ou used to be daring and
clever--and now you never draw a breath without wondering if these rich
snobs will like the way you do it! And you want Alice to sell herself
to them--you want me to sell my career to them!"

There was a long pause. Oliver had turned very pale. And then suddenly
his brother caught himself together, and said: "I'm sorry. I didn't
mean to quarrel, but you've goaded me too much. I'm grateful for what
you have tried to do for me, and I'll pay you back as soon as I can.
But I can't go on with this game. I'll quit, and you can disown me to
your friends--tell them that I've run amuck, and to forget they ever
knew me. They'll hardly blame you for it--they know you too well for
that. And as for Alice, I'll talk it out with her to-morrow, and let
her decide for herself--if she wants to be a Society queen, she can put
herself in your hands, and I'll get out of her way. On the other hand,
if she approves of what I'm doing, why we'll both quit, and you won't
have to bother with either of us."

That was the basis upon which they parted for the night; but like most
resolutions taken at white heat, it was not followed literally. It was
very hard for Montague to have to confront Alice with such a choice;
and as for Oliver, when he went home and thought it over, he began to
discover gleams of hope. He might make it clear to every one that he
was not responsible for his brother's business vagaries, and take his
chances upon that basis. After all, there were wheels within wheels in
Society; and if the Robbie Wallings chose to break with him--why, they
had plenty of enemies. There might even be interests which would be
benefited by Allan's course, and would take him up.

Montague had resolved to write and break every engagement which he had
made, and to sever his connection with Society at one stroke. But the
next day his brother came again, with compromises and new
protestations. There was no use going to the other extreme: he, Oliver,
would have it out with the Wallings, and they might all go on their way
as if nothing had happened.

So Montague made his debut in the role of knight-errant. He went with
many qualms and misgivings, uncertain how each new person would take
it. The next evening he was promised for a theatre-party with Siegfried
Harvey; and they had supper in a private room at Delmonico's, and there
came Mrs. Winnie, resplendent as an apple tree in early April--and
murmuring with bated breath, "Oh,