For some reason or other she turned accusingly on me.
"I knew nothing of the change," said I, "but I'm very glad to hear of it now." Many times before had I been forced to disclaim knowledge of what Jaffery had been doing with the book.
"Wittekind wouldn't have the old title," cried Jaffery eagerly.

"The public are very narrow minded, and he felt that in certain quarters it might be misunderstood." "Wittekind told dear Adrian that he thought it a perfect title." "Our dear Adrian," said I, pacifically, "was a man of enormous will-power and perhaps Wittekind hadn't the strength to stand up against him." "Of course he hadn't," exclaimed Doria.

"Of course he hadn't when Adrian was alive: now Adrian's dead, he thinks he is going to do just as he chooses.

He isn't! Not while I live, he isn't!" Jaffery looked at me from beneath bent brows and his eyes were turned to cold blue steel.
"Hilary!" said he, "will you kindly tell Doria what we found on Adrian's blotting pad--the last words he ever wrote ?" What he desired me to say was obvious.
"Written three or four times," said I, "we found the words: 'The Greater Glory: A Novel by Adrian Boldero.'" "What has become of the blotting pad ?" "The sheet seemed to be of no value, so we destroyed it with a lot of other unimportant papers." "And I came across further evidence," said Jaffery, "of his intention to rename the novel." Doria's anger died away.

She looked past us into the void.