"Oh, I can stand their opinions," he said; "I only meet the yellow sort
occasionally; I don't herd with them."

"I do, thank you."

"How do you like them? What is your opinion of the yellow set? Here they
sit all about you--the Phoenix Mottlys, Mrs. Delmour-Carnes yonder, the
Draymores, the Orchils, the Vendenning lady, the Lawns of Westlawn--" he
paused, then deliberately--"and the 'Jack' Ruthvens. I forgot, Alixe,
that you are now perfectly equipped to carry aloft the golden hod."

"Go on," she said, drawing a deep breath, but the fixed smile never
altered.

"No," he said; "I can't talk. I thought I could, but I can't. Take that
boy away from Mrs. Fane as soon as you can."

"I can't yet. You must go on. I ask your aid to carry this thing
through. I--I am afraid of their ridicule. Could you try to help me a
little?"

"If you put it that way, of course." And, after a silence, "What am I to
say? What in God's name shall I say to you, Alixe?"

"Anything bitter--as long as you control your voice and features. Try to
smile at me when you speak, Philip."

"All right. I have no reason to be bitter, anyway," he said; "and every
reason to be otherwise."