like him in my dear New York—­conscienceless, invertebrate, sybaritic sons of idleness, college-bred and under-bred little beasts who can buy and then cast off at their pleasure.  They have no means of knowing how to fall in love with a good girl.  They have not been trained to it.  It is not for their scrambled intellects to discriminate between the chorus-girl brand of attack and the subtle wooing of a gentlewoman.  They can’t analyse—­they can’t feel!  And this insipid, egotistical little bounder is actually sitting there and asking me to help him with the girl I love!  Good Lord, what next?” He surveyed the eager Ulstervelt in the most irritating manner, finally laughing outright in his face.  The very thought of him as Connie’s accepted lover!  She, the adorable, the splendid, the unapproachable!  It was excruciatingly funny!

“Oh, I say, old man,” cried Freddie, when the disconcerting laugh came, “don’t laugh!  It’s no damned joke.”

“’Pon my soul, Ulstervelt,” apologised Brock, with a magnanimous smile, “I haven’t said it was a joke.  You—­”

“Then, what are you laughing at?  Something you heard yesterday?” with fine scorn.  Brock stared hard at the flushed, boyish face of the other; it was weak and yet as hard as brass, hard with the overbearing confidence of the spoiled child of wealth.

“See here, Ulstervelt,” he said with sudden coldness, “you’re asking my help.  That’s no way to get it.”

“I beg pardon!  I don’t mean to be rude,” apologised Freddie.  “But, I say, old man, I’ll make it worth your while.  My father’s got stacks of coin, and he’s a power in New York.  Odell-Carney’s right.  American architects can’t design good hencoops.  What we want in New York is a rattling good, up-to-date Englishman or two to show ’em a few things.  They’re a lot of muckers over there, take it from me.  By Jove, Roxbury, you don’t know how I’d appreciate your friendship in this matter.  It will simplify things immensely.  You’ll speak a good word for me when the time comes, now, won’t you?”

“You want me to do you a good turn,” said Brock slowly.  He found himself grinning with a malicious joy.  “All right, I’ll see to it that Miss Rodney doesn’t marry you, my boy.  I’ll attend to her.”

“Just a minute,” interrupted Freddie quickly.  “Don’t be too hasty about that.  I want to be sure of Constance first.”

“I see.  I was just about to add that I’ll give Constance a strong hint that one of the most gallant young sparks in New York is likely to propose to her before the end of the week.  That will—­”

“Heavens!” exclaimed Freddie, in disgust.  “You needn’t do that.  I’ve already proposed to her five or six times.”

“And she—­she is undecided?” cried Brock, his eyes darkening.

“No, hang it all, she’s not undecided.  She’s said no every time.  That’s why I’m up a tree, so to speak.”

“Oh?” was all that Brock said.  Of course she couldn’t love a creature of Freddie’s stamp!  He gloated!