to you--"

"What matter?"

"A--about--about Mrs. Ruthven--"

"_What_ matter?" repeated Selwyn. His voice rang a little, but the
colour had fled from his face.

"She was--Jack Ruthven charged her with--and me--charged me with--"

"_You_!"

"Yes."

"Well--it was a lie, wasn't it?" Selwyn's ashy lips scarcely moved, but
his eyes were narrowing to a glimmer. "It was a lie, wasn't it?" he
repeated.

"Yes--a lie. I'd say it, anyway, you understand--but it really was a
lie."

Selwyn quietly leaned back in his chair; a little colour returned to his
cheeks.

"All right--old fellow"--his voice scarcely quivered--"all right; go on.
I knew, of course, that Ruthven lied, but it was part of the story to
hear you say so. Go on. What did Ruthven do?"

"There has been a separation," said the boy in a low voice. "He behaved
like a dirty cad--she had no resources--no means of support--" He
hesitated, moistening his dry lips with his tongue. "Mrs. Ruthven has
been very, very kind to me. I was--I am fond of her; oh, I know well
enough I never had any business to meet her; I behaved abominably toward
you--and the family. But it was done; I knew her, and liked her
tremendously. She was the only one who was decent to me--who tried to
keep me from acting like a fool about cards--"

_Did_ she try?"

"Yes--indeed, yes! . . . and, Phil--she--I don't know how to say it--but
she--when she spoke of--of you--begged me to try to be like you. . . .
And it is a lie what people say about her!--what gossip says. I know; I
have known her so well--and--I was like other men--charmed and
fascinated by her; but the women of that set are a pack of cats, and the
men--well, none of them ever ventured to say anything to me! . . . And
that is all, Philip. I was horribly in debt to Neergard; then Ruthven
turned on me--and on her; and I borrowed more from Neergard and went to
her bank and deposited it to the credit of her account--but she doesn't
know it was from me--she supposes Jack Ruthven did it out of ordinary
decency, for she said so to me. And that is how matters stand; Neergard
is ugly, and grows more threatening about those loans--and I haven't any
money, and Mrs. Ruthven will require more very soon--"

"Is that _all_?" demanded Selwyn sharply.

"Yes--all. . . . I know I have behaved shamefully--"

"I've seen," observed Selwyn in a dry, hard voice, "worse behaviour than
yours. . . . Have you a pencil, Gerald? Get a sheet of paper from t