“I won’t listen to that!” she said, breathless; “I’ve listened to it for ten years—­as long as I can remember.  Answer me honestly, Mr. Tappan!  Can I have what other women have—­silk underwear and stockings—­real lace on my night dresses—­and plenty of it?  Can I have suitable gowns and furs, and have my hair dressed properly?  I want you to answer; can I make my debut this winter and have the gowns I require—­and the liberty that girls of my age have?” She turned on Colonel Mallett:  “The liberty that Naida has had is all I want; the sort of things you let her have all I ask for.”  And appealing to Magnelius Grandcourt, who stood pursing his thick lips, puffed out like a surprised pouter pigeon:  “Your daughter Catherine has more than I ask; why do you let her have what you consider bad for me? Why?”

Mr. Grandcourt swallowed several times, and spoke in an undertone to Joshua Hogg.  But he did not reply to Geraldine.

Remsen Tappan turned his iron visage toward Colonel Mallett—­ignoring Geraldine’s questions.

“In the cultiwation of the indiwidool,” he began again dauntlessly——­

“Isn’t there anybody to answer me?” asked Geraldine, turning from one to another.

“Concerning the cultiwation——­”

“Answer me!” she flashed back.  There were tears in her voice, but her eyes blazed.

“Miss Seagrave,” interposed old Mr. Montross gravely, “I beg of you to remember——­”

“Let him answer me first!  I asked him a perfectly plain question.  It—­it is silly to ignore me as though I were a foolish child—­as though I didn’t know my mind.”

“I think, Mr. Tappan, perhaps if you could give Miss Seagrave a qualified answer to her questions—­make some preliminary statement—­” began Mr. Cray cautiously.

“Concerning what?” snapped Tappan with a grim stare.

“Concerning my stockings and my underwear,” said Geraldine fiercely.  “I’m tired of dressing like a servant!”

Mr. Tappan’s rugged jaw opened and shut with another snap.

“I’m opposed to any such innowation,” he said.

“And—­my coming out this winter?  And my quarterly allowance?  Answer me!”

“Time enough when you turn twenty-one, Miss Seagrave.  Cultiwation of mind concerns you now, not cultiwation of raiment.”

“That—­that—­” stammered Geraldine, “is s-su-premely s-silly.”  The tears reached her eyes; she brushed them away angrily.

Mallett coughed and glanced at Myndert Beekman, then past the secretary, Mr. Varick, directly at Mr. Tappan.

“If you could see your way to—­ah—­accede to some—­a number—­perhaps, in a measure, to all of Miss Seagrave’s not unreasonable requests, Mr. Tappan——­”

[Illustration:  “’Can I have what other women have—­silk underwear and stockings?’”]

He hesitated, looked dubiously at Mr. Montross, who nodded.  Mr. Cray, also, made an almost imperceptible sign of concurrence.  Magnelius Grandcourt, the sixty-year enfant terrible of the company, dreaded for his impulsive outbursts—­though the effect of these outbursts was always very carefully considered before-hand—­stepped jauntily across the floor, and lifting Geraldine’s hand to his rather purplish lips, saluted it with a flourish.