s before on the first crossing. But there had
not been such lavishness at Liverpool. It was the New Yorkers who
were sumptuous in such matters, as he had been told. He had also heard
casually that the passenger list on this voyage was to record important
names, the names of multi-millionaire people who were going over for the
London season.

Two stewards talking near him, earlier in the morning, had been exulting
over the probable largesse such a list would result in at the end of the
passage.

"The Worthingtons and the Hirams and the John William Spayters," said
one. "They travel all right. They know what they want and they want a
good deal, and they're willing to pay for it."

"Yes. They're not school teachers going over to improve their minds and
contriving to cross in a big ship by economising in everything else.
Miss Vanderpoel's sailing with the Worthingtons. She's got the best
suite all to herself. She'll bring back a duke or one of those prince
fellows. How many millions has Vanderpoel?"

"How many millions. How many hundred millions!" said his companion,
gloating cheerfully over the vastness of unknown possibilities. "I've
crossed with Miss Vanderpoel often, two or three times when she was in
short frocks. She's the kind of girl you read about. And she's got money
enough to buy in half a dozen princes."

"There are New Yorkers who won't like it if she does," returned the
other. "There's been too much money going out of the country. Her
suite is crammed full of Jack roses, now, and there are boxes waiting
outside."

Salter moved away and heard no more. He moved away, in fact, because he
was conscious that to a man in his case, this dwelling upon millions,
this plethora of wealth, was a little revolting. He had walked down
Broadway and seen the price of Jacqueminot roses, and he was not soothed
or allured at this particular moment by the picture of a girl whose
half-dozen cabins were crowded with them.

"Oh, the devil!" he said. "It sounds vulgar." And he walked up and
down fast, squaring his shoulders, with his hands in the pockets of his
rough, well-worn coat. He had seen in England something of the American
young woman with millionaire relatives. He had been scarcely more than a
boy when the American flood first began to rise. He had been old enough,
however, to hear people talk. As he had grown older, Salter had observed
its advance. Englishmen had married American beauties. American fortunes
had bui