"Mr.Scarlett Trent,the Gold King,left for Africa on Thursday last on the Dunottar Castle,to pay a brief visit to his wonderful possessions there before the great Bekwando Mining and Exploration Company is offered to the public.Mr.Trent is already a millionaire,and should he succeed in floating the Company on the basis of the Prospectus,he will be a multi-millionaire,and certainly one of the richest of Englishmen.During his absence workmen are to be kept going night and day at his wonderful palace in Park Lane,which he hopes to find ready for occupation on his return.Mr.Trent's long list of financial successes are too well known to be given here,but who will grudge wealth to a man who is capable of spending it in such a lordly fashion?We wish Mr.Trent a safe voyage and a speedy return."The paper slipped from his fingers and he looked thoughtfully out seaward.It was only one paragraph of many,and the tone of all was the same.Ernestine's words had come true -he was already a man of note.A few months had changed his life in the most amazing way -when he looked back upon it now it was with a sense of unreality -surely all these things which had happened were part of a chimerical dream.It was barely possible for him to believe that it was he,Scarlett Trent,who had developed day by day into what he was at that moment.For the man was changed in a hundred ways.His grey flannel clothes was cut by the Saville Row tailor of the moment,his hands and hair,his manner of speech and carriage were all altered.He recalled the men he had met,the clubs he had joined,his stud of horses at Newmarket,the country-houses at which he had visited.His most clear impression of the whole thing was how easy everything had been made for him.
His oddness of speech,his gaucheries,his ignorances and nervousness had all been so lightly treated that they had been brushed away almost insensibly.He had been able to do so little that was wrong -his mistakes were ignored or admired as originality,and yet in some delicate way the right thing had been made clear to him.Ernestine had stood by his side,always laughing at this swift fulfilment of her prophecy,always encouraging him,always enigmatic.Yet at the thought of her a vague sense of trouble crept into his heart.He took a worn photograph from his pocket and looked at it long and searchingly,and when he put it away he sighed.It made no difference of course,but he would rather have found her like that,the child with sweet,trustful eyes and a laughing mouth.Was there no life at all,then,outside this little vortex into which at her bidding he had plunged?Would she never have been content with anything else?He looked across the placid,blue sea to where the sun gleamed like silver on a white sail,and sighed again.He must make himself what she would have him.There was no life for him without her.
The captain came up for his morning chat and some of the passengers,who eyed him with obvious respect,lingered for a moment about his chair on their promenade.Trent lit a cigar and presently began to stroll up and down himself.The salt sea-air was a wonderful tonic to him after the nervous life of the last few months.He found his spirits rapidly rising.This voyage had been undertaken in obedience to a sudden but overpowering impulse.It had come to him one night that he must know for himself how much truth there was in Da Souza's story.He could not live with the thought that a thunderbolt was ever in the skies,that at any moment his life might lie wrecked about him.He was going out by one steamer and back by the next,the impending issue of his great Company afforded all the excuse that was necessary.If Da Souza's story was true -well,there were many things which might be done,short of a complete disclosure.
