g: "This is no time to mince matters for the sake of
appearances." And he called up Gerald at the offices of Neergard & Co.

"Is it you, Gerald?" he asked pleasantly. "It's all right about that
matter; I've sent you a note by your messenger. But I want to talk to
you about another matter--something concerning myself--I want to ask
your advice, in a way. Can you be at the Lenox by six? . . . You have an
engagement at eight? Oh, that's all right; I won't keep you. . . . It's
understood, then; the Lenox at six. . . . Good-bye."

There was the usual early evening influx of men at the Lenox who dropped
in for a glance at the ticker, or for a cocktail or a game of billiards
or a bit of gossip before going home to dress.

Selwyn sauntered over to the basket, inspected a yard or two of tape,
then strolled toward the window, nodding to Bradley Harmon and Sandon
Craig.

As he turned his face to the window and his back to the room, Harmon
came up rather effusively, offering an unusually thin flat hand and
further hospitality, pleasantly declined by Selwyn.

"Horrible thing, a cocktail," observed Harmon, after giving his own
order and seating himself opposite Selwyn. "I don't usually do it. Here
comes the man who persuades me!--my own partner--"

Selwyn looked up to see Fane approaching; and instantly a dark flush
overspread his face.

"You know George Fane, don't you?" continued Harmon easily; "well,
that's odd; I thought, of course--Captain Selwyn, Mr. Fane. It's not
usual--but it's done."

They exchanged formalities--dry and brief on Selwyn's part, gracefully
urbane on Fane's.

"I've heard so pleasantly of you from Gerald Erroll," he said, "and of
course our people have always been on cordial terms. Neither Mrs. Fane
nor I was fortunate enough to meet you last Tuesday at the Gerards--such
a crush, you know. Are you not joining us, Captain Selwyn?" as the
servant appeared to take orders.

Selwyn declined again, glancing at Harmon--a large-framed, bony young
man with blond, closely trimmed and pointed beard, and the fair colour
of a Swede. He had the high, flat cheek-bones of one, too; and a
thicket of corn-tinted hair, which was usually damp at the ends, and
curled flat against his forehead. He seemed to be always in a slight
perspiration--he had been, anyway, every time Selwyn met him anywhere.

Sandon Craig and Billy Fleetwood came wandering up and joined them; one
or two other men, drifting by, adhered to the grou