rling locks of
foam from their bows; the open sea sparkled and glinted and danced with
the joy of life in its veins.

At sundown, the sky behind the foaming wake of the packet was a blaze of
glory. The sinking sun wove a cloth of gold on the halo of cloud about
it, and circled the horizon with a belt of rose and opal. Gradually the
gold faded into fiery purple, with arms of unbelievable green stretching
out to clasp the round cup of ocean; the purple died away reluctantly
like the drums of a triumphant march receding to a distance; night took
sea and sky into her arms, and crooned to them a mother-song of rest.

On the railway station at Flushing a telegram was handed to Riviere--the
reply to a telegram of inquiry sent by him from London. It was from
Elaine herself:

"Operation well over. Doctor hopeful. Little pain. Glad when you are
back," it ran, and he had almost worn through its creases, by reason of
folding and unfolding, before he fell asleep that night in the train for
Wiesbaden.

CHAPTER XXII

THE CHAMELEON MIND

Many men are chameleons. They take their mental colour from the
surroundings of the moment. They are swayed by every fresh change of
circumstance, influenced by every strong mind with whom they come in
contact. If such a man goes on from year to year in the same even groove
of work, the chameleon mind may not be apparent on the surface; but if
by any chance he is suddenly jolted from his accustomed groove, the
mental instability becomes plain to read.

Arthur Dean was of this class.

When a clerk at L2 per week he had looked forward to promotion to L3 a
week as something dazzling in its opulence, while L4 a week represented
the pot of gold at the foot of the rainbow. Now a sudden turn of
Fortune's wheel had lifted him to a salary of L6 a week and all expenses
paid, and the work he was required to do for his money was so trifling
in amount as to be almost ludicrous. He had merely to read over a few
letters and send off a few brief cablegrams saying nothing in
particular.

As Lars Larssen had tersely phrased it, he was no longer a "clerk"--he
was a "business man."

And he knew that if he carried out orders faithfully and intelligently,
his future with his employer was assured. Larssen had a strong
reputation for loyalty to his employees. He exacted much, but he gave
much in return. As his own fortunes grew, so did those of his right-hand
men. If a man after faithful service was stri