Late that night he went into his club,—not the desolate Hyde Park where he had drunk tea with Ella,—but the little Belvidere in St. James's Street where they talk Art in Gothic capitals and play “bridge” for high stakes. As he had hoped, he found Urquhart in the smoking-room surrounded by half a dozen men who formed the esoteric ring of the club. The young semi-millionaire was holding forth on his newly discovered genius, Pradovitch.
“Thought rapt, deep, unexpressive,—that is the only medium for the soul. The only ideal of life is to express all consciousness in terms of abstract and absolute thought—I don't know if I make myself clear. But that in vulgar language is his doctrine. As for Art, what is it but the scum that rises to the surface of the pure well of thought?”
“Oh, rot!” exclaimed young Willie Lathrop, rising with a yawn. “The Venus of Milo and Beethoven are good enough for me. Let's have a flutter. Hallo, Usher—”
Roderick came forward, elegant in his evening dress and great white bow, and suave in manner.
“Gentlemen,” he said formally, in a voice that commanded attention, “I am glad to find you all here. Urquhart came to my rooms this morning and expressed himself in a manner that I am sure he will see calls for a public apology. I take you all to witness that I hand him my cheque for £2,050, being the amount he deposited with me as his subscription to the funds of the Walden Art Colony, together with the interest on the same.”
And with his grandest gesture he held out the cheque to Urquhart. There was a great silence as every one looked at the young man to see what he would do. He took the cheque, eyed it for a moment, and then met Roderick's mocking glance.
“It is quite correct?”
“Quite,” said Urquhart; and then somewhat desperately, “I have much pleasure in withdrawing anything I said this morning that you may have objected to.”
“Hooray!” cried Lathrop. “Now shake hands, you two, and be friends again. And Urquhart shall stand the crowd supper on the interest.”
And so peace was concluded. But Roderick did not sleep that night, and the next day it was torture to meet a girl's honest eyes.