"How does the great experiment go?" he asked, in a low tone.
Powers visibly flinched. He glanced around him nervously.
"I want to talk to you about her, Trowse," he said. "I can't expect your sympathy, and you can't help me—you nor any other man. But I've got to talk to some one—or go mad."
Trowse nodded with the air of a Sphinx. "Well?"
"She is so horribly changed," Powers said. "Can't you see it? Of course you can't judge because you did not know her before. Trowse, I feel like a man who has created a monster, who has breathed life into some evil thing and let it loose upon the world."
Trowse smiled grimly.
"Personally," he said, "I admit that I am no judge. I understand, however, that society in general scarcely takes the same view of Miss Hardinge. Isn't she supposed to be rather a beauty?"
Powers beat impatiently with his hand upon the table.
"You know that I am not talking about her looks. She's beautiful enough to bewitch every man who comes near her—and she does it."
"It must be a little inconvenient for you," Trowse remarked. "Beyond that, I scarcely see your point."