special was Wrong in the evening edition. Certainly he made a jest of everything. He seemed to believe in nothing, to respect nobody; yet in her dealings with the man himself she had always found him scrupulously kind, wonderfully considerate, nobly generous.
To-night, in this chance visit, she had never felt so much out of her depth, she had never been swept so completely off her feet. John Endor was no common man, but this Chief to whom she owed allegiance had somehow a quality which seemed to raise him almost beyond good and evil.
In a time which to Helen was unexpectedly brief, Mr. Hartz was back in the room. "So much for that," he said with the light, casual air that was always charming.
Helen rose at once. "Ever so many thanks," she said, wholeheartedly. "I was quite sure it had only to be mentioned." A look of gratitude drove the words right home. "And now I must fly. Good-night—and again, thank you."
The passage to the door, however, was barred, playfully, if resolutely, by the genial spread of the Colossus: "Now please don't run away. Sit down and tell me a little about yourself."
"There's the last train from Piccadilly Circus to think of."
"'Tisn't twelve yet. The South Kensington tube is open till one o'clock."
It was flattering to think that so great a man should
