This was his first experience of the keen assaults of social weapons, and it inflicted on him an extravagant suffering. His instinct was to retire farther into the night, only to return to his room when the hotel was dark, deserted. But a second, stronger impulse sent him deliberately after Gisela Wooddrop, up the veranda stairs, and rigidly past the group gazing at him with curious mirth. An oil flare fixed above them shone down on the lean, saturnine countenance of Partridge Sinnox. The latter, as he caught Alexander Hulings' gaze, smiled slightly. That expression followed Alexander to his cramped room; it mocked him as he viciously pulled at the bell rope, desiring his servant; it was borne up to him on the faint strains of the violins. And in the morning it clouded his entire outlook. Sinnox' smile expressed a contempt that Alexander Hulings' spirit could not endure. From the first he had been resentful of the Southerner's cheap prestige. He added the qualifying word as he descended to breakfast. Sinnox, as a dueller, roused Hulings' impatience; he had more than once faced impromptu death—iron bars in the hands of infuriated employees, and he had overborne them with a cold phrase. This theatrical playing with pistols—cheap! Later, in the crowded bar, he was pressed elbow to elbow with Sinnox and his companion; and he automatically and ruthlessly cleared sufficient space for his comfort. Sinnox' associate said, in remonstrance: “Sir, there are others—perhaps more considerable.” “Perhaps!” Alexander Hulings carelessly agreed. Sinnox gazed down on him with narrowed eyes. “I see none about us,” he remarked, “who would have to admit the qualification.” Alexander's bitterness increased, became aggressive. He met Sinnox' gaze with a stiff, dangerous scorn: “In your case, at least, it needn't stand.” “Gentlemen,” the third cried, “no more, I beg of you.” He grasped Alexander Hulings' arm. “Withdraw!” he advised. “Mr. Sinnox' temper is fatal. Beyond a certain point it cannot be leashed. It has caused great grief. Gentlemen, I beg——” “Do you mean——” Sinnox demanded, and his face was covered by an even, dark flush to the sweep of his hair. “Cheap!” Alexander's voice was sudden and unpremeditated. The other's temper rose in a black passion; he became so enraged that his words were mere unintelligible gasps. His hand shook so that he dropped a glass of rock-and-rye splintering on the floor. “At once!” he finally articulated. “Scurvy——” “This couldn't be helped,” his companion proclaimed, agitated. “I warned the other gentleman. Mr. Sinnox is not himself in a rage, his record is well known. He was elbowed aside by——” “Alexander Hulings!” that individual pronounced. He was aware of the gaze of the crowding men about him; already he was conscious of an admiration roused by the mere fact of his facing a notorious bully. Cheap! The director joined him. “By heavens, Hulings, you're in dangerous water. I understand you have no family.”