was regretfully requested by the governors of the Lenox Club for reasons
unassigned.

The shock of the thing came to him after a while, like a distant, dull
report long after the flash of the explosion. Well, the affair, bad
enough at first, was turning worse, that was all. How much of that sort
of discredit could a man stand and keep his balance? ... And what would
his mother say?

Confused from his own physical suffering, the blow had fallen with
a deadened force on nerves already numbed; but his half-stupefied
acquiescence had suddenly become a painful recoil when he remembered
where the brunt of the disgrace would fall--where the centre of
suffering must always be, and the keenest grief concentrated. Roused,
appalled, almost totally unnerved, he stood staring at the letter,
beginning to realise what it would mean to his mother. A passion of
remorse and resentment swept him. She must be spared that! There must
be some way--some punishment for his offence that could not strike her
through him! It was wicked, it was contemptible, insane, to strike
her! What were the governors of the Lenox about--a lot of snivelling
hypocrites, pandering to the horrified snobbery at the Patroons! Who
were they, anyway, to discipline him! Scarce one in fifty among the
members of the two clubs was qualified to sit in judgment on a Siward!

But that tempest of passion and mortification passed, too, leaving him
standing there, dumb, desperate, staring at the letter crushed in his
shaking hand.

He must see somebody, some member of the Lenox, and do
something--something! Ferrall! Was that Ferrall's step on the landing?

He sprang to the door and opened it. Quarrier, passing the corridor,
turned an expressionless visage toward him, and passed on with a nod
almost imperceptible.

"Quarrier!" he called, swept by a sudden impulse.

Quarrier halted and turned.

"Could you give me a moment--here in my room? I won't detain you."

The faint trace of surprise faded from Quarrier's face; he quietly
retraced his steps, and, entering Siward's room, stood silently
confronting its pallid tenant.

"Will you sit down a moment?"

Quarrier seated himself in the arm-chair by the window, and Siward found
a chair opposite.

"Quarrier," said the younger man, turning a tensely miserable face on
his visitor, "I want to ask you something. I'll not mince matters. You
know that the Patroons have dropped me, and you know what for."

"Yes, I know."