revolt from a narrow-minded prig. Lister
was not a prig; his blood was red.

In another sense, perhaps, the thing was ridiculous. Barbara was rich
and ought to make a good marriage, but good marriages sometimes brought
unhappiness.

Human nature was stubborn; one paid for forcing it to obey the rules of
worldly prudence. Then Barbara had a romantic vein. She would risk all
for her lover and not grumble if she were forced to pay for her
staunchness. Besides, she and Lister had qualities he had not. They were
marked by something ascetic, or perhaps he meant Spartan, and if it were
worth while, could go without much that he required.

Cartwright admitted that indulgence had cost him dear. He had paid with
grim philosophy, but he did not want Barbara to pay. Although she was
not his daughter, he loved the girl, and her recent moodiness bothered
him. If she did not love Lister, why was she disturbed? Sometimes
Cartwright thought he saw a gleam of light. Suppose she did love the
fellow and was trying to keep him off because of her Canadian adventure?
Lister knew about that and Barbara was proud.

Cartwright's eyes got bloodshot and he clenched his fist. He would very
much like to meet Shillito. His muscles were getting slack, but he had
not lost all his power; anyhow, he could talk. Well, the thing was
humiliating, but he must not get savage. When he let himself go he
suffered for it afterwards. Getting up, he threw away his cigar, and
went off to talk to his wife.

CHAPTER X

A BOLD SPECULATION

After weighing for some weeks all he could learn about the wreck on the
African coast, Cartwright went to London and was carried up one morning
to the second floor of an imposing office block. Black marble columns
supported the molded roof of the long passage, the wide stairs were
guarded by polished mahogany and shining brass, and a screen of artistic
iron work enclosed the elevator shaft. Cartwright's fur coat and gloves
and varnished boots harmonized with the surroundings; he looked rich and
important, but as he went along the corridor his face was stern. He was
going to make a plunge that would mend or break his fortune. Unless he
got straight in the next six months, he must retire from the Board and
make the best bargain possible with his creditors.

He opened a door, and giving a clerk his card, was shown into a handsome
private office. Mr. Morse at a writing-table indicated a chair, and when
Cartwright sat down,