"
"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.
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