"You mean you won't?"
"Ah—quite so."
Neergard's thin nose grew white and tremulous:
"Why?"
"You insist?" in mildly bored deprecation.
"Yes, I insist. Why can't you—or why won't you?"
"Well, if you really insist, they—ah—don't want you, Neergard."
"Who—why—how do you happen to know that they don't? Is this some petty spite of that young cub, Gerald? Or"—and he almost looked at Ruthven—"is this some childish whim of yours?"
"Oh, really now—"
"Yes, really now," sneered Neergard, "you'd better tell me. And you'd better understand, now, once for all, just exactly what I've outlined for myself—so you can steer clear of the territory I operate in." He clasped his blunt fingers and leaned forward, projecting his whole body, thick legs curled under; but his close-set eyes still looked past Ruthven.