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 petty spite of that young cub, Gerald? Or"--and he almost looked at Ruthven--"is this some childish whim of yours?" "Oh, really now--" "Yes, really now," sneered Neergard, "you'd better tell me. And you'd better understand, now, once for all, just exactly what I've outlined for myself--so you can steer clear of the territory I operate in." He clasped his blunt fingers and leaned forward, projecting his whole body, thick legs curled under; but his close-set eyes still looked past Ruthven. "I need a little backing," he said, "but I can get along without it. And what I'm going to do is to marry Miss Orchil. Now you know; now you understand. I don't care a damn about the Erroll boy; and I think I'll discount right now any intentions of any married man to bother Miss Orchil after some Dakota decree frees him from the woman whom he's driven into an asylum." Ruthven looked at him curiously: