Just then Porshinger drove up in his car. The hour was early and the east piazza was as yet occupied only by Mrs. Lorraine, Miss Chamberlain and Pendleton. He sighted them at once—stood a moment as though undecided, then came slowly toward them.

"Can it be possible he will dare to join us!" Gladys exclaimed.

"Anything is possible with him," Stephanie answered contemptuously—and turned her back.

"Surely he won't have the effrontery!" Gladys insisted and looked away.

"I can't think that even he is cad enough for that," Pendleton remarked, busying himself with his cigarette.

That no one glanced up at Porshinger's approach did not faze him an instant. It was one of the secrets of his success in life that, having come to a decision, he always saw it through. He knew his own mind—which is more than the average man does.

"How-de-do, everybody!" he greeted. "May I sit down?" suiting the action to the word. "Miss Chamberlain, I salute you! also Mrs. Lorraine—and Mr. Pendleton. Bully day for golf—what do you say to a foursome?"

Stephanie arose, looked straight at Porshinger with a deliberately ignoring stare, and turned to Miss Chamberlain.

"Will you come into the house with me, Gladys?" she asked. "Excuse me, Montague, please."

Pendleton had instantly found his feet—Porshinger was a trifle slower. Gladys bowed perfunctorily to the latter, and followed Stephanie. Pendleton resumed his seat and slowly lit another cigarette.

Porshinger laughed, a chuckling sort of laugh.

"I'm squelched, did you notice it?" he remarked.

"I noticed the intention, but not the desired result," Pendleton answered very coldly.

Porshinger's small eyes flashed a keen look at him—had Stephanie been telling them the truth—or only part of it? He had felt certain she would tell nothing—simply let it be inferred that they had had a disagreement; but there was something in the atmosphere that suggested——

"A slight disagreement last night at the Croydens' over a trifling matter," he laughed easily. "It's funny how a woman can make a man pay up for a little thing. You might imagine from the way she acted that I had done Mrs. Lorraine a grievous wrong."

Pendleton smoked and was silent.

In truth, he could not quite determine just how to meet the matter, knowing the facts and of Lorraine's contemplated action—whether to show he was aware of anything more than the actual incident of the moment, or to tell Porshinger his opinion of him. The latter, however, would entail the possibility of violence if Porshinger elected to become offensive in his statements as to Stephanie. He wanted to smash Porshinger's face into a nothingness—yet that would be only a temporary personal satisfaction, and would complicate the matter still more without accomplishing anything.

Porshinger, on his part, had sunk his desire for vengeance into his desire for Stephanie. He could not understand a woman with her flagrant past except on one hypothesis—and he was willing to forget Pendleton's recent attack if he could supplant him in her affections. He had no possible doubt that Pendleton had taken Amherst's place—and he aimed to displace Pendleton. That a woman could make one bad step and then right herself beyond even the possibility of making another was, to his mind, utterly absurd. And the last few weeks had but confirmed him—she was playing him, to be sure, but coming closer every day, until he had only to put out his hand and take her. He had put out his hand last night at Croydens', but something had gone wrong. He had been a trifle premature—possibly because he did not quite understand these society women's ways. However, it was only a question of a little time. He would pluck the fruit eventually, of that he had no doubt. Stephanie was not really angry—only piqued at his awkwardness and want of appreciation of the proper situation. He would show her that he did not mind a temporary rebuff, would, in fact, disregard it entirely. If she was inclined to punish him a trifle, she should have her way. Money was king in the end —and money would win. Her present conduct—this leaving him without a word, but with an ignoring look, was somewhat disconcerting and altogether unexpected. However, he assumed it was simply another exhibition of a society woman's seeming reluctance to yield, and the desire to make her conquest worth while. Yes, it was a trifle disconcerting. He was at a loss what to say, because he did not know how much, if anything, Stephanie had told of their quarrel.

He glanced covertly at Pendleton—Pendleton was smoking and looking dreamily up at the sky.

"My idea of a foursome didn't seem to take well with the ladies," he adventured.

"No, didn't seem to," Pendleton answered dryly.

"Do you think Mrs. Lorraine and Miss Chamberlain are coming back?"

Pendleton's patience was fast slipping its moorings.

"Judging from Mrs. Lorraine's manner, I should say she was not——so long as you are here," he replied.

Porshinger refused to take offence.

"I thought so myself!" he chuckled. "Have a drink, Pendleton?"

"No, thank you!" Pendleton declined sharply.

"Do you mind if I have one?"

"Not in the least."

"Do you mind if I stay here?"

Pendleton blew smoke rings and made no reply.

"From which I might infer—a number of things," Porshinger laughed. "But I won't. I had one quarrel with a pretty woman over nothing last evening; I'm not going to have another quarrel with a good fellow this afternoon."

It was evident to Pendleton that Porshinger never suspected that Stephanie had told more than the simple fact of their quarrel, or else he was trying to draw him out so as to know what story he had to meet and overcome.

Just then Dolittle's voice came around the corner.

"Have you heard the latest scandal?" it enquired.

"No—what is it?" said another voice, which Pendleton recognized as Emerson's.

There was a moving of chairs and the two men sat down.

Pendleton took a long draw on his cigarette. He saw what was coming. Porshinger, however, did not see, and like the majority of his class, he craned his ears to overhear.

"It's pretty hot stuff!" laughed Dolittle. "Were you at the Croydens' last night?"

Pendleton glanced at Porshinger. The latter's face was suddenly creased by a frown.

"No—but Marcia was," Emerson answered, with the parvenu parent's pride in the daughter who has been included.

"She didn't tell you, I fancy?"

"I've not seen her.—She takes her breakfast in bed, you know."

"No—I didn't know," said Dolittle airily—then hastened to add:—"but most women do so, I understand."

"I don't know about most women," Emerson returned bluntly.

"Of course, you don't," Dolittle interjected pleasantly. "An old married man isn't supposed to know about such things. Hey!" and he laughed. "But to return—have you ever been in Croyden's country-house? It's down the valley."

"Sure, I have," said Emerson.

"Then you know how spacious it is, particularly the conservatory, and how the lights are arranged so that you seem to see all about you but you don't—the palms and the other big plants are concealers."

Porshinger stirred uneasily and whipped a glance at Pendleton—who had gone back to surveying the clouds and pushing smoke rings toward them.

"Yes," said Emerson; "I remember the conservatory perfectly. It's a beautiful room, a beautiful room!"

"Well be that as it may," Dolittle went on: "it was just before the Cotillon, and I was in the conservatory with—never mind her name—when Stephanie Lorraine came in with the fellow Porshinger——"

Porshinger half arose; then sank back and his eyes sought Pendleton—who was still occupied with the clouds and the smoke and his reverie.

"It's amazing how such an infernal bounder can get intimate with a woman like Mrs. Lorraine, even if he has more money than brains—and even if she has a bit unsavory past," Dolittle continued. "There are plenty in her own circle who have sufficient money to occupy her attention. However, as I was saying, she and Porshinger entered and took a sheltered little nook, which apparently was concealed by the verdure——"

"Where were you?" asked Emerson.

"I was just a little way off, and could see through the leaves. Presently I happened to glance over and saw—what do you think I saw?"

"Give it up," said matter-of-fact Emerson.

"I saw—Mrs. Lorraine in Porshinger's arms!"

"You don't say!" exclaimed Emerson.

"Yes—and he was kissing her well, I can tell you."

"Hum!" reflected Emerson. "Did your—companion see it, too?"

"Sure, she did."

And Pendleton knew from his tones that Dolittle lied.

"Hum!" muttered Emerson again. "Is she discreet?"

"Do you mean, will she tell? Certainly she'll tell. Do you fancy a woman would let such an opportunity slip?"

"Or some men either!" Emerson remarked quietly.

"What do you intend to imply by that?" Dolittle bristled.

"It's not particularly hard to understand," the other answered.

"You mean you question my telling it?"

"I think it would have been kinder to Mrs. Lorraine if you had cautioned your companion not to tell—and followed your advice yourself."

"Well, I'm damned!" Dolittle sneered. "Learning propriety from a bar-tender."

"It doesn't make a heap of difference where you learn it, so long as you do learn it," said Emerson good-naturedly. "The only trouble with you is you never can learn it—you're too all-fired conceited and satisfied with yourself, my young friend."

Pendleton came suddenly to life.

"Do you hear what they are saying, Porshinger?" he demanded curtly.

His tone angered Porshinger, who had been at loss what he should do.

"Your conversation wasn't likely to drown it!" he retorted.

"And do you propose to sit calmly by and hear a woman maligned, with you named as the guilty party?"

"What if she wasn't maligned?" sneered Porshinger.—"What if it's true?"

"You miserable cur!" said Pendleton.

"Oh, you needn't think that you're the only one!" Porshinger laughed.

The next instant, Pendleton had him by the throat—then he released him and flung him in the chair.

"You're too contemptible for a man to touch, even in fight," said he.

It was no use for Porshinger to struggle physically against Pendleton, and he was well aware of it, one experience had already proved it beyond the possibility of doubt. So he sat back and carefully straightened his tie.

"The Board of Governors shall have a report of this affair," said he. "I overlooked your previous assault; but you'll have to pardon me if I decline to overlook this one."

"Report and be damned!" Pendleton exclaimed. "I'll be delighted if you do."

"And meanwhile, there are other ways of reaching you, my friend," Porshinger added. "I've already reached you through the lady we both admire, so you may have my leavings if you wish them. They're not so bad—as you doubtless can vouch for."

Again Pendleton sprang forward; Porshinger instantly cringed deeper into his chair.

With his cane raised to strike, Pendleton recovered himself.

"You are not worth even a broken stick," he declared—and turned away.

The noise of the scuffle had distracted Dolittle and Emerson from their own quarrel, and they had come around the corner and were staring in amazement at the other two.

"I'll break you, you snob," Porshinger sputtered. "I'll take every dollar you have, if it costs me a million to do it."

Pendleton shrugged his shoulders indifferently and continued straight over to the other two men.

"Mr. Emerson," he said, "I want to compliment you on what you have said to this cad Dolittle. Yours was the conduct of a gentleman." Then he turned to Dolittle. "As for you, you miserable retailer of scurrilous gossip, I'm going to give you an opportunity to finish your tale."

His right hand shot out and seized Dolittle by the top of the waistcoat; at the same time his left hand grasped the other's left wrist. In a twinkle Dolittle's arm lay extended palm upwards across Pendleton's right arm, and Pendleton was standing close beside him.

It was all done in an instant—and before Dolittle realized what was happening he was absolutely helpless. Pendleton had but to press down and the arm would snap like a pipe-stem.

Dolittle's first struggle was also his last. His right arm was free, and with it he swung heavily at Pendleton's head—only to be lifted off his feet by a slight downward pressure on his left wrist. The pain was so excruciating he cried out.—The blow was wasted on the air.

"It's no use, Dolittle," said Pendleton. "You can't touch me and you can't break my hold—though I can break your arm as readily as I can break a commandment—and what is more, I'll do it unless you finish your tale!"

"It was finished," Dolittle answered, balanced uncomfortably on one foot and perfectly helpless.

"Not at all!" said Pendleton easily. "You have forgotten the most important part—please listen, Mr. Emerson—the most important part, I say. Let me remind you what it is."

"It isn't anything, I tell you!" Dolittle exclaimed.

"Think again!" Pendleton admonished, accompanied by the faintest pressure—which instantly brought a spasm of pain to the other's face. "You will, I'm sure.—Now this is what you omitted to relate. You told Mr. Emerson that you saw Mrs. Lorraine being kissed by Porshinger last evening in the Croyden conservatory, but you forgot to add that he kissed her by force and despite her struggles.—Repeat it, please."

Dolittle was sullenly silent.

"Do you hear?" asked Pendleton, beginning to apply the pressure.

Dolittle stood the agony for an instant—then he wilted.

"I neglected to add, Mr. Emerson," he gasped, "that Porshinger kissed Mrs. Lorraine by force and despite her struggles."

"I thought you could be depended upon to tell the whole truth," Pendleton remarked, easing up a trifle on his grip so that the other stood at ease.

"Then if you want the whole truth, why was it that the lady went back to the ballroom with Porshinger?" Dolittle sneered.

"I'm coming to that," said Pendleton, tightening his hold again. "Repeat, please—and immediately Mrs. Lorraine was free and out of Porshinger's grasp, she ordered him to take her back to the ballroom, so as to avoid the comment that might be provoked by her returning alone."

With a scowl of fury, Dolittle repeated the words.

"Thank you," said Pendleton. "And one thing more—if I hear of your telling this story any other way than with these truthful additions—and if you don't amend, before this day is over, the tales you've already told, I shall cane you within an inch of your life—understand. I don't think the woman with you saw—but if she did, better warn her also—though I don't doubt, if she did see it, she will tell the truth. Now, go!"—and he flung him away in contempt.

"You damn bully!" Dolittle choked.

"As you wish!" Pendleton laughed. "I've found my muscular development of much use for such abominations as you.—Mr. Emerson, will you do me the honor of joining me in a drink?"

"That I will, sir!" exclaimed Emerson. "With pleasure, sir, with pleasure! Where shall it be, Mr. Pendleton?"

"Here, if it please you. This is preferable to indoors on such a fine day." He touched a bell. "Take Mr. Emerson's order," he said to the boy.

"My dear sir, it was great—great!" Emerson exploded. "You deserve a vote of thanks from every man who has a wife or daughter. You're a credit, sir, a credit to your class and to the Club—by God, sir, you are!"

"It was a difficult situation to handle," said Pendleton—"and I'm not so sure I handled it properly; however, it was the best I could think of on the spur of the moment. Moreover, it was the simple truth that I forced Dolittle to tell."

"I haven't a doubt of it," Emerson declared. "And what is more, Dolittle knows that it is the truth, if he actually didn't see it. He's a pup, sure enough."

"You slander the pup, Mr. Emerson!" smiled Pendleton.

"I do, indeed. I beg the pup's pardon. He's a—what is he?"

"He is the same as Porshinger—an abomination."

"That expresses it exactly—an abomination," Emerson agreed. He glanced quietly around. "He has joined Porshinger—they are scheming trouble for you, I'm afraid."

Pendleton smiled indifferently, and lit a cigarette.

"I wish I had your nerve," said Emerson admiringly. "To flout both Porshinger and Dolittle—make them both your vindictive enemies, and not to seem to care a damn. That's what you fellows call noblesse oblige, isn't it?"

"Most people would call it rank idiocy, I fear!" Pendleton laughed.

"Then me for the rank idiots. Here's to more of them, Mr. Pendleton, here's to more of them!" He put down his glass. "Who's this burning up the speed regulations? Gee! he certainly is hitting it up some."

"It looks like Mr. Lorraine's machine," Pendleton replied.

The car dashed up and made a spectacular stop—to the injury of the tires and the machinery—and Lorraine jumped out, followed by a man in a shabby uniform with a shield on the front of his waistcoat.

"What's this?" said Emerson—"a plain clothes man in disguise—or," as Lorraine and the man drew near, "a constable in regalia?"

Pendleton smiled slightly but did not reply.

Lorraine, his eyes on Porshinger, made his way directly across to him—giving Pendleton a preoccupied nod as he passed.

"There is Porshinger—the man with his back to the railing!" said Lorraine. "Serve your warrant, Officer Burke."