Potter stood rigid, livid.... For a minute, two minutes, he remained without motion; then slowly, very slowly, he turned away from the door and made his way to his motor. CHAPTER XI Potter Waite's outlook upon life had been modified by his accident and by that period of enforced reflection which followed it; it was again modified by the occurrences of the night when he had first helped Hildegarde von Essen to escape from her home and then had compelled her to return to it. His first emotion had been one of seething rage; this was succeeded by a bitter feeling that he had been cheated, and he brooded. He had been cheated because he had given his love to Hildegarde and received in return for it a blow and her scorn. He did not stop to think. He did not consider that she was headstrong, impetuous as himself; he did not consider the suddenness, perhaps the untimeliness, of the proffer of his love. He did not comprehend that Hildegarde's words and actions were the result of black disappointment; that her anger with him was to have been expected of a girl such as she, frustrated by him in a design which she believed to be vital. Instead of weighing and reflecting he plunged into a sinister mood. He became morose; the old charm and magnetism seemed to have deserted him, and the men who worked with him wondered what could have happened to their young employer. A great part of his conduct at this time was due to youth--to youth hugging to its bosom and fondling a hurt to its pride. If he had been indifferent to his friends before, he avoided them now, made them feel unwelcome. And he worked.... He drove himself, as a man will drive himself who has riding upon his back the hag of heartburning. There is no bitterness in the world like that of sweetness turned to aloes, and the taste of it was constantly in his mouth. He threw himself into his work, not with gay enthusiasm, but with the smoldering fanaticism of a Savonarola. There could be no middle ground for him, no moderation. He thought and dreamed aeroplanes before because he loved the work, because he saw the value of the work, and because he believed enthusiastically that his country required the work of him. Now he steeped himself in the atmosphere and technicalities of the aeroplane to crowd Hildegarde von Essen out of his thought. Perhaps now he worked more rigorously, worked merciless hours, but it is doubtful if he worked more valuably.