sidered it. I wish you would consider it, Mr. Malleson. And when the men come to you with their plea or demand for better wages or conditions, especially the dollar sixty men, look at the matter from their standpoint, for once, and be fair with them."
Having concluded her appeal, she rested her elbows on the table, put her hands against her cheeks, and looked him through with her splendid eyes.
Poor Barry! He had neither will nor wit nor logic to refute her argument or pierce the fallacy with which it was enmeshed. Indeed, under the spell of her eyes and voice, he felt himself drifting helplessly toward the shoals of that socialism which he never understood but always abhorred.
"Mrs. Bradley," he replied, finally, "I—I shall do my duty."
"I knew you would," she said. "I knew you would be just and generous, because"—her eyes went down again—"because you have been both just and generous to me."
Her voice came like soft music to Barry's ears, attuned to receive it. Before his eyes floated a roseate haze. And up, out of the haze, looming uncertainly but with great promise, he saw the shadowy outline of an opportunity. It came upon him so suddenly that it almost took away his breath. It must have been instinct or intuition; it certainly was not quickness of thought which led him to grasp it.
"No one," he heard himself say, "could help being just and generous to you."
"Why do you say that, Mr. Malleson?"
"I—I don't know." He was beginning to flounder again. "Yes, I do." There was a sudden accession of courage. "It's because it's true. It's because you deserve it. It's—it's because everybody likes you."
"You are trying to flatter me, Mr. Malleson."
"No, honestly, I'm not. I mean it. I mean that you—I might say—without qualification"
