“It’s rougher on him, Austin; and it’s roughest on his sister.  Well”—­he held out his hand—­“good-bye.  No, thanks, I won’t stop to see Nina and Eileen; I’m going to try to think up some way out of this.  And—­if Gerald comes to you again—­try another tack—­just try it.  You know, old fellow, that, between ourselves, you and I are sometimes short of temper and long of admonition.  Let’s try reversing the combination with Gerald.”

But Austin only growled from the depths of his linen-shrouded arm-chair, and Selwyn turned away, wondering what in the world he could do in a matter already far beyond the jurisdiction of either Austin or himself.

If Alixe had done her best to keep Gerald away, she appeared to be quite powerless in the matter; and it was therefore useless to go to her.  Besides, he had every inclination to avoid her.  He had learned his lesson.

To whom then could he go?  Through whom could he reach Gerald?  Through Nina?  Useless.  And Gerald had already defied Austin.  Through Neergard, then?  But he was on no terms with Neergard; how could he go to him?  Through Rosamund Fane?  At the thought he made a wry face.  Any advances from him she would wilfully misinterpret.  And Ruthven?  How on earth could he bring himself to approach him?

And the problem therefore remained as it was; the only chance of any solution apparently depending upon these friends of Gerald’s, not one of whom was a friend of Selwyn; indeed some among them were indifferent to the verge of open enmity.

And yet he had promised Eileen to do what he could.  What merit lay in performing an easy obligation?  What courage was required to keep a promise easily kept?  If he cared anything for her—­if he really cared for Gerald, he owed them more than effortless fulfilment.  And here there could be no fulfilment without effort, without the discarding from self of the last rags of pride.  And even then, what hope was there—­after the sacrifice of self and the disregard of almost certain humiliation?

It was horribly hard for him; there seemed to be no chance in sight.  But forlorn hope was slowly rousing the soldier in him—­the grim, dogged, desperate necessity of doing his duty to the full and of leaving consequences to that Destiny, which some call by a name more reverent.

So first of all, when at length he had decided, he nerved himself to strike straight at the centre; and within the hour he found Gerald at the Stuyvesant Club.

The boy descended to the visitors’ rooms, Selwyn’s card in his hand and distrust written on every feature.  And at Selwyn’s first frank and friendly words he reddened to the temples and checked him.

“I won’t listen,” he said.  “They—­Austin and—­and everybody have been putting you up to this until I’m tired of it.  Do they think I’m a baby?  Do they suppose I don’t know enough to take care of myself?  Are they trying to make me ridiculous?  I tell you they’d better let me alone.  My friends are my friends, and I won’t listen to any criticism of them, and that settles it.”