"Well," he said from the doorway, with a most elaborate attempt at casuality. "Is the great mystery about to be revealed?"
Good looked inquiringly at Judith, and she motioned to Roger.
"Sit down, Roger," she said quietly. "Mr. Good has a plan to offer." Then she hesitated momentarily. "If the idea appeals to you—I am prepared to back you."
Good turned a startled but grateful gaze upon her. But she affected not to see him. He turned quickly to Roger. Eloquently and passionately he described the opportunity he offered. Judith, entranced in spite of herself, followed him intently, while Roger, from derision, went successively into interest, to close attention, and finally to unbounded enthusiasm. Judith divined the subtle flattery with which Good concealed his profounder motives: to the young man he was only opening up an alluring vista of personal glory.
"Well, Roger," said Good finally, "what's your verdict?"
Roger turned to his sister, his eyes shining. "It's great!" he whispered. "Will you go through with it, sis?"
Judith heard him only vaguely. Her thoughts, strangely enough, were with Imrie and his church. But she nodded affirmatively. She seemed only to be granting another of the endless string of permissions that had marked her maternal care of him through the years. And the way in which he ran to her and threw his arms about her and hugged her, was very familiar. His part in it all seemed curiously unreal. But Good's calm voice brought home to her the magnitude of the step upon which she was so blithely deciding.
"One thing, Miss Wynrod. The Dispatch can be bought for very little. But the kind of paper you are going to make out of it won't make much money—not for a while. It may cost—quite a little. Do you understand?" he added sharply, his eyes seeming to speak to her alone.
She caught their message. "Yes," she said calmly; "I understand perfectly."
Good rose, and pulled a pair of well-worn gloves from his pocket.