“Hold on, Austin.  That isn’t the way to tackle a boy like that!”

“Isn’t it?  Well, why not?  Do you expect me to dicker with him?”

“No; but, Austin, you’ve always been a little brusque with him.  Don’t you think—­”

“No, I don’t.  It’s discipline he needs, and he’ll get it good and plenty every time he comes here.”

“I—­I’m afraid he may cease coming here.  That’s the worst of it.  For his sister’s sake I think we ought to try to put up with—­”

“Put up!  Put up!  I’ve been doing nothing else since he came of age.  He’s turned out a fool of a puppy, I tell you; he’s idle, lazy, dissipated, impudent, conceited, insufferable—­”

“But not vicious, Austin, and not untruthful.  Where his affections are centred he is always generous; where they should be centred he is merely thoughtless, not deliberately selfish—­”

“See here, Phil, how much good has your molly-coddling done him?  You warned him to be cautious in his intimacy with Neergard, and he was actually insulting to you—­”

“I know; but I understood.  He probably had some vague idea of loyalty to a man whom he had known longer than he knew me.  That was all; that was what I feared, too.  But it had to be done—­I was determined to venture it; and it seems I accomplished nothing.  But don’t think that Gerald’s attitude toward me makes any difference, Austin.  It doesn’t; I’m just as devoted to the boy, just as sorry for him, just as ready to step in when the chance comes, as it surely will, Austin.  He’s only running a bit wilder than the usual colt; it takes longer to catch and bridle him—­”

“Somebody’ll rope him pretty roughly before you run him down,” said Gerard.

“I hope not.  Of course it’s a chance he takes, and we can’t help it; but I’m trying to believe he’ll tire out in time and come back to us for his salt.  And, Austin, we’ve simply got to believe in him, you know—­on Eileen’s account.”

Austin grew angrier and redder: 

“Eileen’s account?  Do you mean her bank account?  It’s easy enough to believe in him if you inspect his sister’s bank account.  Believe in him?  Oh, certainly I do; I believe he’s pup enough to come sneaking to his sister to pay for all the damfooleries he’s engaged in. . . .  And I’ve positively forbidden her to draw another check to his order—­”

“It’s that little bangled whelp, Ruthven,” said Selwyn between his teeth.  “I warned Gerald most solemnly of that man, but—­” He shrugged his shoulders and glanced about him at the linen-covered furniture and bare floors.  After a moment he looked up:  “The game there is of course notorious.  I—­if matters did not stand as they do”—­he flushed painfully—­“I’d go straight to Ruthven and find out whether or not this business could be stopped.”

“Stopped?  No, it can’t be.  How are you going to stop a man from playing cards in his own house?  They all do it—­that sort.  Fane’s rather notorious himself; they call his house the house of ill-Fane, you know.  If you or I or any of our family were on any kind of terms with the Ruthvens, they might exclude Gerald to oblige us.  We are not, however; and, anyway, if Gerald means to make a gambler and a souse of himself at twenty-one, he’ll do it.  But it’s pretty rough on us.”