He had retired from ship-building. An age of steel and steam had arisen, which left him and his methods sadly in the rear. The sea was still being conquered—but not by him. He found other, lesser interests; farmed his own lands for his own pleasure; travelled; read books, and collected art treasures. He had many friends. And there was also his little daughter.
For years he had forgotten.
Came a day when he discovered that his young wife was loved by a youth younger than himself, weaker, with tender charming ways ... elfish ways.
Rollinson asked her if she would wed this newcomer, if he were dead and out of the way. She looked straight at him with her eyes that were blue hyacinths drenched in rain ... and replied:
"Yes."
"Would you go to him as things are—away from me?"
"No. Because of Iris."
That morning had come a letter informing him of a grave money loss. For his fortune had still remained in the ship-building business, when he retired from it.
The boy was rich—that boy to whom she would gladly have gone, if her husband were dead.
Clearly, Kay Rollinson reflected, his life stood in the way of her round adventure.