There are some men whose mission in life it appears to be to go aboutthe world creating crises in the lives of other people. When there isthunder in the air they precipitate the thunderbolt.

　　Bailey Bannister was one of these. He meant extraordinarily well, buthe was a dangerous man for that very reason, and in a properlyconstituted world would have been segregated or kept under supervision.

　　He would not leave the tangled lives of those around him to adjustthemselves. He blundered in and tried to help. He nearly alwaysproduced a definite result, but seldom the one at which he aimed.

　　That he should have interfered in the affairs of Ruth and Kirk at thistime was, it must be admitted, unselfish of him, for just now he washaving troubles of his own on a somewhat extensive scale. His wife'sextravagance was putting a strain on his finances, and he was facedwith the choice of checking her or increasing his income. Being verymuch in love, he shrank from the former task and adopted the other wayout of the difficulty.

　　It was this that had led to the change in his manner noticed by Steve.

　　In order to make more money he had had to take risks, and only recentlyhad he begun to perceive how extremely risky these risks were. For thefirst time in its history the firm of Bannister was making first-handacquaintance with frenzied finance.

　　It is, perhaps, a little unfair to lay the blame for this entirely atthe door of Bailey's Sybil. Her extravagance was largely responsible;but Bailey's newly found freedom was also a factor in the developmentsof the firm's operations. If you keep a dog, a dog with a high sense ofhis abilities and importance, tied up and muzzled for a length of timeand then abruptly set it free the chances are that it will celebrateits freedom. This had happened in the case of Bailey.

　　Just as her father's money had caused Ruth to plunge into a whirl ofpleasures which she did not really enjoy, merely for the novelty of it,so the death of John Bannister and his own consequent accession to thethrone had upset Bailey's balance and embarked him on an orgy ofspeculation quite foreign to his true nature. All their lives Ruth andBailey had been repressed by their father, and his removal hadunsteadied them.

　　Bailey, on whom the shadow of the dead man had pressed particularlyseverely, had been quite intoxicated by sudden freedom. He had been acipher in the firm of Bannister & Son. In the firm of Bannister & Co.

　　he was an untrammelled despot. He did that which was right in his owneyes, and there was no one to say him nay.

　　It was true that veteran members of the firm, looking in the glass,found white hairs where no white hairs had been and wrinkles onforeheads which, under the solid rule of old John Bannister, had beensmooth; but it would have taken more than these straws to convinceBailey that the wind which was blowing was an ill-wind. He haddeveloped in a day the sublime self-confidence of a young Napoleon. Hewas all dash and enterprise--the hurricane fighter of Wall Street.

　　With these private interests to occupy him, it is surprising that heshould have found time to take the affairs of Ruth and Kirk in hand.

　　But he did.

　　For some time he had watched the widening gulf between them with painedsolicitude. He disliked Kirk personally; but that did not influencehim. He conceived it to be his duty to suppress private prejudices.

　　Duty seemed to call him to go to Kirk's aid and smooth out his domesticdifficulties.

　　What urged him to this course more than anything else was Ruth'sgrowing intimacy with Basil Milbank; for, in the period which hadelapsed since the conversation recorded earlier in the story, when Kirkhad first made the other's acquaintance, the gifted Basil had become avery important and menacing figure in Ruth's life.

　　To Ruth, as to most women, his gifts were his attraction. He dancedwell; he talked well; he did everything well. He appealed to a side ofRuth's nature which Kirk scarcely touched--a side which had only comeinto prominence in the last year.

　　His manner was admirable. He suggested sympathy without expressing it.

　　He could convey to Ruth that he thought her a misunderstood andneglected wife while talking to her about the weather. He could makehis own knight-errant attitude toward her perfectly plain withoutsaying a word, merely by playing soft music to her on the piano; for hehad the gift of saying more with his finger-tips than most men couldhave said in a long speech carefully rehearsed.

　　Kirk's inability to accompany Ruth into her present life had givenBasil his chance. Into the gap which now lay between them he hadslipped with a smooth neatness born of experience.

　　Bailey hated Basil. Men, as a rule, did, without knowing why. Basil'sreputation was shady, without being actually bad. He was a suspect whohad never been convicted. New York contained several husbands who eyedhim askance, but could not verify their suspicions, and the apparenthopelessness of ever doing so made them look on Basil as a man who hadcarried smoothness into the realms of fine art. He was considered toogifted to be wholesome. The men of his set, being for the most partamiably stupid, resented his cleverness.

　　Bailey, just at present, was feeling strongly on the subject of Basil.

　　He was at that stage of his married life when he would have preferredhis Sybil to speak civilly to no other man than himself. And onlyyesterday Sybil had come to him to inform him with obvious delight thatBasil Milbank had invited her to join his yacht party for a lengthyvoyage.

　　This had stung Bailey. He was not included in the invitation. The wholeaffair struck him as sinister. It was true that Sybil had never shownany sign of being fascinated by Basil; but, he told himself, there wasno knowing. He forbade Sybil to accept the invitation. To soothe herdisappointment, he sent her off then and there to Tiffany's with aroving commission to get what she liked; for Bailey, the stern, strongman, the man who knew when to put his foot down, was no tyrant. But hewould have been indignant at the suggestion that he had bribed Sybil torefuse Basil's invitation.

　　One of the arguments which Sybil had advanced in the brief discussionwhich had followed the putting down of Bailey's foot had been that Ruthhad been invited and accepted, so why should not she? Bailey had notreplied to this--it was at this point of the proceedings that theTiffany motive had been introduced, but he had not forgotten it. Hethought it over, and decided to call upon Ruth. He did so.

　　It was unfortunate that the nervous strain of being the Napoleon ofWall Street had had the effect of increasing to a marked extent theportentousness of Bailey's always portentous manner. Ruth rebelledagainst it. There was an insufferable suggestion of ripe old age andfatherliness in his attitude which she found irritating in the extreme.

　　All her life she had chafed at authority, and now, when Bailey sethimself up as one possessing it, she showed the worst side of herselfto him.

　　He struck this unfortunate note from the very beginning.

　　"Ruth," he said, "I wish to speak seriously to you."Ruth looked at him with hostile eyes, but did not speak. He did notknow it, poor man, but he had selected an exceedingly bad moment forhis lecture. It so happened that, only half an hour before, she andKirk had come nearer to open warfare than they had ever come.

　　It had come about in this way. Kirk had slept badly the night before,and, as he lay awake in the small hours, his conscience had troubledhim.

　　Had he done all that it was in him to do to bridge the gap between Ruthand himself? That was what his conscience had wanted to know. Theanswer was in the negative. On the following day, just before Bailey'scall, he accordingly sought Ruth out, and--rather nervously, for Ruthmade him feel nervous nowadays--suggested that he and she and WilliamBannister should take the air in each other's company and go and feedthe squirrels in the park.

　　Ruth declined. It is possible that she declined somewhat curtly. Theday was close and oppressive, and she had a headache and a generalfeeling of ill-will toward her species. Also, in her heart, sheconsidered that the scheme proposed smacked too much of Sundayafternoon domesticity in Brooklyn. The idea of papa, mamma, and babysporting together in a public park offended her sense of the socialproprieties.

　　She did not reveal these thoughts to Kirk because she was more than alittle ashamed of them. A year ago, she knew, she would not haveobjected to the idea. A year ago such an expedition would have been adaily occurrence with her. Now she felt if William Bannister wished tofeed squirrels, Mamie was his proper companion.

　　She could not put all this baldly to Kirk, so she placed the burden ofher refusal on the adequate shoulders of Lora Delane Porter. Aunt Lora,she said, would never hear of William Bannister wandering at large insuch an unhygienic fashion. Upon which Kirk, whose patience was not sorobust as it had been, and who, like Ruth, found the day oppressive andmaking for irritability, had cursed Aunt Lora heartily, given it as hisopinion that between them she and Ruth were turning the child from ahuman being into a sort of spineless, effeminate exhibit in a museum,and had taken himself off to the studio muttering disjointed things.

　　Ruth was still quivering with the indignation of a woman who has beencheated of the last word when Bailey appeared and announced that hewished to speak seriously to her.

　　Bailey saw the hostility in her eyes and winced a little before it. Hewas not feeling altogether at his ease. He had had experience of Ruthin this mood, and she had taught him to respect it.

　　But he was not going to shirk his duty. He resumed:

　　"I am only speaking for your own good," he said. "I know that itis nothing but thoughtlessness on your part, but I am naturallyanxious----""Bailey," interrupted Ruth, "get to the point."Bailey drew a long breath.

　　"Well, then," he said, baulked of his preamble, and rushing on hisfate, "I think you see too much of Basil Milbank."Ruth raised her eyebrows.

　　"Oh?"The mildness of her tone deceived Bailey.

　　"I do not like to speak of these things," he went on more happily; "butI feel that I must. It is my duty. Basil Milbank has not a goodreputation. He is not the sort of man who--ah--who--in fact, he has nota good reputation.""Oh?""I understand that he has invited you to form one of his yacht party.""How did you know?""Sybil told me. He invited her. I refused to allow her to accept theinvitation.""And what did Sybil say?""She was naturally a little disappointed, of course, but she did as Irequested.""I wonder she didn't pack her things and go straight off.""My dear Ruth!""That is what I should have done.""You don't know what you are saying.""Oh? Do you think I should let Kirk dictate to me like that?""He is certain to disapprove of your going when he hears of theinvitation. What will you do?"Ruth's eyes opened. For a moment she looked almost ugly.

　　"What shall I do? Why, go, of course."She clenched her teeth. A woman's mind can work curiously, and she wasassociating Kirk with Bailey in what she considered an unwarrantableintrusion into her private affairs. It was as if Kirk, and not Bailey,were standing there, demanding that she should not associate with BasilMilbank.

　　"I shall make it my business," said Bailey, "to warn Kirk that this manis not a desirable companion for you."The discussion of this miserable yacht affair had brought back toBailey all the jealousy which he had felt when Sybil had first told himof it. All the vague stories he had ever heard about Basil were surgingin his mind like waves of some corrosive acid. He had become a leadingmember of the extreme wing of the anti-Milbank party. He regarded Basilwith the aversion which a dignified pigeon might feel for a circlinghawk; and he was now looking on this yacht party as a deadly peril fromwhich Ruth must be saved at any cost.

　　"I shall speak to him very strongly," he added.

　　Ruth's suppressed anger blazed up in the sudden way which before nowhad disconcerted her brother.

　　"Bailey, what do you mean by coming here and saying this sort of thing?

　　You're becoming a perfect old woman. You spend your whole time pryinginto other people's affairs. I'm sorry for Sybil."Bailey cast one reproachable look at her and left the room with paineddignity. Something seemed to tell him that no good could come to himfrom a prolongation of the interview. Ruth, in this mood, always hadbeen too much for him, and always would be. Well, he had done his dutyas far as he was concerned. It now remained to do the same by Kirk.

　　He hailed a taxi and drove to the studio.

　　Kirk was busy and not anxious for conversation, least of all withBailey. He had not forgotten their last _tete-a-tete_.

　　Bailey, however, was regarding him with a feeling almost offriendliness. They were bound together by a common grievance againstBasil Milbank.

　　"I came here, Winfield," he said, after a few moments of awkwardconversation on neutral topics, "because I understand that this manMilbank has invited Ruth to join his yacht party.""What yacht party?""This man Milbank is taking a party for a cruise shortly in his yacht.""Who is Milbank?""Surely you have met him? Yes, he was at my house one night when youand Ruth dined there shortly after your return.""I don't remember him. However, it doesn't matter. But why does thefact that he has asked Ruth on his yacht excite you? Are you nervousabout the sea?""I dislike this man Milbank very much, Winfield. I think Ruth sees toomuch of him."Kirk stiffened. His eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch.

　　"Oh?" he said.

　　It seemed to Bailey for an instant that he had been talking all hislife to people who raised their eyebrows and said "Oh!" but hecontinued manfully.

　　"I do not think that Ruth should know him, Winfield.""Wouldn't Ruth be rather a good judge of that?"His tone nettled Bailey, but the man conscious of doing his dutyacquires an artificial thickness of skin, and he controlled himself.

　　But he had lost that feeling of friendliness, of sympathy with abrother in misfortune which he had brought in with him.

　　"I disagree with you entirely," he said.

　　"Another thing," went on Kirk. "If this man Milbank--I still can'tplace him--is such a thug, or whatever it is that he happens to be, howdid he come to be at your house the night you say I met him?"Bailey winced. He wished the world was not perpetually reminding himthat Basil and Sybil were on speaking terms.

　　"Sybil invited him. I may say he has asked Sybil to make one of theyacht party. I absolutely forbade it.""But, Heavens! What's wrong with the man?""He has a bad reputation.""Has he, indeed!""And I wish my wife to associate with him as little as possible. And Ishould advise you to forbid Ruth to see more of him than she can help."Kirk laughed. The idea struck him as comic.

　　"My good man, I don't forbid Ruth to do things."Bailey, objecting to being called any one's good man, especiallyKirk's, permitted his temper to get the better of him.

　　"Then you should," he snapped. "I have no wish to quarrel with you. Icame in here in a friendly spirit to warn you; but I must say that fora man who married a girl, as you married Ruth, in direct opposition tothe wishes of her family, you take a curious view of your obligations.

　　Ruth has always been a headstrong, impulsive girl, and it is for you tosee that she is protected from herself. If you are indifferent to herwelfare, then all I can say is that you should not have married her.

　　You appear to think otherwise. Good afternoon."He stalked out of the studio, leaving Kirk uncomfortably conscious thathe had had the worst of the argument. Bailey had been officious, nodoubt, and his pompous mode of expression was not soothing, but therewas no doubt that he had had right on his side.

　　Marrying Ruth did not involve obligations. He had never considered herin that light, but perhaps she was a girl who had to be protected fromherself. She was certainly impulsive. Bailey had been right there, ifnowhere else.

　　Who was this fellow Milbank who had sprung suddenly from nowhere intothe position of a menace? What were Ruth's feelings toward him? Kirkthrew his mind back to the dinner-party at Bailey's and tried to placehim.

　　Was it the man--yes, he had it now. It was the man with the wave ofhair over his forehead, the fellow who looked like a poet. Memory cameto him with a rush. He recalled his instinctive dislike for the fellow.

　　So that was Milbank, was it? He got up and put away his brushes. Therewould be no more work for him that afternoon.

　　He walked slowly home. The heat of the day had grown steadily moreoppressive. It was one of those airless, stifling afternoons............