Ewing had listened to his recondite discourse chiefly with a morbid expectancy of that recurrent break in the voice, straining until it came and relaxing until it quavered back to the hazardous masculine level. Finding himself thus noticed he stammered, "Oh, I--I've done some work in black and white. I hope--Mrs. Laithe has encouraged me." "A charming modesty, yours; by no means the besetting sin of your craft, but is Mrs. Laithe an ideal promoter of genius? I fancy you'll need a sterner guide, one to be harsh as well as kind. Women can't be that, least of all the charming specimen who has honored you with her patronage. I shall be proud to supplement her deficiencies as critic--her glorious, her fascinating deficiencies. Women, audacious souls, are recklessly kind. They incur perils to chill the blood of brave enough men, meaning monstrously well all the time"--his narrowed eyes sought to read the face of Mrs. Laithe--"but I've yet to see one worth a second look who had divined that there exists a certain arbitrary relation between cause and effect. Need I word the inference?... No?..." Relieved by his scrutiny of her face he broke off, his heart leaping to the thought, "She doesn't know--doesn't know ... the _fool_!" "I'll be glad to show you what I have," Ewing answered, rejoicing at this solicitude in a critic so obviously eminent. "I've been afraid all along that Mrs. Laithe might be too kind." "Kinder than she knew--kindness is no word for her excess. Women lack fiber where their sympathies are involved. They'll not inflict pain within scope of their imaginations--beyond that rather narrow field of course they're merciless, bless them! But trust me to score your work if it deserves that, and trust me to praise if it merits praise. You shall exhibit to me. By the way"--he consulted a small enameled watch--"I've a bit of time to spare. If you're stepping along I'll not mind looking at your things this evening." Ewing arose, glowing with pleasure. He felt drawn to this wonderful little man who knew everything, and who was visibly kind--just, at any rate--under that fantastic cloak of severity. "You're very good," he said. "I'm staying close by, at the Stuyvesant." "Drop in often, Ewing," urged Bartell as they shook hands. "And don't let Teevan put you down. I dare say you'll come on, you know, if you chuck worry." As he parted from Mrs. Laithe he was aware of a new look in her eyes. He had learned to read them. They sought now to tell him ... what? There was a warning in them, and her glance seemed to enfold him almost protectingly. But her words were not more than those of formal parting, with a suggestion that he drop in for tea some afternoon soon. CHAPTER X THE WAY OF THE LITTLE MAN