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.

As the tugs dragged out the unwilling vessel from her berth, he caught a
glimpse of Brutgal, his coarse, heavy face set off by an enormous
sealskin collar, join Mrs. Marteen at the rail and bid blatantly for her
attention. Gard turned his back, took Dorothy by the arm, and, in spite
of her protestations, left the wharf. His motor took Tante Lydia and
Dorothy to their apartment, where he left them with many assurances of
his desire to be of service.

He sent a wireless message and was comforted. He wondered how, in the
old days that were only yesterdays, people could have endured separation
without any means of communication, and he blessed the name of Marconi
as cordially as he cursed the name of Brutgal. To exasperate him
further, the rest of the day seemed obsessed by Victor Mahr. He was in
the elevator that took him up to his office; he was at the club in the
afternoon; he was a guest at the Chamber of Commerce banquet in the
evening, and was placed opposite Marcus Gard. Despite his desire to let
the man alone, he could not resist the temptation to talk with him.

Mahr, whatever else he might be, was no fool, and even as Gard seemed a
prey to nervous irritation, so Mahr appeared to experience a bitter
pleasure in parrying his adversary's vicious thrusts and lunging at
every opening in the other's arguments. Both men appeared to ease some
inner turbulence, for they calmed down as the dinner progressed, and
ended the evening in abstraction and silence, broken as they parted by
Gard's sudden question: