Smiles came in.

"Mr. Smiles," said Edward Henry, "did you ever photograph Sir John
Pilgrim?"

"I did, on his last visit to New York. Here you are!"

He pointed to his rendering of Sir John.

"What did you think of him?"

"A great actor, but a mountebank, sir."

During the remainder of the afternoon Edward Henry saw the whole of
New York, with bits of the Bronx and Yonkers in the distance, from
Seven Sachs's second automobile. In his third automobile he went to
the theatre and saw Seven Sachs act to a house of over two thousand
dollars. And lastly he attended a supper and made a speech. But he
insisted upon passing the remainder of the night on the _Lithuania_.
In the morning Isabel Joy came on board early and irrevocably
disappeared into her berth. And from that moment Edward Henry spent
the whole secret force of his individuality in fervently desiring the
_Lithuania_ to start. At two o'clock, two hours late, she did start.
Edward Henry's farewells to the admirable and hospitable Mr. Sachs
were somewhat absent-minded, for already his heart was in London. But
he had sufficient presence of mind to make certain final arrangements.

"Keep him at least a week," said Edward Henry to Seven Sachs, "and I
shall be your debtor for ever and ever."

He meant Carlo Trent, still bedridden.

As from the receding ship he gazed in abstraction at the gigantic
inconvenient word--common to three languages--which is the first
thing seen by the arriving, and the last thing seen by the departing,
visitor, he meditated:

"The dearness of living in the United States has certainly been
exaggerated."

For his total expenses, beyond the confines of the quay, amounted
to one cent, disbursed to buy an evening paper which had contained a
brief interview with himself concerning the future of the intellectual
drama in England. He had told the pressman that "The Orient Pearl"
would run a hundred nights. Save for putting "The Orient Girl" instead
of "The Orient Pearl," and two hundred nights instead of one hundred
nights, this interview was tolerably accurate.

IV

Two entire interminable days of the voyage elapsed before Edward Henry
was clever enough to encounter Isabel Joy--the most notorious and the
least visible person in the ship. He remembered that she had said:
"You won't see anything of me." It was easy to ascertain the number
of her state-room--a double-berth which she shared with nobody. But it
was less easy to find o