woman. And in that moment the woman was paramount. But in the balanced mind, delicately poised, acutely commonsensible, was now a concern beyond the personal. What was the meaning of it all?
"I knew of course . . . I felt . . . that you had been . . . misreported.". . . Her words were tentative, inadequate. Painfully watching the man opposite she knew only too well that the John Endor of three minutes back might never have been. The play, the interplay, of changing lights upon his face and in his eyes were beyond her ken. Almost for the first time she began to have a real perception of the infinities within him, of that central power which could sweep a great audience off its feet.
Of a sudden he sprang fiercely from his chair. "It's devilish!" His voice was hoarse. "Absolutely devilish!"
Hardly had be used the words when the pain in her eyes reined him back. Abruptly as he had risen, he sat down again at the table. "I beg your pardon!" he said. "But, you see, it's a stab in the back—from the world's most accomplished assassin."
She saw that his lips were white and that his face was drawn.
"Mayn't it be just a mere accident?" Courage was needed to say anything. To say that called for much.
He laughed harshly. The gay irresponsible boy might never have been. "Accidents don't happen to the Universal Press."
