Most men, under such circumstances, would have retired and confessed defeat; but not so with Ferdy Wickersham.  To admit defeat was gall and wormwood to him.  His love for Louise had given place to a feeling almost akin to a desire for revenge.  He would show her that he could conquer her pride.  He would show the world that he could humble Norman Wentworth.  His position appeared to him impregnable.  At the head of a great business, the leader of the gayest set in the city, and the handsomest and coolest man in town—­he was bound to win.  So he bided his time, and went on paying Mrs. Wentworth little attentions that he felt must win her in the end.  And soon he fancied that he began to see the results of his patience.  Old Mr. Wentworth’s health had failed rapidly, and Norman was so wholly engrossed in business, that he found himself unable to keep up with the social life of their set.  If, however, Norman was too busy to attend all the entertainments, Ferdy was never too busy to be on hand, a fact many persons were beginning to note.

Squire Rawson’s refusal of the offer for his lands began to cause Mr. Aaron Wickersham some uneasiness.  He had never dreamed that the old countryman would be so intractable.  He refused even to set a price on them.  He “did not want to sell,” he said.

Mr. Wickersham conferred with his son.  “We have got to get control of those lands, Ferdy.  We ought to have got them before we started the railway.  If we wait till we get through, we shall have to pay double.  The best thing is for you to go down there and get them.  You know the chief owner and you know that young Keith.  You ought to be able to work them.  We shall have to employ Keith if necessary.  Sometimes a very small lever will work a big one.”

“Oh, I can work them easy enough,” said the young man; “but I don’t want to go down there just now—­the weather’s cold, and I have a lot of engagements and a matter on hand that requires my presence here now.”

His father’s brow clouded.  Matters had not been going well of late.  The Wentworths had been growing cooler both in business and in social life.  In the former it had cost him a good deal of money to have the Wentworth interest against him; in the latter it had cost Mrs. Wickersham a good deal of heart-burning.  And Aaron Wickersham attributed it to the fact, of which rumors had come to him, that Ferdy was paying young Mrs. Wentworth more attention than her husband and his family liked, and they took this form of resenting it.

“I do not know what business engagement you can have more important than a matter in which we have invested some millions which may be saved by prompt attention or lost.  What engagements have you?”

“That is my affair,” said Ferdy, coolly.

“Your affair!  Isn’t your affair my affair?” burst out his father.

“Not necessarily.  There are several kinds of affairs.  I should be sorry to think that all of my affairs you had an interest in.”