hted
cigar, smiling quizzically. Some underlying, romantic emotion, which
had prompted his vicarious tip to the porter, still thrilled him; and
it was not until the train had flashed by Larchmont, that he went to
his berth.

The full moon was swimming in the east, bathing the countryside in a
light which caused trees and hills, fences and bowlders to stand out in
soft distinctness. Armitage raised the window curtain and lying with
face pressed almost against the pane, watched the ever-changing scenes
of a veritable fairyland. He was anything but a snob. He was not
lying awake because a few select representatives of the Few Hundred
happened to be in his car. Not by a long shot. But that girl, he
admitted, irrespective of caste, was a cause for insomnia, good and
sufficient.

"Anne!" He muttered the name to himself. By George, it fitted her!
He did not know they bred her sort in the Newport cottage colony.
Armitage was sufficiently conceited to believe that he knew a great
deal about girls. He had this one placed precisely. She was a good
fellow, that he would wager, and unaffected and unspoiled, which, if he
were correct in his conjectures, was a wonderful thing, he told
himself, considering the environment in which she had been reared.

"I may be wrong, Anne Wellington," he said to himself, "but I 've an
idea we 're going to know each other better. At any rate, we, speaking
in an editorial sense, shall strive to that end."

He chose to ignore the obvious difficulties which presented themselves
in this regard. Who were the Wellingtons? His great, great
grandfather was signing the Declaration of Independence when the
Wellingtons were shoeing horses or carrying sedan chairs in London.
His father was a United States Senator, and while Ronald Wellington
might own one or two such, he could not own Senator Armitage, nor could
any one else.

The train flashed around the curve into Greenwich and the Sound
appeared in the distance, a vast pool of shimmering silver. Armitage
started.

"That torpedo of mine could start in that creek back there and flit
clean into the Sound and chase a steel hull from here to Gehenna. In
two weeks I 'll prove it."

How had Anne Wellington suggested his torpedo? Or was it the
moonlight? Well, if he set his mind on his torpedo he would surely get
no sleep. It had cost him too many wakeful hours already. He lowered
the curtain and closed his eyes.

CHAPTER II

MIS