tonic of the high seas. He was popularly supposed to flit from port to port, meeting other eminent capitalists and increasing his millions.
But he never deceived his wife. There had been a day, ten years earlier, when he was a national figure in politics.
The death of a Governor had made him, a little-heard-of lieutenant-governor, the head of a great State. His financial knowledge was at the service of the White House at a moment when a black panic seemed about to devastate the country.
An Unhappy Marriage
Senator Whitburn, of his own State, looked upon Radway as his own discovery, and talked of him so much that his daughter, carried away by that spirit which is found so much in Washington society, found the disparity in years more than offset by his name, prominence and promise.
From the beginning the marriage was unhappy. He had found that the scandals discovered by a political rival were not to be lived down in an era when women were powers.
He had gone back to his financing in New York. Evelyn Radway was a splendid hostess. She was beautiful and she was clever. The Radway dinner parties were internationally famous. He was bound to admit that she had been a great asset to him.
It was at a dinner party that he announced his intention of taking a month's vacation. There were as guests some foreign financiers.
"I've just bought a curious craft," he said; "it's a sort of ocean-going houseboat, which means it's more comfortable than the usual yacht, but doesn't promise safety in the North Atlantic in the winter months. She's now at Bar Harbor."
He knew that his wife realized why he was going. He had never been able, wholly, to meet the glance of those almond-shaped violet eyes with the calmness he wished. In ten years she had learned most of his secrets.
"One hears," said the president of a Paris banking house, "that you work even when making holiday, but I never believe that. No, no. It is what you call the bluff."
"I'm taking a secretary and a wireless operator," Radway retorted, "and they're there for business. And my wife will probably come, too—that is, if she cares to."
"Thank you, Elgar," she answered to his extreme surprise, "the change will do me good."
He smiled as though the prospect entranced him. He now saw himself committed to at least two extra guests. What on earth had he wanted to talk about taking a secretary for? He was even more astonished to find that his wife consented to come. She did not care for the ocean as a rule.
A Dangerous Trip
He rather suspected that his physician had been warning her that this trip might be dangerous if he reverted to his old habits. She was coming to see that he kept within bounds. After all, it might be a good thing. He looked at his red hands with their swollen fingers; he realized the oppression that a heavy meal brought him, the constriction at the throat and the need for more air than his lungs gave him.
Perhaps he ought to go slow. He might die during one of those prolonged drinking bouts, which would inevitably leave Alfred Gibbons the victor.
"I am glad you are coming, Evelyn," he said, when his guests had gone. "It will do you good."
"You are really taking a secretary?" she demanded.
"Certainly," he said, a trifle impatiently. "This is a business trip, as I told M. Detamps."
"There's accommodation for my maid?" she said.
