The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1912-05-08

spread her throat some inter blend
 ing spots of red, like thumb marks.
 They were unusual but not especially
 novel trophies to Hardmuth, and they
 had not yet been danger signals; the
 girl was certainly not as indifferent
 to him as she had pretended. Hard
 muth was so constituted that in the
 absence of direct evidence he would
 never interpret a departure from in
 difference as a sign of disfavOr.
 Viola's agitation encouraged him.
 T said l thought 1 could fix it with
 mother, and I'm sure I could fix it
 with your uncle Jack
 An instant look of relief came over
 Niola's face at the mention of her
 unc Q. A sense of protection was a!-
 ways present with her whenever she
 thought of him; there was no danger
 from this man at her side, nor from
 any man, while she had Uncle Jack.
 The expression of relief Tilted into
 half smile. Hardmuth tapped her approvingly and dominantly on the
 elbow, and added:
 And I will fix it!''
 That she drew away her arm, that she turned with a frown above open eyes and with lips parted in swift impulse of resentment, meant only spirited going to Hardmuth. She had smiled at his proposal to fix it with Uncle Jack, and by the method of 5 been opened.
 Brookfield had moved from his position at the back wall to the newell post of the balcony, stairway which mounted from the broad foyer of the theatre. He was think of Hardmuth' s consciousness of the fact that he had been watched. The thought recurred to him vaguely that he had read or heard of it said somewhere that al- most any person, if regarded intently, would turn about and look at the gazer. He was wondering whether it was merely superstition or fact, whether it was a power resident in the one who looked or a sensitive ness belonging to the one observed, when without apparent cue or sug- sestion he felt tingling at the roots of his hair and slow creeping through the nerves of his shoulders. 1 He turned with an unwonted sensa- ton of awe and found himself look | ing into the eyes of an old man who stood in the private doorway that led | from the foyer of the theatre to the managers office.
 Brookfield saw only the eyes. 1 He had a misty impression of a forehead surmOunted by white hair There was also the impression of a | smile tolerant and fraternal; of fig | ure graceful and dignified. There was l the sense of second figure at its side, but if Brookfield had been asked | to tell what he saw he would have | said: 'Only pair of eyes
 The gaze was but momentary The | old man seemed to defer to his com pan1On, whom BroOkfield recognized ! as the most distinguished editor in | the South; and then he saw the two elderly men go back into the man. ager's office.
 Brookfield had the habit of exces- 1 sive candor, especially with himself l ie had fair capacity for self-an- | llysis and an absence of conceit that l eft him with an accurate sense oi 1 proportion where his own qualities l we're concerned. He found himself al l he moment disturbed by a distinct | ;ense of inferiority, not to say guilt; l 1e was puzzled to account for it. Was 1 due to the fact that he had been l 'pparently surprised in his surveil. | ance of the party in the box Was l t something about himself that he l :ubconsciously felt the editor might 1 mpart to the stranger Was 1t any | 'hade of implied superiority in the l olerant smile of the old man As he | questioned himself he felt that it was ] lone of these. He had been consciou: 1 If the feeling at the moment wher | le first turned and met the strangers 1 iook and before the other considera- tions had been evolved.
 Who was the man?
 | Brookfield would know. He hand.