But, after all, Rodrigo sailed for Italy the next Saturday. Though
he had changed his booking from a single to a double cabin and the
passenger list read: The Count and Countess Rodrigo di Torriani.
John Dorning, looking almost as radiant as the bride and groom, saw
them off at the pier. For a long time they stood chatting on the
deck of the great vessel together, these three young people amid the
throng of waving, shouting tourists. When the warning blasts sounded
from the smokestack whistle, John whispered banteringly to Rodrigo,
"This time you will not call upon any of your ex-lady friends, eh?
Rosa or Sophie--you bet I was glad to get that good news of Sophie.
Well, cable me when you land. And please come back on schedule. You
are leaving Dorning and Son terribly handicapped, you know--my two
best partners away at once." He kissed Mary and pressed Rodrigo's
hand, and hurried down the gangplank. He stood there, a thin, but
sturdy figure, waving to them while the great ship backed out into
the channel and pointed her bow toward the east.
"John Dorning is the finest of all the men that ever lived," Rodrigo
said solemnly.
"Almost," Mary replied.
Gliding through the magic moonlight over a mirror-like sea, they sat
very close to each other that evening in deck-chairs, and she said to
him, at the end of a long conversation, "And that is why I love you
most, Rodrigo--because you have conquered yourself."
"And so has good old John," he replied.
"Yes, so has John. And both you--and I--have found joy because of
that. It's the only way to win real happiness."