when he was
plying his trade between New York and Cherbourg, on the Atlantic
liners, the annual fortnight in Paris and the Grand-Prix. He had had
his diamonds, then, and his wallet of yellow-backs; and when he had
called for vintage wines and choice Havanas it had been for genuine
love of them. In his heart he despised Mallow. He knew himself to be
a rogue, but Mallow without money would have been a bold predatory
scoundrel. Craig knew also that he himself was at soul too cowardly to
be more than despicably bad. He envied Mallow's absolute fearlessness,
his frank brutality, his strength upon which dissipation had as yet
left no mark; and Mallow was easily forty-five. Paris. He might never
see that city again. He had just enough to carry him to Hongkong and
keep him on his feet until the races. He sent a bitter glance toward
the sea where the moonlight gave an ashen hue to the forest of rigging.
The beauty of the scene did not enter his eye. His mind was recalling
the luxurious smoke-rooms.

"When you go to Paris, I'd like to go along."

"You've never let on why they sent you hiking out here," Mallow
suggested.

"One of my habits is keeping my mouth shut."

"Regarding your own affairs, yes. But you're willing enough to talk
when it comes to giving away the other chap."

"You can play that hand as well as I can." Craig scowled toward the
dining-room doors.

"Ha! There they come," said Mallow, as a group of men and women issued
out into the cafe-veranda. "By gad! she is a beauty, and no mistake.
And will you look at our friend, the colonel, toddling behind her?"

"You're welcome."

"You're a fine lady-killer." Mallow tore the band from a fresh cigar
and struck a match.

"I know when I've got enough. If you could get a good look at her when
she's angry, you'd change your tune."

Mallow sighed audibly. "Most women are tame, and that's why I've
fought shy of the yoke. Yonder's the sort for me. The man who marries
her will have his work cut out. It'll take a year or two to find out
who's boss; and if she wins, lord help the man!"

Craig eyed the group which was now seated. Two Chinamen were serving
coffee and cordials. Mallow was right; beautiful was the word. A
vague regret came to him, as it comes to all men outside the pale, that
such a woman could never be his. He poured out for himself a stiff peg
and drank it with very little soda. Craig always fled, as it were,
from introspection