Harold Vreeland’s face was livid with rage as the strong man calmly gazed into his eyes and said: “If you have ever nourished the idea of managing Elaine Willoughby, you can dismiss it. The lady is some years your senior, and moreover, there may be prior claims. A man like you, with your present standing and possible future, should only mate with someone like Katharine Norreys. The maternal tinge to a marriage with an elder woman is not the thing for a man of your marked gifts, your position, and your career. You can do better. The afternoon sun of life has little real warmth in it. Be warned in time.”
Vreeland sprang to his feet. “It seems that you are taking an unwarrantable liberty,” he hotly protested. He had now dropped the waiting game—but he had fallen into able hands.
“Nonsense,” calmly replied the Senator-elect. “You will be left out in the street in three months if you let the cold-hearted Alynton dominate that woman’s changing mind. He wishes to marry her himself. I say that he shall not! Now, you see, our game is the same. He has already enough power to displace you—for reasons entirely beyond your control.”
The words “Sugar syndicate” leaped to Vreeland’s pale lips, but he mastered himself. “Tell me the truth. Give me the whole game. Show me where you can secure me—and then I am your man. But I will not be paid off with fairy tales.” James Garston laughed easily.
“I am a good paymaster, and I’ve already learned my cue. Nothing for nothing in New York. I would never dare to trifle with a wideawake man like you,” and then Vreeland bowed and smiled.
“Then, what must I do for you?” demanded Vreeland, who was now thoroughly off his guard.
The Senator studied his man carefully. “I think that I’ll trust you,” he slowly said. Standing before his would-be dupe he said, carelessly. “I had supposed that you knew that Mrs. Willoughby was still bound in a marriage which would make all your season’s work ‘love’s labor lost.’”
The secret was out at last!
Vreeland’s eyes were downcast. He tried to guard his tell-tale face.
“And has a daughter now old enough to be a more fitting wife to you than even that Indian-summer beauty—the mother,” remorselessly continued the Senator, as Vreeland sprang to his feet in a torment.