“You are very kind,” he answered; “but, somehow, I’m not so sure you want me.”

He bowed himself out and, sore-hearted, sought the crowded solitude of the Metropolitan Club.  His next move was characteristic.  Having got Gordon on the wire, he requested as complete a list as possible of the passengers to sail by the Bermudian and the Cecelia.  A new possibility had presented itself.  If the psychological moment in someone’s affairs was eventuating, something for which she had long planned the denouement.  That person might be sailing.  If only he could accompany her, perhaps in the isolated world of a steamer’s life, he might bring his will to bear—­force from her a promise to cease from her pernicious activities, and an acceptance of his future aid in all financial matters—­two things he had found it impossible to accomplish, or even propose, heretofore.  But she was right; the moment was critical, and his presence might be necessary in Washington at any moment.

When, later that night, the lists were delivered at his home, he spent a throbbing half-hour.  There were several possibilities.  Mrs. Allison was Bermuda bound; so was Morgan Beresford.  Both had fortunes, a whispered past and ambitions.  The Honorable Fortescue, the wealthy and impeccable Senator, the shining light of “practical politics,” was Havana bound on the Cecelia, so was Max Brutgal, the many-millioned copper baron.  Mrs. Allison he discarded as a possibility.  He was sure that Mme. Robin Hood would disdain such an easy victim and refuse to hound one of her own sex.  Looking over the list, he singled out Brutgal, if it were the Cecelia, and Beresford, if it were the Bermudian.  Beresford was devoted to the lovely and somewhat severe Mrs. Claigh.  He might be more than willing to suppress some event in his patchwork past.

Gard threw the lists from him angrily.  After all, what right had he to interfere?  What business of his was it which fly was elected to feed the spider?  He went to bed, and passed a sleepless night trying to determine, nevertheless, which was the doomed insect.  He would have liked to prevent the ships from leaving the harbor, or invent a situation that would make it as impossible for Mrs. Marteen to leave as it was for him to accompany her.

A few days later, when Mrs. Marteen finally announced her intention of departing on the longer cruise, Gard seriously contemplated a copper raid that would keep Brutgal at the ticker.  Then he as furiously abandoned the idea, washed his hands of the whole affair and did not go near Mrs. Marteen for three days.  At the end of that time, having thoroughly punished himself, he relented, and continued to shower the lady with attentions until the very moment of her final leave taking.  He accompanied her to the steamer, saw her gasp of pleasure at the bower of violets prepared for her and formally accepted the post of sub-guardian to Dorothy.