Why, Sylvia, he's the worst foe we have--all of us who want to do what we call the great things--ease the burdens of the poor, make government honest, catch the gleam we seek! Even poor Allen, when he stands on the Monument steps at midnight and spouts to me about the Great Experiment, feels what Morton Bassett can't be made to feel." "But he may yet see it; even he may come to see it," murmured Sylvia.
"He's a hard, stubborn brute; it's in the lines of his back--I was studying him on the boat this evening, and my eyes followed him up the steps after they dropped him at his dock.

It's in those strong, iron hands of his.

I tell you, what we feel for him is only the kind of pity we have for those we know to be doomed by the gods to an ignominious end.

He's not worth our pity.

He asks no mercy and he won't get any." He was at once ashamed of the temper to which he had yielded, and angry at himself for having broken the calm of the night with these discordant notes.