“I see it’s all up,” he added weakly.  “You and I can’t pull together.”

“No,” exclaimed the other, passionately, “we can’t.  And we might as well give up trying.  You have chosen to be a time-server and a lick-spittle, and I don’t choose it!  Do you think I’ve learned nothing in the time I’ve been here?  Why, man, you used to be daring and clever—­and now you never draw a breath without wondering if these rich snobs will like the way you do it!  And you want Alice to sell herself to them—­you want me to sell my career to them!”

There was a long pause.  Oliver had turned very pale.  And then suddenly his brother caught himself together, and said:  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to quarrel, but you’ve goaded me too much.  I’m grateful for what you have tried to do for me, and I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.  But I can’t go on with this game.  I’ll quit, and you can disown me to your friends—­tell them that I’ve run amuck, and to forget they ever knew me.  They’ll hardly blame you for it—­ they know you too well for that.  And as for Alice, I’ll talk it out with her to-morrow, and let her decide for herself—­if she wants to be a Society queen, she can put herself in your hands, and I’ll get out of her way.  On the other hand, if she approves of what I’m doing, why we’ll both quit, and you won’t have to bother with either of us.”

That was the basis upon which they parted for the night; but like most resolutions taken at white heat, it was not followed literally.  It was very hard for Montague to have to confront Alice with such a choice; and as for Oliver, when he went home and thought it over, he began to discover gleams of hope.  He might make it clear to every one that he was not responsible for his brother’s business vagaries, and take his chances upon that basis.  After all, there were wheels within wheels in Society; and if the Robbie Waitings chose to break with him—­why, they had plenty of enemies.  There might even be interests which would be benefited by Allan’s course, and would take him up.

Montague had resolved to write and break every engagement which he had made, and to sever his connection with Society at one stroke.  But the next day his brother came again, with compromises and new protestations.  There was no use going to the other extreme:  he, Oliver, would have it out with the Wallings, and they might all go on their way as if nothing had happened.

—­So Montague made his debut in the role of knight-errant.  He went with many qualms and misgivings, uncertain how each new person would take it.  The next evening he was promised for a theatre-party with Siegfried Harvey; and they had supper in a private room at Delmonico’s, and there came Mrs. Winnie, resplendent as an apple tree in early April—­and murmuring with bated breath, “Oh, you dreadful man, what have you been doing?”

“Have I been poaching on your preserves?” he asked promptly.

“No, not mine,” she said, “but—­” and then she hesitated.