ain that
easy-going, bohemian existence of his bachelor days. He plunged into
gaieties and dissipations of every kind. He gambled freely, drank
heavily and gave midnight champagne suppers enlivened by "appetizing"
vaudeville, to prominent ladies of the demi-monde. Yet even these
excesses could not drown the prickings of conscience. Sometimes, amid
one of these nocturnal debauches, and while the drunken revelry was at
its height, he would suddenly see Virginia's pale, thoughtful face.
Her eyes, dimmed with tears, and full of reproach, would seem to be
gazing at him questioningly, wonderingly, that he should have so
degraded himself. With a cry of disgust, he would spring up from his
chair and go back to his desolate home.

Gradually the strain told upon him. He grew nervous and depressed. His
physician warned him against working too hard.

"It's the grave malady of our time," said the doctor, shaking his
head. "All our successful men fall victims to it. It's this cursed
race to get rich quick."

Stafford shook his head. With a grim smile he said:

"You are mistaken, doctor. My affairs were never in better shape. I'm
ashamed to tell you what ails me. It's a schoolboy's complaint. I'm in
love--for the first time in my life."

CHAPTER XIX

"Mrs. Travers! Mr. Brown! Mr. Travers! Mr. Brown!"

The hotel pages, smart-looking in their tight-fitting uniforms with
gold braid and buttons, hurried here and there, scurrying through the
lobbies and drawing-rooms, calling out the names of guests who were
wanted.

It was five o'clock and the bustle at the hotel was at its height.
Guests were constantly arriving from train and steamer; others were
departing, tipping their way out royally. Porters, their backs bent
under the weight of heavy baggage, and waiters, their trays heaped up
with silver dishes, pushed unceremoniously through the crowd. Women,
fashionably gowned, were promenading the halls, or sipping tea in the
palm garden; others sat in little groups watching the animated scene.
Men of all conditions--preachers, actors, politicians, gamblers--stood
in the lobbies, chatting and smoking, blocking the way so that it was
almost impossible to pass. From the open doors of the brilliantly
illuminated cafe came the noise and laughter of popping corks, the
metallic ring of money, and the sound of men's voices in dispute. In
another corner was heard the click of telegraph instruments and the
industrious, perpetual rattl