with an expression of funereal somberness.  He could not quite conceal from himself all these hopes that had such an uncomfortable aspect of ungenerousness.  So he reasoned with himself that they really sprang from a sincere desire for his friend’s ultimate good.  “Josh needs to have his comb cut,” thought he.  “It’s sure to be done, and he can bear it better now than later.  The lesson will teach him a few things he must learn.  I only hope he’ll be able to profit by it.”

When Josh appeared, Grant and the others with firmly-fixed opinions of the character of the impending entertainment were not a little disquieted.  Joshua Craig, who stepped into the arena, looked absolutely different from the Josh they knew.  How had he divested himself of that familiar swaggering, bustling braggadocio?  Where had he got this look of the strong man about to run a race, this handsome face on which sat real dignity and real power?  Never was there a better court manner; the Justices, who had been anticipating an opportunity to demonstrate, at his expense, the exceeding dignity of the Supreme Court, could only admire and approve.  As for his speech, it was a straightway argument; not a superfluous or a sophomoric word, not an attempt at rhetoric.  His argument—­There is the logic that is potent but answerable; there is the logic that is unanswerable, that gives no opportunity to any sane mind, however prejudiced by association with dispensers of luxurious hospitality, of vintage wines and dollar cigars, however enamored of fog-fighting and hair-splitting, to refuse the unqualified assent of conviction absolute.  That was the kind of argument Josh Craig made.  And the faces of the opposing lawyers, the questions the Justices asked him plainly showed that he had won.

After the first ten minutes, when the idea that Craig could be or ever had been laughable became itself absurd, Arkwright glanced uneasily, jealously at Margaret.  The face beneath the brim of her beautiful white and pale pink hat was cold, conventional, was the face of a mere listener.  Grant, reassured, resumed his absorbed attention, was soon completely swept away by his friend’s exhibition of power, could hardly wait until he and Margaret were out of the courtroom before exploding in enthusiasm.  “Isn’t he a wonder?” he cried.  “Why, I shouldn’t have believed it possible for a man of his age to make such a speech.  He’s a great lawyer as well as a great orator.  It was a dull subject, yet I was fascinated.  Weren’t you?”

“It was interesting—­at times,” said Margaret.

“At times!  Oh, you women!”

At this scorn Margaret eyed his elegant attire, his face with its expression of an intelligence concentrated upon the petty and the paltry.  Her eyes suggested a secret amusement so genuine that she could not venture to reveal it in a gibe.  She merely said:  “I confess I was more interested in him than in what he said.”

“Of course!  Of course!” said Grant, all unconscious of her derision.  “Women have no interest in serious things and no mind for logic.”