In addition to her dread and excitement, she was deeply chagrined and unhappy; and, although Jack Ruthven did not again refer to the matter—­indeed appeared to have forgotten it—­her alarm and humiliation remained complete, for Gerald now came and played and went as he chose; and in her disconcerted cowardice she dared not do more than plead with Gerald in secret, until she began to find the emotion consequent upon such intimacy unwise for them both.

Neergard, too, was becoming a familiar figure in her drawing-room; and, though at first she detested him, his patience and unfailing good spirits, and his unconcealed admiration for her softened her manner toward him to the point of toleration.

And Neergard, from his equivocal footing in the house of Ruthven, obtained another no less precarious in the house of Fane—­all in the beginning on a purely gaming basis.  However, Gerald had already proposed him for the Stuyvesant and Proscenium clubs; and, furthermore, a stormy discussion was now in progress among the members of the famous Siowitha over an amazing proposition from their treasurer, Jack Ruthven.

This proposal was nothing less than to admit Neergard to membership in that wealthy and exclusive country club, as a choice of the lesser evil; for it appeared, according to Ruthven, that Neergard, if admitted, was willing to restore to the club, free of rent, the thousands of acres vitally necessary to the club’s existence as a game preserve, merely retaining the title to these lands for himself.

Draymore was incensed at the proposal, Harmon, Orchil, and Fane were disgustedly non-committal, but Phoenix Mottly was perhaps the angriest man on Long Island.

“In the name of decency, Jack,” he said, “what are you dreaming of?  Is it not enough that this man, Neergard, holds us up once?  Do I understand that he has the impudence to do it again with your connivance?  Are you going to let him sandbag us into electing him?  Is that the sort of hold-up you stand for?  Well, then, I tell you I’ll never vote for him.  I’d rather see these lakes and streams of ours dry up; I’d rather see the last pheasant snared and the last covey leave for the other end of the island, than buy off that Dutchman with a certificate of membership in the Siowitha!”

“In that case,” retorted Ruthven, “we’d better wind up our affairs and make arrangements for an auctioneer.”

“All right; wind up and be damned!” said Mottly; “there’ll be at least sufficient self-respect left in the treasury to go round.”

Which was all very fine, and Mottly meant it at the time; but, outside of the asset of self-respect, there was too much money invested in the lands, plant, and buildings, in the streams, lakes, hatcheries, and forests of the Siowitha.  The enormously wealthy seldom stand long upon dignity if that dignity is going to be very expensive.  Only the poor can afford disastrous self-respect.