"Do about it?" cried Judith, amazed by the suddenness of his attack. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
The stranger's mood softened and his voice became quieter.
"I want to find out what you think about things—things in general—what you are going to do with the great wealth which is yours, what part you are going to play in the changing world. This business at Algoma—that's only a part of the whole. I want to find out what—well—what you really are?"
Judith could have laughed aloud at the irony of the question which this uncouth stranger was putting to her. It was, almost to the words, the same question she had put to her brother not half an hour before. What did she think about things? Why were people suddenly so interested in what other people thought?
But the similarity was not apparent to Roger. The question caused him no introspection: only anger.
"What right have you to put such impudent questions to us, anyway," he demanded hotly. "Who the devil are you to intrude on us in this fashion? You'd best get out before I have you put out."
The tall man made no move to rise from his chair as Roger stood threateningly above him. He merely turned his hands up in a quaint gesture of deprecation.
"Bless your heart, young chap, I'm not putting any questions. If you'll glance at my card, you'll notice that my business comes before my name. I'm simply the spokesman of a newspaper ..."
"Newspaper!" sneered Roger. "Do you call that anarchist rag a newspaper?"
But the other man refused to be interrupted. He proceeded equably. "And that newspaper, in turn, is simply the spokesman of the public. It's the public that wants to know who you are—and what you are—not I. Personally, to be quite candid, I don't care a farthing. But ..."