Alixe turned and stared at Gerald, who came up boyishly red and impetuous: 

“How d’ye do, Mrs. Ruthven; did you get my note?  How d’ye do, Mrs. Fane; awf’fly jolly to collide this way.  Would you mind if—­”

“You,” interrupted Rosamund, “ought to be downtown—­unless you’ve concluded to retire and let Wall Street go to smash.  What are you pretending to do in Sherry’s at this hour, you very dreadful infant?”

“I’ve been lunching with Mr. Neergard—­and would you mind—­”

“Yes, I would,” began Rosamund, promptly, but Alixe interrupted:  “Bring him over, Gerald.”  And as the boy thanked her and turned back: 

“I’ve a word to administer to that boy, Rosamund, so attack the Neergard creature with moderation, please.  You owe me that at least.”

“No, I don’t!” said Rosamund, disgusted; “I won’t be afflicted with a—­”

“Nobody wants you to be too civil to him, silly!  But Gerald is in his office, and I want Gerald to do something for me.  Please, Rosamund.”

“Oh, well, if you—­”

“Yes, I do.  Here he is now; and don’t be impossible and frighten him, Rosamund.”

The presentation of Neergard was accomplished without disaster to anybody.  On his thin nose the dew glistened, and his thick fat hands were hot; but Rosamund was too bored to be rude to him, and Alixe turned immediately to Gerald: 

“Yes, I did get your note, but I’m not at home on Tuesday.  Can’t you come—­wait a moment!—­what are you doing this afternoon?”

“Why, I’m going back to the office with Mr. Neergard—­”

“Nonsense!  Oh, Mr. Neergard, would you mind”—­very sweetly—­“if Mr. Erroll did not go to the office this afternoon?”

Neergard looked at her—­almost—­a fixed and uncomfortable smirk on his round, red face:  “Not at all, Mrs. Ruthven, if you have anything better for him—­”

“I have—­an allopathic dose of it.  Thank you, Mr. Neergard.  Rosamund, we ought to start, you know:  Gerald!”—­with quiet significance—­“good-bye, Mr. Neergard.  Please do not buy up the rest of Long Island, because we need a new kitchen-garden very badly.”

Rosamund scarcely nodded his dismissal.  And the next moment Neergard found himself quite alone, standing with the smirk still stamped on his stiffened features, his hat-brim and gloves crushed in his rigid fingers, his little black mousy eyes fixed on nothing, as usual.

A wandering head-waiter thought they were fixed on him and sidled up hopeful of favours, but Neergard suddenly snarled in his face and moved toward the door, wiping the perspiration from his nose with the most splendid handkerchief ever displayed east of Sixth Avenue and west of Third.

Mrs. Ruthven’s motor moved up from its waiting station; Rosamund was quite ready to enter when Alixe said cordially:  “Where can we drop you, dear? Do let us take you to the exchange if you are going there—­”