heme of
things the properties of which he felt a sudden fierce desire to test
and comprehend.

Ruthven in a lounging suit of lilac silk, sashed in with flexible
silver, stood with his back to the door as Neergard was announced; and
even after he was announced Ruthven took his time to turn and stare and
nod with a deliberate negligence that accented the affront.

Neergard sat down; Ruthven gazed out of the window, then, soft thumbs
hooked in his sash, turned leisurely in impudent interrogation.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" asked Neergard, for the subtle
something he had been encountering all day had suddenly seemed to wall
him out of all he had conquered, forcing him back into the simpler
sordid territory where ways and modes of speech were more familiar to
him--where the spontaneous crudity of expression belonged among the
husks of all he had supposed discarded for ever.

"Really," observed Ruthven, staring at the seated man, "I scarcely
understand your remark."

"Well, you'll understand it perhaps when I choose to explain it," said
Neergard. "I see there's some trouble somewhere. What is it? What's the
matter with Orchil, and that hatchet-faced beagle-pup, Mottly? _Is_
there anything the matter, Jack?"

"Nothing important," said Ruthven with an intonation which troubled
Neergard. "Did you come here to--ah--ask anything of me? Very glad to do
anything, I'm sure."

"Are you? Well, then, I want a card to the Orchils'."

Ruthven raised his brows slightly; and Neergard waited, then repeated
his demand.

Ruthven began to explain, rather languidly, that it was impossible;
but--"I want it," insisted the other doggedly.

"I can't be of any service to you in this instance."

"Oh, yes, I think you can. I tell you I want that card. Do you
understand plain speech?"

"Ya-as," drawled Ruthven, seating himself a trifle wearily among his
cushions, "but yours is so--ah--very plain--quite elemental, you know.
You ask for a bid to the Orchils'; I tell you quite seriously I can't
secure one for you."

"You'd better think it over," said Neergard menacingly.

"Awfully sorry."

"You mean you won't?"

"Ah--quite so."

Neergard's thin nose grew white and tremulous:

"Why?"

"You insist?" in mildly bored deprecation.

"Yes, I insist. Why can't you--or why won't you?"

"Well, if you really insist, they--ah--don't want you, Neergard."

"Who--why--how do you happen to know that they don't? Is this some pett