dreams of his life. But Fate
had further spurred his curiosity by a series of mischances which had
prevented his meeting this girl, though often in his travels his
arrivals had followed close enough on her departures to permit his
hearing talk of her great charm and her many conquests.

For several years Jefferson Edwardes had been in control of that branch
of his firm's business which operated from St. Petersburg. Now he was
returning to New York to take up larger affairs. An uncle's death had
necessitated his personal supervision of the home office.

He had heard that Mary Burton was in Naples and had decided to break his
own journey there in the hope of meeting her--and perhaps returning on
the same steamer. Now he learned that once more he was too late.

But what annoyed the young millionaire more poignantly was the thinly
veiled hint that the Duke de Metuan had also sailed for America as one
of her fellow-passengers.

The whimsical little laughter wrinkles about Edwardes' eyes radiated
from twinkling pupils as he calmly asked himself what concern this was
of his; this news of a woman he had never known except once long ago in
a world of abandoned farms. But the laughter died quickly, because,
absurd as it was by all practical standards, he knew that he had let his
dream become too important for abandonment without the test of renewed
acquaintanceship. He resented the Duke de Metuan. He was not unfamiliar
with Continental affairs and some of the nobleman's financial troubles
had sought solution through his banking house. Of course, the Mary
Burton of his dreams might have no existence in reality. This woman had
had ample opportunity to be spoiled--but if she had not been--There he
broke off and took a long breath. If the girl's heart had worthy kinship
with her beauty, she would be a miracle worth following over seas. At
all events, he was sailing tomorrow and her world would also be his. It
would not be difficult to learn the truth.

CHAPTER VIII

When he had stepped from the car to the sidewalk, Hamilton Burton stood
there for a while in apparent abstraction. A private policeman in cadet
gray waited deferentially with his hand on the knob of the grilled
bronze door which gave entrance to the office building. Burton's eyes
were resting on Paul's face, but the pupils were focused for no such
circumscribed range. Their vistas were of the future and empire-wide.
The fire that had wakened in them with th