The Silver Menace

Murray Leinster
The yacht was plowing through the calm waters with a steady throbbing of the engines. The soft washing of the waves along the sides, the murmur of the wind through the light rigging aloft, and the occasional light footstep of the navigating officer on the bridge were the only sounds.
The long white vessel swept on through the night in silence. Here and there a light showed from some port-hole or window, but for the most part the whole boat was dark and silent. For once the yacht contained no merry party of guests to one-step on the wide decks and fill all the obscurer corners with accurately paired couples.
Alexander Morrison, millionaire steamship magnate, and his daughter Nita had the ship to themselves. They were sitting in two of the big wicker chairs on the after deck, and the glow of Morrison's cigar was the only light.
Getting chilly, Nita, he remarked casually. Are you warm enough?
Yes, indeed. Nita was silent for a moment, gazing off into the darkness. It's nice, she said reflectively, to be by one's self for a while. I'm glad you didn't invite a lot of people to come back with us.
Her father smiled.
Judging by the way you behaved along the Riviera, he reminded her, you didn't mind company. I never saw any one quite so run after as you were.
Nita shook her head.
They were running after you, daddy, she said lightly. I was just a means of approach.
Her father puffed on his cigar for a moment in silence.
It is a disadvantage, having a millionaire for a father, he admitted. It's hard to tell who is in love with you, and who is in love with your father's money.