eauty had not much charm for Cartwright, who was satisfied to
loaf and enjoy the cool of the evening. He had, as usual, dined well,
his cigar was good, and he meant to give Mrs. Cartwright half an hour.
Clara expected this, and, although he was sometimes bored, he indulged
her when he could. Besides, it was too soon for cards. The lights had
not begun to spring up in the wooden hotel, and for the most part the
guests were boating on the lake. When he had finished his cigar it would
be time to join the party in the smoking-room. Cartwright was something
of a gambler and liked the American games. They gave one scope for
bluffing, and although his antagonists declared his luck was good, he
knew his nerve was better. In fact, since he lost his money by a
reckless plunge, he had to some extent lived by bluff. Yet some people
trusted Tom Cartwright.

Mrs. Cartwright did so. She was a large, dull woman, but had kept a
touch of the beauty that had marked her when she was young. She was
kind, conventional, and generally anxious to take the proper line.
Cartwright was twelve years older, and since she was a widow and had
three children when she married him, her friends declared her money
accounted for much, and a lawyer relation carefully guarded, against
Cartwright's using her fortune.

Yet, in a sense, Cartwright was not an adventurer, although his ventures
in finance and shipping were numerous. He sprang from an old Liverpool
family whose prosperity diminished when steamers replaced sailing ships.
His father had waited long before he resigned himself to the change, but
was not altogether too late, and Cartwright was now managing owner of
the Independent Freighters Line. The company's business had brought him
to Montreal, and when it was transacted he had taken Mrs. Cartwright and
her family to the hotel by the Ontario lake.

Cartwright's hair and mustache were white; his face was fleshy and red.
He was fastidious about his clothes, and his tailor cleverly hid the
bulkiness of his figure. As a rule, his look was fierce and commanding,
but now and then his small keen eyes twinkled. Although Cartwright was
clever, he was, in some respects, primitive. He had long indulged his
appetites, and wore the stamp of what is sometimes called good living.

The managing owner of the Independent Freighters needed cleverness,
since the company was small and often embarrassed for money. For the
most part, it ran its ships in opposition to th