“But I’ve a young man picked out for you.  He’s an artist.”

“Good night!” murmured Kitty.  “If there is one kind of person in the world dad considers wholly useless and incompetent, it’s an artist or a poet.”

“But this artist makes fifteen thousand and sometimes twenty thousand the year.”

“Then he’s no artist.  What is his name?”

“Forbes, J. Mortimer Forbes.”

“Oh.  The pretty-cover man.”

“My dear, he is one of the nicest young men in New York.  His family is one of the best, and he goes everywhere.  And but for his kindness. . . .”

“What?”

“Some day I’ll tell you the story.  Here we go!  Good-by, England!”

“Good-by, sapphires!” said Kitty, so low that the other did not hear her.

At dinner Thomas was called to account by the chief steward for permitting his thumb to connect with the soup.  But what would you, with Titian and Greuse smiling a soft “Thank you!” for everything you did for them?

* * * * * *

“Night, daddy.”

“Good night, Kittibudget.”

Crawford smiled after the blithe, buoyant figure as it swung confidently down the deck.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” mused Killigrew, looking across the rail at the careening stars.

“What about?”

“That child.  I can’t harness her.”

“Somebody’s bound to”—­prophetically.

“It’s got to be a whole man, or he’ll wish he’d never been born.  She’s had her way so long that she’s spoiled.”

“Not a bit of it.”

“Yes, she is.  I told her not to wear those sapphires that night.  And, by the way, I’ve been hoping they’d turn up like that ruby of yours.  How do you account for that?”

The coal of Crawford’s cigar waxed and waned and the ash lengthened.

“I’ve no doubt that you’ve been mighty curious since that morning.  Perhaps you read the tale in the newspapers.  I know of only one man who would return the Nana Sahib’s ruby.  Sentiment; for I believe the poor devil was really fond of me.  A valet.  With me for ten years.  He was really my comrade; always my right-hand on my exploration trips; back-boned, fearless, reliable in a pinch, and a scholar in a way; though I can’t imagine how and where he picked up his learning.  He saved my life at least twice by his quick wit.  In those days I was something of a stick; never went out.  I hired him upon his word and because he looked honest.  And he was for ten years.  He gave his name as Mason, said he was born in central New York.  We got along without friction of any sort.  And I still miss him.  Stole a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of gems; hid them in the heels of my old shoes and nearly got away with them.  Haggerty, the detective, thought for weeks that I was the man.  I still believe that I was the innocent cause of Mason’s relapse; for Haggerty was certain that somewhere in the past Mason had been a criminal.  You see, I had a peculiar fad.  I used to buy up old safes and open them for the sport of it.  Crazy idea, but I found a good deal of amusement in it.”