''
``Yes--as far as that,'' said Selma calmly. ``That sort of thing
is an old story. It's been done so often --and worse. You see,
the respectable gentlemen who run things hire disreputable
creatures. They don't tell them what to do. They don't need to.
The poor wretches understand what's expected of them-- and they
do it. So, the respectable gentlemen can hold up white hands and
say quite truthfully, 'No blood-no filth on these--see!''' Selma
was laughing drearily. Her superb, primitive eyes, set ever so
little aslant, were flashing with an intensity of emotion that
gave Jane Hastings a sensation of terror-much as if a man who has
always lived where there were no storms, but such gentle little
rains with restrained and refined thunder as usually visit the
British Isles, were to find himself in the midst of one of those
awful convulsions that come crashing down the gorges of the
Rockies. She marveled that one so small of body could contain
such big emotions.
``You mustn't be unjust,'' she pleaded. ``WE aren't THAT wicked,
my dear.''
Selma looked at her. ``No matter,'' she said. ``I am not trying
to convert you--or to denounce your friends to you. I'll explain
what I've come for. In his speech to-day and in inducing the
union to change, Victor has shown how much power he has. The men
whose plans he has upset will be hating him as men hate only
those whom they fear.''
``Yes--I believe that,'' said Jane.
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