The explanation of the shipowner’s position was painfully simple.  Being a daring yet shrewd financier, he perceived in the troubled condition of the Far East a magnificent opportunity to consolidate the trading influence of his company.  He negotiated two big loans, one, of a semi-private nature, to equip docks and railways in the chief maritime province of China, the other of a more public character, with the Government of Japan.  All his own resources, together with those of his principal directors and shareholders, were devoted to these objects.  Contemporaneously, he determined to stop paying heavy insurance premiums on his fleet and make it self-supporting, on the well-known mutual principle.

His vessels were well equipped, well manned, replete with every modern improvement, and managed with great commercial skill.  In three or four years, given ordinary trading luck, he must have doubled his own fortune and earned a world-wide reputation for far-seeing sagacity.

No sooner were all his arrangements completed than three of his best ships went down, saddling his company with an absolute loss of nearly L600,000, and seriously undermining his financial credit.  A fellow-director, wealthy and influential, resigned his seat on the board, and headed a clique of disappointed stockholders.  At once the fair sky became overcast.  A sound and magnificent speculation threatened to dissolve in the Bankruptcy Court.

Sir Arthur Deane’s energy and financial skill might have enabled him to weather this unexpected gale were it not for the apparent loss of his beloved daughter with the crack ship of his line.  Half-frenzied with grief, he bade his enemies do their worst, and allowed his affairs to get into hopeless confusion whilst he devoted himself wholly to the search for Iris and her companions.  At this critical juncture Lord Ventnor again reached his side.  His lordship possessed a large private fortune and extensive estates.  He was prudent withal, and knew how admirably the shipowner’s plans would develop if given the necessary time.  He offered the use of his name and money.  He more than filled the gap created by the hostile ex-director.  People argued that such a clever man, just returning from the Far East after accomplishing a public mission of some importance, must be a reliable guide.  The mere cabled intelligence of his intention to join the board restored confidence and credit.

But—­there was a bargain.  If Iris lived, she must become the Countess of Ventnor.  His lordship was weary of peripatetic love-making.  It was high time he settled down in life, took an interest in the legislature, and achieved a position in the world of affairs.  He had a chance now.  The certain success of his friend’s project, the fortunate completion of his own diplomatic undertaking, marriage with a beautiful and charming woman—­these items would consolidate his career.  If Iris were not available, plenty of women, high-placed in society, would accept such an eligible bachelor.  But his heart was set on Iris.  She was honest, high-principled, pure in body and mind, and none prizes these essentials in a wife more than a worn-out roue.