"Of a woman's soul—just the heart and the soul of a little waif from the hills. She's a finer opportunity, for she's flesh and blood. Your geese are all swans, Mr. Silvester. You'll know as much when they fly."
"I fear you are as hostile to us as ever. Yet it seems to me—I say it with all reserve—that these days should have done something for us."
Faber thrust his hand deep into his pocket, and bit into his cigar.
"They've taught me nothing, except to say 'kismet.' Who knows truly how a man's destiny works? I shall make Maryska de Paleologue one of the richest women in Europe—well, there I come in. Money's stronger than most things, and it's going to be stronger than a man's death on this occasion. Wait until the story is written, then we'll draw the moral."
"Do you wish me to go to England at once?"
"To-morrow, in my yacht, if you can. I go to Berlin to sign up a contract for rifles, but I expect to be in London in a fortnight's time. You should have your house then. There'll be no difficulty when you show them the money. I leave all that to you and to Miss Gabrielle. She's got to be the good angel in this affair. I'm counting on her right through."
"You may well do that. She is a wonderful organizer; no talk, no fuss. I am sure they would have liked her in America if we had gone to Yonkers. As it is, I really don't know what to say to those people."
"Oh, tell them to go to hell!" said Faber, while he struck a match sharply and relighted his cigar.
V
The Savannah weighed at dawn, and all that day they steamed by the glorious isles of the matchless Adriatic. Their destination was Venice, whence Faber would go via Munich to Berlin. The others were to travel direct by the Simplon to London—all but Harry Lassett, who meant to put in a few days at Montana before he returned.