She smiled:  “Come to me on your own errand—­for Gerald’s sake, for anybody’s sake—­for your own, preferably, and I’ll listen.  But don’t come to me on another woman’s errands, for I won’t listen—­even to you.”

“I have come on my own errand!” he repeated coldly.  “Miss Erroll knew nothing about it, and shall not hear of it from me.  Can you not help me, Mrs. Fane?”

But Rosamund’s rose-china features had hardened into a polished smile; and Selwyn stood up, wearily, to make his adieux.

But, as he entered his hansom before the door, he knew the end was not yet; and once more he set his face toward the impossible; and once more the hansom rolled away over the asphalt, and once more it stopped—­this time before the house of Ruthven.

Every step he took now was taken through sheer force of will—­and in her service; because, had it been, now, only for Gerald’s sake, he knew he must have weakened—­and properly, perhaps, for a man owes something to himself.  But what he was now doing was for a young girl who trusted him with all the fervour and faith of her heart and soul; and he could spare himself in nowise if, in his turn, he responded heart and soul to the solemn appeal.

Mr. Ruthven, it appeared, was at home and would receive Captain Selwyn in his own apartment.

Which he did—­after Selwyn had been seated for twenty minutes—­strolling in clad only in silken lounging clothes, and belting about his waist, as he entered, the sash of a kimona, stiff with gold.

His greeting was a pallid stare; but, as Selwyn made no motion to rise, he lounged over to a couch and, half reclining among the cushions, shot an insolent glance at Selwyn, then yawned and examined the bangles on his wrist.

After a moment Selwyn said:  “Mr. Ruthven, you are no doubt surprised that I am here—­”

“I’m not surprised if it’s my wife you’ve come to see,” drawled Ruthven.  “If I’m the object of your visit, I confess to some surprise—­as much as the visit is worth, and no more.”

The vulgarity of the insult under the man’s own roof scarcely moved Selwyn to any deeper contempt, and certainly not to anger.

“I did not come here to ask a favour of you,” he said coolly—­“for that is out of the question, Mr. Ruthven.  But I came to tell you that Mr. Erroll’s family has forbidden him to continue his gambling in this house and in your company anywhere or at any time.”

“Most extraordinary,” murmured Ruthven, passing his ringed fingers over his minutely shaven face—­that strange face of a boy hardened by the depravity of ages.

“So I must request you,” continued Selwyn, “to refuse him the opportunity of gambling here.  Will you do it—­voluntarily?”

“No.”

“Then I shall use my judgment in the matter.”

“And what may your judgment in the matter be?”

“I have not yet decided; for one thing I might enter a complaint with the police that a boy is being morally and materially ruined in your private gambling establishment.”