“Who the devil is this Garston—some Western fellow?”
A few moments’ reference gave him the news: “Senator-elect from one of the newly knocked together Western States”—the “means to an end” in balancing National elections. The trick of warring plutocrats and democrats.
He paced the room in deep thought, after dispatching his reply. “The battle will be on again soon. The Trust is reorganized and conveniently removed to little Jersey. The courts have now done their worst, and the small holders are all squeezed out.
“Now for a game of high ball. Yes, my lady, that’s your trick. A new deal. And the beautiful Californian heiress is only a bright lay-figure.
“Your real hold on the Street is the secret chain linking these statesmen, through you and Endicott, to the secret chiefs of the Sugar Syndicate.
“I’ll get myself into your current, as a ‘transmitter,’ and you, Madame Elaine, shall yet learn to bow and bend. The child, the secrets of this dangerous partnership, the story of your past life, I can soon get it all, bit by bit. And, then, marriage and ‘dominion over you.’ That’s my game!”
There was an unpleasant menace lingering in the last words of the departing Potter. Vreeland knew that should the generous-hearted ex-banker, in time, marry Fred Hathorn’s widow, the few hundred thousands lost in saving Hathorn’s personal honor would not in any way impair their united estates. He lingered long on the subject. He feared this new alliance.
“They might crush me, if they joined forces. The one danger is a reconciliation with Mrs. Willoughby. I will see that this never occurs.”
And so, with a sense of defeat clinging to his past attempts, he decided to use great care in approaching his proposed dupe, Miss Romaine Garland.
For his patroness certainly was not wearing her heart upon her sleeve now. Her private sorrows busied her more than the confidential intimacy with her newest protégé.