“I’d love to come,” he said eagerly. “Thank you very much.” “Hooray,” said Monty. “Alice, you’re a sweet soul to ask him. Of course he’ll like Michael. Who doesn’t?” “Everybody ought to,” she said happily. “Do you know, Mr. Denby, I’m one of the only three women in our set who still love their husbands. I wouldn’t tell you that except for the reason you’ll find out. He’s the most generous soul in the world and when I go to him with a bank-book that won’t balance, he adds it up and says I’ve made a mistake and that I’m on the right side. How many husbands would do that?” “I might,” Monty asserted, “because I can’t add up long columns, but Michael’s a demon at statistics, or used to be.” “He’s such an old dear,” Mrs. Harrington went on. “His one peculiar talent is the invention of new and strange drinks. I never come back from any long absence but he shows me something violently colored which is built in my honor. And Monty will tell you,” she added laughing, “that I have never been seen to shudder while he was looking. Have I, Monty?” “You’re a good sport,” said Monty, “and if ever I kill a man, it will be Michael, and my motive will be jealousy.” “Well, you needn’t look so unhappy about it,” she cried, as a frown passed over his face and he sank back in his chair, all his good-humor gone. Monty had in that careless phrase, “If ever I kill a man,” reminded himself vividly of the dangers that he felt beset him and his friend Steven Denby. He had been trying to forget it and now it was with him to stay. And another and a dreadful thought occurred. Would Denby take those accursed pearls with him to the Harrington mansion on Long Island? It was so disquieting that he rose abruptly and went into a secluded corner of the upper smoking-room and called for a cigar and a pony of brandy. His attention was presently attracted to a stout comfortable-looking man who was staring at him as though to encourage a bow of recognition. He had noticed the stout and affable gentleman before and always in the same seat, but never before had he sought acquaintance in this manner. There was no doubt in Monty’s mind that the man was one of those suave gamblers who reap their richest harvests on the big fast liners. No doubt he knew that Monty was a Vaughan and had occasionally fallen for such professionals and inveigled into a quiet little game. But Monty felt himself of a different sort now. There was no doubt that the affable gentleman had fully made up his mind as to his plan of action. He rose from his comfortable chair and made his way to the younger man with his hand held out in welcome. “I thought it was you,” he said, and wrung Monty’s reluctant hand, “but you are not quite the same as when I saw you last.” “No doubt,” Monty said coldly; “I am older and _I_ am not the fool I used to be.” “That’s good,” said the affable gentleman pressing the button that was to summon a steward. “Your father will be glad to hear that.”