“’Big bugs have little bugs to bite ’em.’

“That’s all right, too; but speaking of laws, I’m always trying to formulate one for my particular self-government; and you don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” said Gerard, much amused, “I don’t mind.  Only when you talk ethics—­talk sense at the same time.”

“I wish I knew how,” he said.

They discussed Neergard’s scheme for a little while longer; Austin, shrewd and cautious, declined any personal part in the financing of the deal, although he admitted the probability of prospective profits.

“Our investments and our loans are of a different character,” he explained, “but I have no doubt that Fane, Harmon & Co.—­”

“Why, both Fane and Harmon are members of the club!” laughed Selwyn.  “You don’t expect Neergard to go to them?”

A peculiar expression flickered in Gerard’s heavy features; perhaps he thought that Fane and Harmon and Jack Ruthven were not above exploiting their own club under certain circumstances.  But whatever his opinion, he said nothing further; and, suggesting that Selwyn remain to dine, went off to dress.

A few moments later he returned, crestfallen and conciliatory: 

“I forgot, Nina and I are dining at the Orchils.  Come up a moment; she wants to speak to you.”

So they took the rose-tinted rococo elevator; Austin went away to his own quarters, and Selwyn tapped at Nina’s boudoir.

“Is that you, Phil?  One minute; Watson is finishing my hair. . . .  Come in, now; and kindly keep your distance, my friend.  Do you suppose I want Rosamund to know what brand of war-paint I use?”

“Rosamund,” he repeated, with a good-humoured shrug; “it’s likely—­isn’t it?”

“Certainly it’s likely.  You’d never know you were telling her anything—­but she’d extract every detail in ten seconds. . . .  I understand she adores you, Phil.  What have you done to her?”

“That’s likely, too,” he remarked, remembering his savagely polite rebuke to that young matron after the Minster dinner.

“Well, she does; you’ve probably piqued her; that’s the sort of man she likes. . . .  Look at my hair—­how bright and wavy it is, Phil.  Tell me, do I appear fairly pretty to-night?”

“You’re all right, Nina; I mean it,” he said.  “How are the kids?  How is Eileen?”

“That’s why I sent for you.  Eileen is furious at being left here all alone; she’s practically well and she’s to dine with Drina in the library.  Would you be good enough to dine there with them?  Eileen, poor child, is heartily sick of her imprisonment; it would be a mercy, Phil.”

“Why, yes, I’ll do it, of course; only I’ve some matters at home—­”

“Home!  You call those stuffy, smoky, impossible, half-furnished rooms home!  Phil, when are you ever going to get some pretty furniture and art things?  Eileen and I have been talking it over, and we’ve decided to go there and see what you need and then order it, whether you like it or not.”