e; but here also he proceeded with a discretion unexampled in
his dealings with his subordinates. He acknowledged the harm done by the
dance-hall, but objected that he could not conscientiously advise the
company to pay the extortionate price at which it was held, and reminded
Amherst that, if that particular source of offense were removed, others
would inevitably spring up to replace it; marshalling the usual
temporizing arguments of tolerance and expediency, with no marked change
from his usual tone, till, just as the interview was ending, he asked,
with a sudden drop to conciliation, if the assistant manager had
anything to complain of in the treatment he received.

This came as such a surprise to Amherst that before he had collected
himself he found Truscomb ambiguously but unmistakably offering
him--with the practised indirection of the man accustomed to cover his
share in such transactions--a substantial "consideration" for dropping
the matter of the road-house. It was incredible, yet it had really
happened: the all-powerful Truscomb, who held Westmore in the hollow of
his hand, had stooped to bribing his assistant because he was afraid to
deal with him in a more summary manner. Amherst's leap of anger at the
offer was curbed by the instant perception of its cause. He had no time
to search for a reason; he could only rally himself to meet the
unintelligible with a composure as abysmal as Truscomb's; and his voice
still rang with the wonder of the incident as he retailed it to his
mother.

"Think of what it means, mother, for a young woman like Mrs. Westmore,
without any experience or any habit of authority, to come here, and at
the first glimpse of injustice, to be so revolted that she finds the
courage and cleverness to put her little hand to the machine and
reverse the engines--for it's nothing less that she's done! Oh, I know
there'll be a reaction--the pendulum's sure to swing back: but you'll
see it won't swing _as far_. Of course I shall go in the end--but
Truscomb may go too: Jove, if I could pull him down on me, like
what's-his-name and the pillars of the temple!"

He had risen and was measuring the little sitting-room with his long
strides, his head flung back and his eyes dark with the inward look his
mother had not always cared to see there. But now her own glance seemed
to have caught a ray from his, and the knitting flowed from her hands
like the thread of fate, as she sat silent, letting him exhale