But for all his efforts to concentrate upon his present business, Clifford’s mind kept shifting back to Mary Regan. It was a most difficult situation which she had taken upon herself: the daughter of one famous criminal, the niece of another, the sister of another, and herself a former participant in criminal acts--secretly married to a rich young man who knew nothing of her past, and who was dependent upon the approval of an autocratic father. To succeed in the soaring worldly plans she had admitted to him with such cold frankness would require marvelous skill, marvelous daring, marvelous self-control. Well--skill, daring, control, she had them! But there was Loveman to be considered. Clifford asked himself if he had deduced aright Loveman’s plans concerning her? Loveman’s words, spoken in the early hours of that morning, and spoken with mockery glinting through his habitual amiability of manner, came back to him: “Just supposing I do have any little plan under way, Clifford, I wonder how close you’ve come to guessing it? Now, I wonder?” Looking over at the cherubic face of the shrewd little lawyer, Clifford felt for the moment all the doubt that these words had been intended to arouse. Had he, perhaps, guessed only a part of Loveman’s plan?--or was he altogether wrong? And Clifford’s restless mind flashed to his last act in the destiny of Mary Regan: the extreme measure he had resorted to in taunting her into that impulsive marriage with Jack Morton; and then his telling her with almost brutal directness, during the brief moment just before she and Jack had motored off, that he had come to realize that only going her own worldly way, only the experience of life, could avail to awaken the real woman that was in her. He wondered. But only time, as it unrolled its film of unborn events, could answer these questions. He could now do no more than hope the best results for Mary Regan--wherever she might be. With an effort Clifford brought himself back to his present business, and again gave sharp attention to that darkly handsome figure of the dancing man. And then--his heart skipped a beat or two. Across the line of his vision, coming from the main entrance of the Gold Room, and convoyed by a suave captain of waiters, walked Mary Regan and Jack Morton. They were ushered to a side table, and at once fell into intimate talk. Clifford, after his first surprise, watched them closely; and he quickly perceived that, though she smiled and chatted, not more than the surface of Mary’s attention was given to her husband of a dozen hours. He tried to look beneath, to what was going on in the hidden deeps of her mind....