[Illustration: She gazed her fill on this very crude presentment of George Carter.]
Well, at any rate he was not a handsome man. But there was something about even this indifferent photograph that gave her a great thrill. It touched some inward chord that no other power on earth could set into vibration, and she was discomforted thereby.
The gong went for dinner. She ignored it. A servant came presently--she had added to the number of servants at the Prince's Park house and Mrs. Craven accepted the alteration passively--and the servant most respectfully stated that dinner would be served in ten minutes, and was not Miss Kate going up to dress? But Miss Kate was busy and would have a cup of tea and a sandwich.
Mrs. Craven below got the news, smiled grimly, and ate an extremely good dinner. She felt a fine satisfaction in having set to work exactly the right influences which would bring that ridiculous Kitty to her senses.
But upstairs, in the prettiest room in Liverpool, Kate wrestled with Fate. She pictured the man that the mask singled out of the group: Red hair, a dogged jaw, ill-cut clothes, and, upon occasion, a man who used the language more fitted to an underpaid stevedore. She had overheard Carter discoursing to the factory at large that night of the false alarm at Mokki, when he chided the Portuguese and the factory boys in phrases learned from Swizzle-Stick Smith. Was this the man she had ever fancied for a husband? No, a thousand times no.
She locked the group and the mask once more into its drawer, and went back to her cushions and a novel. There was still another great rubber company on the brink of flotation. This time the pugilistic Mr. Smith had procured for her the grant of the land, and had assured her that the King of Okky, thanks to his recent improvement in morals, would see that the title remained unchallenged. The proposition was, she honestly believed, commercially sound, but the risk lay in the British Public. Were they loaded up with rubber stock? That was the point to decide. So far she had not had a share of her companies underwritten, in spite of abundant and pressing offers. But here was an awkward question to decide: Should she insure this issue, or should she risk having it not taken up, and invite a fiasco?