen Erroll's bank balance had now dwindled to three
figures; and Gerald had not only