and had temporarily shaken off the cares of business, his eyes
were of the most restful, beautiful blue, like the sky after
sunrise on a Spring morning, and looking into their serene depths
it seemed absurd to think that this man could ever harm a fly. His
face, while under the spell of this kindly mood, was so benevolent
and gentle, so frank and honest that you felt there was nothing in
the world--purse, honour, wife, child--that, if needs be, you
would not entrust to his keeping.

When this period of truce was ended, when the plutocrat was once
more absorbed in controlling the political as well as the
commercial machinery of the nation, then his eyes took on a
snakish, greenish hue, and one could plainly read in them the
cunning, the avariciousness, the meanness, the insatiable thirst
for gain that had made this man the most unscrupulous money-getter
of his time. But his eyes had still another colour, and when this
last transformation took place those dependent on him, and even
his friends, quaked with fear. For they were his eyes of anger. On
these dreaded occasions his eyes grew black as darkest night and
flashed fire as lightning rends the thundercloud. Almost
ungovernable fury was, indeed, the weakest spot in John Ryder's
armour, for in these moments of appalling wrath he was reckless of
what he said or did, friendship, self-interest, prudence--all were
sacrificed.

Such was the Colossus on whom all eyes were turned as he entered.
Instantly the conversations, stopped as by magic. The directors
nudged each other and whispered. Instinctively, Ryder singled out
his crony, Senator Roberts, who advanced with effusive gesture: