When the door closed, Helen began to feel that she could breathe again.
The room was large, high-ceiled, well-ventilated; but the Colossus had
seemed to absorb every molecule of air there was in it. In this mood of
expansion he was truly formidable. No matter what his detractors had
to say of him, and they said much and said it bitterly, it was never
denied that Saul Hartz was a power.
As soon as the door had closed, however, Helen for the first time in
a two years’ intercourse, brought herself to shape a question. Was it
really wise to trust this man so blindly? Where there was so much smoke
must there not be also a certain amount of fire?
Encompassed by that dynamic force the higher nerve-centers were a
little apt to fail. And to submit the all-embracing mind of Saul Hartz
to the common scale of right and wrong was hardly feasible. Right and
wrong in that paradoxical cosmos of a brain, which yet formed a key to
the whole objective modern world, seemed interchangeable terms. She
recalled hearing him say more than once, that Right in the midday
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 carry in his
mind her address, but it was like him not to forget the simplest of
facts. “Besides, I take all responsibility for getting you home.”
“And accept it, I hope”--yielding with a laugh--“if I am late to-morrow
at the Office.”
“Let me get you a cup of tea or something.” He pressed a bell. “I’m
going to have a whisky and soda myself.”
Helen declined refreshment.
To the servant who entered Mr. Hartz said: “Please tell Jennings the
brougham will be wanted in half an hour.”
Duly armed with a “nightcap” which contained a great deal more soda
than whisky the Colossus sat cosily down by the fire immediately
opposite Helen. A man of fifty-two, his manner towards this singularly
attractive woman of six-and-twenty was so whimsically, yet frankly,
paternal, that something beyond disparity of years seemed necessary to
sustain it.
An odd sensation, unlike anything she had ever felt before, came subtly
upon Helen. This man’s personality was geared very high, but unlike
that of John Endor it seemed to be a fixed quantity, not liable to
fluctuate. In his case the nerves didn’t show. To talk to, when he
chose, he was delightful. Just now, perhaps half deliberately, he chose.
If the question was not impertinent, why was she concerned so
particularly for John Endor’s reputation?
Her shrewdness had allowed her to foresee that such a question might
arise. She was half prepared to answer it. As the necessity came,
however, she yielded to a slight embarrassment which did not make her
attraction less.
“We are going to be married.”
Saul Hartz gave a sharp upthrow of the head.
“Lucky fellow!” The words of the Colossus were almost as quick as
thought itself. “Devilish lucky fellow! I _do_ congratulate him--upon
my word!” The purr of the gentle voice had a warmth of overtone that
in the ear of Helen was delicious. She felt the blood pass over her
cheeks in a wave. Such a voice as that must have opened the heart of
any woman. He had the power, when he chose, of simulating an intense
humanity.
“Won’t you congratulate me?” she ventured.
“Why, of course--of course.” The purr had not changed and yet, in a way
that almost impinged on the mysteries of counterpoint, she was made to
guess rather than to feel that a vital something was no longer there.
_Madness in the mother’s family._ Those five words descended upon her
from the upper air. Almost in the same instant the open book on her
knee slid to the carpet.
She had not time to recover the book before Mr. Hartz was on his feet
politely restoring it to her.
“Clever, you know.” He seemed to think aloud. “A mind at work there.”
The book was placed loverly in her hand. “Only one hopes----”
Sighing delicately he returned to his chair. His air had now become
that of one who has to reconcile a very good heart with the sterner
impulses of duty.
“You hope?” She caught up the broken phrase with an eagerness that was
a little pitiful.
“Nothing, nothing.”