He puts something into your soul that makes you wish to go forth at once to do some fine, unselfish act." Stefani Gregor! He thought of the clear white soul of the man who had surrendered imperishable fame to stand between him and the curse of his blood; who had for ten years stood between his mother and the dissolute man whom irony had selected for the part of father.

Ten years of diplomacy, tact, patience.

Stefani Gregor! There was the blood, predatory and untamed; and there was the spirit which the old musician had moulded.

He could not harm this girl.

Dead or alive, Stefani Gregor would not permit it.
Hawksley rose slowly and without further speech walked to the corridor door.