As for the Bull of Mithra--and Mithra, too--bull-calves are born every day. And there are a million million suns in the making. It’s only the Old Order that changes, not what orders it. CHAPTER IV Bulls die; men die; the old order dies,--slowly sometimes, sometimes in the twinkling of an eye. The change came swiftly upon Eris; passed more swiftly still, leaving no outward trace visible. But when it had passed, the heart and mind of Eris were altered. All doubt, all hesitation fled. She understood that now the road to the stars was open, and that, one day, she would do what she had been born to do. * * * * * The World War was partly responsible for the affair. The dye situation in the United States resulted. In Whitewater Mills, both dyes and mordants remained unsatisfactory. The mill chemist could do nothing and they let him go. Where cotton was used in shoddy combination with wool, permanency of colour scarcely mattered--the poor always getting the dirty end of everything in a nation that has always laughed at a swindle. But before the war, Whitewater Mills had built a separate plant for fine hosiery, lisle and silk, and had specialised in mauves and blues--fast, unfading, beautiful colours, the secret of which remained in Germany. Now, desiring to resume, and unable to import, the directors of the mill sent a delegation to New York to find out what could be done. There the delegates discovered, dug out, and engaged a chemist named E. Stuart Graydon. It appeared that the secrets of German dyes and mordants were known to Mr. Graydon. How they became known to him he explained very frankly and eloquently. Candour, an engaging smile, pale smooth features full of pale bluish shadows,--these and a trim figure neatly clothed made up the ensemble of Mr. Graydon. Permanent colour was his specialty. Anyway, his long, steady fingers were permanently stained with acid and nicotine. He was employed by a photographer when they discovered him. Or, to be accurate, _he_ discovered _them_ at their third-class hotel on Broadway.... And never left them until he had signed a contract. * * * * * It was after church that somebody introduced E. Stuart Graydon to Eris. He walked home with the family; and his talent for general conversation earned him an invitation to remain to midday dinner. Quiet, convincing eloquence was his asset. There appeared to be no subject with which he was not reasonably familiar. His, also, was that terrible gift for familiarity of every description; he became a friend over night, a member of the family in a week. He was what Broadway calls “quick study,” never risking “going stale” by “letter perfect” preparation for an opening.