Kent’s laugh was mirthless.

“I was never down in her good books,” he said, by way of accounting for the accusation.

If Ormsby thought he knew the reason why, he was magnanimous enough to steer clear of that shoal.

“It’s a mess,” he growled.  “I don’t fancy you had any better luck with Elinor.”

“She seemed not to care much about it either way.  She said her mother would have the casting vote.”

“I know.  What I don’t know is, what remains to be done.”

“More waiting,” said Kent, definitively.  “The fight is fairly on now—­as between the Bucks crowd and the corporations, I mean—­but there will probably be ups and downs enough to scare Mrs. Brentwood into letting go.  We must be ready to strike when the iron is hot; that’s all.”

The New Yorker tramped a full square in thoughtful silence before he said:  “Candidly, Kent, Mrs. Hepzibah’s little stake in Western Pacific isn’t altogether a matter of life and death to me, don’t you know?  If it comes to the worst, I can have my broker play the part of the god in the car.  Happily, or unhappily, whichever way you like to put it, I sha’n’t miss what he may have to put up to make good on her three thousand shares.”

David Kent stopped short and wheeled suddenly upon his companion.

“Ormsby, that’s a thing I’ve been afraid of, all along; and it’s the one thing you must never do.”

“Why not?” demanded the straightforward Ormsby.

Kent knew he was skating on the thinnest of ice, but his love for Elinor made him fearless of consequences.

“If you don’t know without being told, it proves that your money has spoiled you to that extent.  It is because you have no right to entrap Miss Brentwood into an obligation that would make her your debtor for the very food she eats and the clothes she wears.  You will say she need never know:  be very sure she would find out, one way or another; and she would never forgive you.”

“Um,” said Ormsby, turning visibly grim.  “You are frank enough—­to draw it mildly.  Another man in my place might suggest that it isn’t Mr. David Kent’s affair.”

Kent turned about and caught step again.

“I’ve said my say—­all of it,” he rejoined stolidly.  “We’ve been decently modern up to now, and we won’t go back to the elemental things so late in the day.  All the same, you’ll not take it amiss if I say that I know Miss Brentwood rather better than you do.”

Ormsby did not say whether he would or would not, and the talk went aside to less summary ways and means preservative of the Brentwood fortunes.  But at the archway of the Camelot Club, where Kent paused, Ormsby went back to the debatable ground in an outspoken word.

“I know pretty well now what there is between us, Kent, and we mustn’t quarrel if we can help it,” he said.  “If you complain that I didn’t give you a fair show, I’ll retort that I didn’t dare to.  Are you satisfied?”