How it happened that Rosamund divined something of the situation is not quite clear; but she always had a delicate nose for anything not intended for her, and the thing amused her immensely, particularly because what viciousness had been so long suppressed in Neergard was now tentatively making itself apparent in his leering ease among women he so recently feared.

This, also, was gall and wormwood to Ruthven, so long the official lap-dog of the very small set he kennelled with; and the women of that set were perverse enough to find Neergard amusing, and his fertility in contriving new extravagances for them interested these people, whose only interest had always been centred in themselves.

Meanwhile, Neergard had almost finished with Gerald—­he had only one further use for him; and as his social success became more pronounced with the people he had crowded in among, he became bolder and more insolent, no longer at pains to mole-tunnel toward the object desired, no longer overcareful about his mask.  And one day he asked the boy very plainly why he had never invited him to meet his sister.  And he got an answer that he never forgot.

And all the while Ruthven squirmed under the light but steadily inflexible pressure of the curb which Neergard had slipped on him so deftly; he had viewed with indifference Gerald’s boyish devotion to his wife, which was even too open and naive to be of interest to those who witnessed it.  But he had not counted on Neergard’s sudden hatred of Gerald; and the first token of that hatred fell upon the boy like a thunderbolt when Neergard whispered to Ruthven, one night at the Stuyvesant Club, and Ruthven, exasperated, had gone straight home, to find his wife in tears, and the boy clumsily attempting to comfort her, both her hands in his.

“Perhaps,” said Ruthven coldly, “you have some plausible explanation for this sort of thing.  If you haven’t, you’d better trump up one together, and I’ll send you my attorney to hear it.  In that event,” he added, “you’d better leave your joint address when you find a more convenient house than mine.”

As a matter of fact, he had really meant nothing more than the threat and the insult, the situation permitting him a heavier hold upon his wife and a new grip on Gerald in case he ever needed him; but threat and insult were very real to the boy, and he knocked Mr. Ruthven flat on his back—­the one thing required to change that gentleman’s pretence to deadly earnest.

Ruthven scrambled to his feet; Gerald did it again; and, after that, Mr. Ruthven prudently remained prone during the delivery of a terse but concise opinion of him expressed by Gerald.

After Gerald had gone, Ruthven opened first one eye, then the other, then his mouth, and finally sat up; and his wife, who had been curiously observing him, smiled.

“It is strange,” she said serenely, “that I never thought of that method.  I wonder why I never thought of it,” lazily stretching her firm young arms and glancing casually at their symmetry and smooth-skinned strength.  “Go into your own quarters,” she added, as he rose, shaking with fury:  “I’ve endured the last brutality I shall ever suffer from you.”