“I must believe the man who made the speech,” Helen’s voice trembled. “I do believe him.” “We are in a very difficult position, but you can depend on our doing what we can to set the matter right.” “It may be too late,” said Helen. “Personally, I feel that it is. Millions who read the original report in England and America will never see the contradiction. A speech of that kind may take a man years to live down.” “Well, well,”--never had the voice of Saul Hartz sounded more suasive--“the U. P. must see what it can do in a truly difficult case. And, in the meantime, let me beg you, as much for your own sake as for ours, not to desert the old ship.” A second time Helen’s eyes filmed with tears. “I feel,” she said, “that I can never work with you again.” The silence which now constrained them was broken at last by the hushed, far-away voice which always seemed to hypnotize her. “Have you realized what it means? Do you quite see all that such a step involves?” Mournfully she owned that never again did she expect to earn a thousand dollars a month. “And John Endor, I believe, is by no means a rich man.” Helen believed so too. But she permitted herself a modest hope that she might still be able to earn a good salary. “In journalism?” “Yes.” “That, my dear child,”--once more the father,--“is a point on which it really becomes my duty to disillusion you. If you break with us, your career in journalism is at an end.” XII The words of the Colossus, spoken delicately though they were, came to Helen like a blow over the heart. But she had the dour courage of the born fighter. “Surely that remains to be seen.” For the first time in the course of a two years’ friendship with Saul Hartz, a chord of antagonism rang in Helen’s voice. The Colossus paused a moment to look at her. “True, my dear.” Of a sudden the tone had grown almost deprecatory. “But I do want you to look before and after. You contemplate a very serious step.” Helen agreed that for herself such a step must prove serious indeed. “For both of us, my dear. You will be very much missed here.” She was touched by this magnanimity and also flattered by it, for she knew it to be the frank expression of his mind. The Chief did not want to part with her, that was clear. She had reason to think she had been of use to him and that he had always liked her personally. Certainly from the day of their first meeting in New York she had received exceptional kindness and consideration at his hands. As far as Saul Hartz himself was concerned, he had known from the outset that she had first-rate abilities. None understood better than he the value of the feminine mind with its faculty of taking short cuts to deep conclusions. By its intuitive “scrapping” of a thousand-and-one considerations that are apt to fetter the slow-moving male it was able to save time and expenditure of spirit and yet “to get there” just the same.