"In the story Stephanie told me your name was not mentioned. Moreover, you'll remember that you trimmed Murchison, while I did for Porshinger." "I don't like it--I mean this invitation. The women are lending themselves to--placate the rotten beast." "Nor I," Pendleton returned; "but just because Stephanie is involved, I dare not protest. Gladys says Porshinger is going to get in anyway--it is only a matter of a short time, and that the end justifies the means. I made light to Stephanie of their apprehension, but nevertheless it is serious. It was a grievous blunder to begin that fight--and Porshinger knows he can even up with us best, and hurt us most, by injuring Stephanie. If he can knife me also, so much the better." "I don't like it!" Burgoyne reiterated. "On the other hand," Pendleton continued, "Stephanie says, and Gladys supports her in it, that if she is nice to him, in an ordinary acquaintance way, he may get a change of heart." "I doubt it." "So do I--but she has the right to her opinion and to act on it." "More than likely she will only injure herself by being nice to the cur," said Burgoyne. "Are you sure she isn't doing this on _your_ account, Pendleton?" "No, I'm not sure," he answered. "I've tried to disabuse her mind of the notion that he can hurt me, but I don't know how successful I've been." "Hum!" Burgoyne thought. "You never can tell what fool ideas a woman has--when she cares for a man." * * * * * * * At five o'clock Porshinger drove up to Criss-Cross in the Woodsides' car. A servant took his bag, and another showed him up to the west piazza, where tea was being served. "I'm so glad to see you, Mr. Porshinger!" exclaimed Gladys, with a welcoming smile that fell on fruitful soil. "You know every one, I believe." Porshinger did not _know_ everyone, but everyone greeted him as though he did. The women smiled and nodded, the men "how-are-you-Porshingered" him in the careless fashion of their kind, and went on with their talk and high-balls. "Rye or Scotch--or will you have some tea?" asked Miss Chamberlain, pointing to a vacant chair beside her. "I'll have some rye, if I may," Porshinger answered. "Help yourself--they're on the side-table there." He helped himself and returned to her. She met him with just the word needed to start the conversation and the moment was relieved of embarrassment. Then she picked out a topic mutually negative and sufficiently interesting, and they tossed it lightly back and forth. Presently Cameron glanced over and broke in. "Possibly Mr. Porshinger can tell us," he said--"Do you know whether Betheson has sailed yet for China to take up those railroad concessions he has succeeded in financing?" "I'm not sure," Porshinger answered. "I think he was to sail this week--I understand that he arranged for the money in New York and started at once." "The Tuscarora didn't get aboard then?"