I watched Gloria narrowly. Clearly here was an example of a girl
attracted by the glamor of the life and flattery of its satellites. What
the end of it all might be I preferred not to guess.
Craig was looking about at the variegated crowd. Suddenly he jogged my
elbow. There, just around the turn of the railing of the gallery, sat a
young man, dark of hair and eyes, of a rather distinguished foreign
appearance, his face set in a scowl as he looked down on the heads of
the dancers. One could have followed the tortuous course of Gloria and
her partner by his eyes, which the man never took off her, even
following her back to the table in the corner when the encore of the
dance was finished.
The young man's face at least was familiar to me, though I had not met
him. It was Signor Franconi, quietly watching Gloria and her gay party.
After a few moments, Craig rose, paid his check, and moved over to the
table where Franconi was sitting alone. He introduced himself and
Franconi, with easy politeness, invited us to join him.
I studied the man's face attentively. Signor Franconi was still young,
in spite of the honors that had been showered on him for his many
inventions. I had wondered before why such a man would be interested in
a girl of Gloria's evident type. But as I studied him I fancied I
understood. To his serious mind it was just the butterfly type that
offered the greatest relief. An intellectual woman would have been
merely carrying into another sphere the problems with which he was more
than capable of wrestling. But there was no line of approval in his fine
face of the butterfly and candle-singeing process that was going on
here. I must say I heartily liked him.
"What are you working on now?" asked Kennedy as a preliminary step to
drawing him out against the time when we might become better acquainted
and put the conversation on a firmer basis.
"A system of wireless transmission of pictures," he returned
mechanically. "I think I have vastly improved the system of Dr. Korn.
You are familiar with it, I presume?"
Kennedy nodded. "I have seen it work," he said simply.
That telephotograph apparatus, I remembered, depended on the ability of
the element selenium to vary the strength of an electric current passing
through it in proportion to the brightness with which the selenium is
illuminated.
"That system," he resumed, speaking as though his mind was not on the
subject particularly just now, "produces
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