“I feel certain, of course, that if Mrs. Welles should need anything--” It was the season of the year when east-bound liners carried few passengers. The young people were bound to be thrown together a great deal. “Of course, Mr. Welles. Only too delighted, I'm sure!” said Frank, very eagerly. He was a fine-looking chap, with that wonderfully clean, healthy pink complexion which suggests a clean and healthy mind. His eyes were full of that eager, boyish light that makes the possessors thereof so nice to pet, small-child wise. Ashton Welles received an impression of Frank Wolfe's face that was photographic in its details. The floating hotel moved off slowly. Ashton Welles, on the pier, watched the fluttering handkerchief of his wife out of sight. He had the remembrance of her beautiful young face framed in Siberian sable to cheer him. She certainly looked heavenly. She had cried at leaving him. She had waved away at him vehemently, and there was the unpleasant suggestion that always attends such leave-takings--that the parting was forever. A frail thing--human life! A little speck of vitality on the boundless waste of grim, gray waters! And she seemed so sorry to go away from him! And she waved and waved, as if she, also, feared she might never see him again! And Francis Wolfe stood beside her, very close to her, and waved also--to Jemingham, who stood beside Ashton Welles. Ashton Welles accepted Jerningham's invitation and rode to his office in the Klondiker's sumptuous motor in the Klondiker's company. Ashton Welles looked at the flower-holder. Instead of the white azaleas he saw two white handkerchiefs waved by two young people. “You are very friendly with young Wolfe?” said Ashton Welles, carelessly inquisitive--merely to make talk, you know. All rich old men who marry young women have ostrich habits. They put an end to danger by closing their eyes to the obvious. That is why they always discover nothing. “Rather--yes. I think he is a fine chap--one of those clean-cut Americans of the present generation that European women find so perfectly fascinating.” Ashton Welles instantly frowned--and instantly ceased to frown. “Yes,” he said, and grimaced, thinking it looked like a smile. “What business is taking him to London? I thought he was a young man of--er--elegant leisure.” “He was that until very recently; but he has turned over a new leaf. He has forsworn his old and, I suppose, rather disreputable companions. I find him rather serious.” “What has changed him?” Ashton Welles was foolish enough to be brave enough to ask. When a question can have two answers--one of them disagreeable--it is folly to ask it.