[Illustration: "I beg your pardon. Is this a private raft?"]

THE BEAUTY AND THE BOLSHEVIST

By ALICE DUER MILLER_Author of_"_ The Charm School_""_Ladies must Live_""_Come out of the Kitchen_"_etc_. 

Illustrated

1920

ILLUSTRATIONS

 "I beg your pardon. Is this a private raft?" "Mr. Moreton, the Newport boat leaves at five-thirty" "I'll be there in five minutes, in a little blue car" "Suppose you find you do hate being poor?"

THE BEAUTY AND THE BOLSHEVIST

CHAPTER I

The editor of that much-abused New York daily, _Liberty_, pushed backhis editorial typewriter and opened one letter in the pile which theoffice-boy--no respecter of persons--had just laid upon the desk whilewhistling a piercing tune between his teeth. 

The letter said:

 DEAR BEN, --I hate to think what your feelings will be on learning that I am engaged to be married to a daughter of the capitalistic class. Try to overcome your prejudices, however, and judge Eugenia as an individual and not as a member of a class. She has very liberal ideas, reads your paper, and is content to go with me to Monroe College and lead the life of an instructor's wife. You will be glad to know that Mr. Cord disapproves as much as you do, and will not give his daughter a cent, so that our life will be as hard on the physical side as you in your most affectionate moments could desire. Mr. Cord is under the impression that lack of an income will cool my ardor. You see he could not think worse of me if he were my own brother. 

 Yours, DAVID. 

The fine face of the editor darkened. It was the face of anidealist--the deep-set, slowly changing eyes, the high cheek bones, but the mouth closed firmly, almost obstinately, and contradicted therest of the face with a touch of aggressiveness, just as in Lincoln'sface the dreamer was contradicted by the shrewd, practical mouth. Hecrossed his arms above the elbow so that one long hand dangled on oneside of his knees and one on the other--a favorite pose of his--andsat thinking. 

The editor was often called a Bolshevist--as who is not in these days?For language is given us not only to conceal thought, but often toprevent it, and every now and then when the problems of the worldbecome too complex and too vital, some one stops all thought on asubject by inventing a tag, like "witch" in the seventeenth century, or "Bolshevist" in the twentieth. 

Ben Moreton was not a Bolshevist; indeed, he had written severaleditorials to show that, in his opinion, their doctrines were notsound, but of course the people who denounced him never thoughtof reading his paper. He was a socialist, a believer in governmentownership, and, however equably he attempted to examine any disputebetween capital and labor, he always found for labor. He was muchdenounced by ultraconservatives, and perhaps their instinct was sound, for he was educated, determined, and possessed of a personality thatattached people warmly, so that he was more dangerous than those whosedoctrines were more militant. He was not wholly trusted by the extremeradicals. His views were not consistently agreeable to either group. For instance, he believed that the conscientious objectors were reallyconscientious, a creed for which many people thought he ought to bedeported. On the other hand, he doubted that Wall Street had startedthe war for its own purposes, a skepticism which made some of hisfriends think him just fit for a bomb. 

The great problem of his life was how to hold together a body ofliberals so that they could be effective. This problem was going to beimmensely complicated by the marriage of his brother with the daughterof a conspicuous capitalist like William Cord. 

He pushed the buzzer on his desk and wrote out the following telegram:

 David Moreton, Care William Cord, Newport, R. I. 

 Am taking boat Newport to-night. Meet me. 

 Ben. 

No one answered his buzzer, but presently a boy came in collectingcopy, and Moreton said to him:

"Here, get this sent, and ask Klein to come here. He's in thecomposing room. "

And presently Mr. Klein entered, in the characteristic dress of thenewspaper man--namely, shirt sleeves and a green shade over his eyes. 

"Look here, Ben!" he exclaimed in some excitement. "Here's athousand-dollar check just come in for the strike fund. How's that forthe second day?"

"Good enough, " said Ben, who would ordinarily have put in a good hourrejoicing over such unexpected good fortune, but whose mind was nowon other things. "I have to go out of town to-night. You'll be here, won't you, to lock the presses? And, see here, Leo, what is the matterwith our book page?"

"Pretty rotten page, " replied Klein. 

"I should say it was--all about taxes and strikes and economic crises. I told Green never to touch those things in the book reviews. Our readers get all they want of that from us in the news and theeditorials--hotter, better stuff, too. I've told him not to touch'em in the book page, and he runs nothing else. He ought tobe beautiful--ought to talk about fairies, and poetry, andtwelfth-century art. What's the matter with him?"

"He doesn't know anything, " said Klein. "That's his trouble. He'sclever, but he doesn't know much. I guess he only began to read booksa couple years ago. They excite him too much. He wouldn't read a fairystory. He'd think he was wasting time. "

"Get some one to help him out. "

"Who'd I get?"

"Look about. I've got to go home and pack a bag. Ask Miss Cox whattime that Newport boat leaves. "

"Newport! Great heavens, Ben! What is this? A little week-end?"

"A little weak brother, Leo. "

"David in trouble again?"

Moreton nodded. "He thinks he's going to marry William Cord'sdaughter. "

Klein, who was Ben's friend as well as his assistant, blanched at thename. 

"Cord's daughter!" he exclaimed, and if he had said Jack-the-ripper's, he could not have expressed more horror. "Now isn't it queer, " he wenton, musingly, "that David, brought up as he has been, can see anythingto attract him in a girl like that?"

Ben was tidying his desk preparatory to departure--that is to say, hewas pushing all the papers far enough back to enable him to close theroller top, and he answered, absently:

"Oh, I suppose they're all pretty much the same--girls. "

"Why, what do you mean?" said Leo, reproachfully. "How can a girlwho's been brought up to be a parasite--to display the wealth of herfather and husband, and has never done a useful thing since she wasborn--Why, a woman was telling me the other day--I got caught in ablock in the subway and she was next me--awfully interesting, she was. She sewed in one of these fashionable dressmaking establishments--andthe things she told me about what those women spend on theirclothes--underclothes and furs and everything. Now there must besomething wrong with a woman who can spend money on those things whenshe knows the agony of poverty right around her. You can't comparethat sort of woman with a self-respecting, self-supporting girl--"

At this moment the door opened and Miss Cox entered. She wore ashort-sleeved, low-neck, pink-satin blouse, a white-satin skirt, open-work stockings, and slippers so high in the heels that her anklesturned inward. Her hair was treated with henna and piled untidilyon the top of her head. She was exactly what Klein had described--aself-respecting, self-supporting girl, but, on a superficialacquaintance, men of Cord's group would have thought quite as badly ofher as Klein did of fashionable women. They would have been mistaken. Miss Cox supported her mother, and, though only seventeen, deniedherself all forms of enjoyment except dress and an occasional movie. She was conscientious, hard-working, accurate, and virtuous. She lovedBen, whom she regarded as wise, beautiful, and generous, but she wouldhave died rather than have him or anyone know it. 

She undulated into the room, dropped one hip lower than the other, placed her hand upon it and said, with a good deal of enunciation:

"Oh, Mr. Moreton, the Newport boat leaves at five-thirty. "

"Thank you very much, Miss Cox, " said Ben, gravely, and she went outagain. 

[Illustration: "Mr. Moreton, the Newport boat leaves at five-thirty"]

"It would be a terrible thing for Dave to make a marriage like that, "Klein went on as soon as she had gone, "getting mixed up with thosefellows. And it would be bad for you, Ben--"

"I don't mean to get mixed up with them, " said Ben. 

"No, I mean having Dave do it. It would kill the paper; it wouldendanger your whole position; and as for leadership, you could neverhope--"

"Now, look here, Leo. You don't think I can stop my brother's marryingbecause it might be a poor connection for me? The point is that itwouldn't be good for Dave--to be a poorly tolerated hanger-on. That'swhy I'm going hot-foot to Newport. And while I'm away do try to dosomething about the book page. Get me a culture-hound--get one ofthese Pater specialists from Harvard. Or, " he added, with suddeninspiration when his hand was already on the door, "get a woman--she'dhave a sense of beauty and would know how to jolly Green into agreeingwith her. " And with this the editor was gone. 

It was the end of one of those burning weeks in August that New Yorkoften knows. The sun went down as red as blood every evening behindthe Palisades, and before the streets and roofs had ceased to radiateheat the sun was up again above Long Island Sound, as hot and red asever. As Ben went uptown in the Sixth Avenue Elevated he could seepale children hanging over the railings of fire escapes, andbehind them catch glimpses of dark, crowded rooms which had all thedisadvantages of caves without the coolness. But to-day he was tooconcentrated on his own problem to notice. 

Since Ben's sixteenth year his brother David had been dependent onhim. Their father had been professor of economics in a college in thatpart of the United States which Easterners describe as the "MiddleWest. " In the gay days when muck-raking was at its height ProfessorMoreton had lost his chair because he had denounced in his lectureroom financial operations which to-day would be against the law. Atthat time they were well thought of, and even practiced by the eminentphilanthropist who had endowed the very chair which Moreton occupied. The trustees felt that it was unkind and unnecessary to complicatetheir already difficult duties by such tactlessness, and their heartsbegan to turn against Moreton, as most of our hearts turn againstthose who make life too hard for us. Before long they asked himto resign on account of his age--he was just sixty and extremelyvigorous; but immediately afterward, having been deeply surprisedand hurt, he did what Goldsmith recommends to lovely woman under notdissimilar circumstances--he died. He left his two young sons--he hadmarried late in life--absolutely unprovided for. Ben, the elder of thetwo, was sixteen, and just ready for college; but he could not givefour precious years to an academic degree. He went to work. With thebackground of an educated environment and a very sound knowledge ofeconomic questions, breathed in from his earliest days, he found aplace at once on a new paper--or, rather, on an old paper justbeing converted into a new organ of liberalism--_Liberty_. It wasindependent in politics, and was supposed to be independent ineconomic questions, but by the time Ben worked up to the editorship itwas well recognized to be an anticapitalist sheet. The salary of itseditor, though not large, was sufficient to enable him to send hisyounger brother through college, with the result that David, a littleweak, a little self-indulgent, a little--partly through physicalcauses--disinclined to effort, was now a poet, a classicist and aninstructor in a fresh-water college. Ben made him an allowance toenable him to live--the college not thinking this necessary for itsinstructors. But during the war Ben had not been able to manage theallowance, because, to the surprise of many of his friends, Ben hadvolunteered early. 

Although the reasons for doing this seemed absurdly simple to him, thedecision had been a difficult one. He was a pacifist--saw no virtuein war whatsoever. He wished to convert others to his opinion--unlikemany reformers who prefer to discuss questions only with those whoalready agree with them. He argued that the speeches of a man who hadbeen through war, or, better still, the posthumous writings of one whohas been killed in war, would have more weight with the public thanthe best logic of one who had held aloof. But his radical friends feltthat he was using this argument merely as an excuse for choosingthe easy path of conformity, while the few ultraconservatives whomentioned the matter at all assumed that he had been drafted againsthis will. Afterward, when the war was over and his terrible book, _War_, appeared, no one was pleased, for the excellent reason that itwas published at a moment when the whole world wanted to forgetwar entirely. The pay of a private, however, had not allowed him tocontinue David's allowance, and so David, displaying unusual energy, had found a job for himself as tutor for the summer to William Cord'sson. Ben had not quite approved of a life that seemed to him slightlyparasitical, but it was healthy and quiet and, above everything, Davidhad found it for himself, and initiative was so rare in the youngerman that Ben could not bear to crush it with disapproval. 

Increasingly, during the two years he was in France, Ben wasdispleased by David's letters. The Cords were described as kindly, well-educated people, fond one of another, considerate of the tutor, with old-fashioned traditions of American liberties. Ben asked himselfif he would have been better pleased if David's employers hadbeen cruel, vulgar, and blatant, and found the answer was in theaffirmative. It would, he thought, have been a good deal safer forDavid's integrity if he had not been so comfortable. 

For two summers Ben had made no protest, but the third summer, whenthe war was over and the allowance again possible, he urged David notto go back to Newport. David flatly refused to yield. He said he sawno reason why he should go on taking Ben's money when this simple wayof earning a full living was open to him. Wasn't Ben's whole theorythat everyone should be self-supporting? Why not be consistent?

Ignorant people might imagine that two affectionate brothers couldnot quarrel over an issue purely affectionate. But the Moretons didquarrel--more bitterly than ever before, and that is saying a greatdeal. With the extraordinary tenacity of memory that developsunder strong emotion, they each contrived to recall and to mentioneverything which the other had done that was wrong, ridiculous, orhumiliating since their earliest days. They parted with the impressionon David's part that Ben thought him a self-indulgent grafter, andon Ben's side that David thought him a bully solely interested inimposing his will on those unfortunate enough to be dependent on him. 

It was after half past four when, having walked up five flights ofstairs, he let himself into his modest flat on the top floor of anold-fashioned brownstone house. As he opened the door, he called, "Nora!"

No beautiful partner of a free-love affair appeared, but an elderlywoman in spectacles who had once been Professor Moreton's cook, and now, doing all the housework for Ben, contrived to make him socomfortable that the editor of a more radical paper than his own haddescribed the flat as "a bourgeois interior. "

"Nora, " said Ben, "put something in my bag for the night--I'm going toNewport in a few minutes. "

He had expected a flood of questions, for Nora was no looker-on atlife, and he was surprised by her merely observing that she was gladhe was getting away from the heat. The truth was that she knew farmore about David than he did. She had consistently coddled David sincehis infancy, and he told her a great deal. Besides, she took careof his things when he was at Ben's. She had known of sachets, photographs, and an engraved locket that he wore on his watch-chain. She was no radical. She had seen disaster come upon the old professorand attributed it, not to the narrowness of the trustees, but to thefolly of the professor. She disapproved of most of Ben's friends, andwould have despised his paper if she ever read it. The only goodthing about it in her estimation was, he seemed to be able "to knocka living out of it"--a process which Nora regarded with a sort of gaycasualness. She did not blame him for making so little money andthus keeping her housekeeping cramped, but she never in her own minddoubted that it would be far better if he had more. The idea thatDavid was about to marry money seemed to her simply the reward ofvirtue--her own virtue in bringing David up so well. She knew that Mr. Cord opposed the marriage, but she supposed that Ben would arrange allthat. She had great confidence in Ben. Still he was very young, veryyoung, so she gave him a word of advice as she put his bag into hishand. 

"Don't take any nonsense. Remember you're every bit as good as they. Only don't, for goodness' sake, Mr. Ben, talk any of your ideas tothem. A rich man like Mr. Cord wouldn't like that. "

Ben laughed. "How would you like me to bring you home a lovely heiressof my own?" he said. 

She took a thread off his coat. "Only don't let her come interferingin my kitchen, " she said, and hurried him away. He had a good deal ofcourage, but he had not enough to tell Nora he was going to Newport tostop her darling's marriage. 

The Newport boat gets to Newport about two o'clock in the morning, andexperienced travelers, if any such choose this method of approach, goon to Fall River and take a train back to Newport, arriving in timefor a comfortable nine-o'clock breakfast. But Ben was not experienced, and he supposed that when you took a boat for Newport and reachedNewport the thing to do was to get off the boat. 

It had been a wonderful night on the Sound, and Ben had not been tobed, partly because, applying late on a Friday evening, he had notbeen able to get a room, but partly because the moon and the southerlybreeze and the silver shores of Long Island and the red and whitelighthouses had been too beautiful to leave. Besides, he had wanted tothink out carefully what he was going to say to his brother. 

To separate a man from the woman he loves, however unwisely, has someof the same disadvantages as offering a bribe--one respects the otherperson less in proportion as one succeeds. What, Ben said to himself, could he urge against a girl he did not know? Yet, on the other hand, if he had known her, his objections would have seemed regrettablypersonal. Either way, it was difficult to know what to say. Hewondered what Cord had said, and smiled to think that here was oneobject for which he and Cord were co-operating--only Cord would neverbelieve it. That was one trouble with capitalists--they always thoughtthemselves so damned desirable. And Ben did not stop to inquire how itwas that capitalists had gained this impression. 

On the pier he looked about for David, but there was no David. Ofcourse the boy had overslept, or hadn't received his telegram--Bensaid this to himself, but somehow the vision of David comfortablyasleep in a luxurious bed in the Cords's house irritated him. 

His meditations were broken in upon by a negro boy with an openhack, who volunteered to "take him up for fifty cents. " It soundedreasonable. Ben got in and they moved slowly down the narrow pier, thehorses' hoofs clumping lazily on the wooden pavement. Turning past thealley of Thames Street, still alight at three o'clock in the morning, Ben stopped at the suggestion of his driver and left his bag ata hotel, and then they went on up the hill, past the tower of theSkeleton in Armor, past old houses with tall, pillared porticoes, reminiscent of the days when the South patronized Newport, and turnedinto Bellevue Avenue--past shops with names familiar to Fifth Avenue, past a villa with bright-eyed owls on the gateposts, past many large, silent houses and walled gardens. 

The air was very cool, and now and then the scent of some floweringbush trailed like a visible cloud across their path. Then suddenly thewhole avenue was full of little red lights, like the garden in "Faust"when Mephistopheles performs his magic on it. Here and there the hugeheadlights of a car shone on the roadway, magnifying every rut in theasphalt, and bringing out strange, vivid shades in the grass and thehydrangea bushes. They were passing a frowning palace set on a pieceof velvet turf as small as a pocket handkerchief--so small that thelighted windows were plainly visible from the road. 

"Stop, " said Ben to his driver. He had suddenly realized how long itmust be before he could rouse the Cord household. 

He paid his driver, got out, and made his way up the drivewaytoward the house. Groups of chauffeurs were standing about theircars--vigorous, smartly dressed men, young for the most part. Benwondered if it were possible that they were content with the presentarrangement, and whether their wives and children were not stifling inthe city at that very moment. He caught a sentence here and there ashe passed. "And, believe me, " one was saying, "as soon as he got intothe box he did not do a thing to that fellar from Tiverton--" Ben'sfootsteps lagged a little. He was a baseball fan. He almost forgavethe chauffeurs for being content. They seemed to him human beings, after all. 

He approached the house, and, walking past a narrow, unroofed piazza, he found himself opposite a long window. He looked straight into theballroom. The ball was a fancy ball--the best of the season. It wascalled a Balkan Ball, which gave all the guests the opportunity ofdressing pretty much as they pleased. The wood of the long paneledroom was golden, and softened the light from the crystal appliquesalong the wall, and set off the bright dresses of the dancers as agold bowl sets off the colors of fruit. 

Every now and then people stepped out on the piazza, and as they didthey became audible to Ben for a few seconds. First, two middle-agedmen, solid, bronzed, laughing rather wickedly together. Ben drew back, afraid of what he might overhear, but it turned out to be no veryguilty secret. "My dear fellow, " one was saying, "I gave him a strokea hole, and he's twenty years younger than I am--well, fifteen anyhow. The trouble with these young men is that they lack--"

Ben never heard what it was that young men lacked. 

Next came a boy and a girl, talking eagerly, the girl's handgesticulating at her round, red lips. Ben had no scruples inoverhearing them--theirs appeared to be the universal secret. But hereagain he was wrong. She was saying: "Round and round--not up and down. My dentist says that if you always brush them round and round--"

Then two young men--boys, with cigarettes drooping from their lips;they were saying, "I haven't pitched a game since before the war, buthe said to go in and get that Tiverton fellow, and so--" Ben saw thathe was in the presence of the hero of the late game. He forgave him, too. 

As a matter of fact, he had never given the fashionable worldenough attention to hate it. He knew that Leo Klein derived a veryrevivifying antagonism from reading about it, and often bought himselfan entrance to the opera partly because he loved music, but partly, Ben always thought, because he liked to look up at the boxes and hatethe occupants for their jewels and inattention. But Ben watched thespectacle with as much detachment as he would have watched a springdance among the Indians. 

And then suddenly his detachment melted away, for a lovely girl camethrough the window--lovely with that particular and specific kind ofloveliness which Ben thought of when he used the word--_his_ kind. Heused to wonder afterward how he had known it at that first glimpse, for, in the dim light of the piazza, he could not see some of hergreatest beauties--the whiteness of her skin, white as milk where herclose, fine, brown hair began, or the blue of the eyes set at an anglewhich might have seemed Oriental in eyes less enchanting turquoise incolor. But he could see her slenderness and grace. She was dressed inclinging blues and greens and she wore a silver turban. She leaned herhands on the railings--she turned them out along the railings; theywere slender and full of character--not soft. Ben looked at the onenearest him. With hardly more than a turn of his head he could havekissed it. The idea appealed to him strongly; he played with it, justas when he was a child in a college town he had played with the ideaof getting up in church and walking about on the backs of the pews. This would be pleasanter, and the subsequent getaway even easier. Heglanced at the dark lawn behind him; there appeared to be no obstacleto escape. 

Perhaps, under the spell of her attraction for him, and the knowledgethat he would never see her again, he might actually have done it, butshe broke the trance by speaking to a tall, stolid young man who waswith her. 

"No, Eddie, " she said, as if answering something he had said some timeago, "I really was at home, at just the time I said, only this newbutler does hate you so--"

"You might speak to him about it--you might even get rid of him, "replied the young man, in the tone of one deeply imposed upon. 

"Good butlers are so rare nowadays. "

"And are devoted friends so easy to find?"

"No, but a good deal easier than butlers, Eddie dear. "

The young man gave an exclamation of annoyance. "Let us find someplace out of the way. I want to speak to you seriously--" he began, and they moved out of earshot--presumably to a secluded spot ofEddie's choosing. 

When they had gone Ben felt distinctly lonely, and, what was moreabsurd, slighted, as if Eddie had deliberately taken the girl awayfrom him--out of reach. How silly, he thought, for Eddie to want totalk to her, when it was so clear the fellow did not know how to talkto her. How silly to say, in the sulky tone, "Are devoted friendsso easy to find?" Of course they were--for a girl like that--devotedfriends, passionate lovers, and sentimental idiots undoubtedly blockedher path. 

It might have been some comfort to him to know that in the remote spotof his own choosing, a stone bench under a purple beech, Eddie wassimply going from bad to worse. 

"Dear Crystal, " he began, with that irritating reasonableness ofmanner which implies that the speaker is going to be reasonable fortwo, "I've been thinking over the situation. I know that you don'tlove me, but then I don't believe you will ever be deeply in love withany one. I don't think you are that kind of woman. "

"Oh, Eddie, how dreadful!"

"I don't see that at all. Just as well, perhaps. You don't want to getyourself into such a position as poor Eugenia. "

"I do, I would. I'd give anything to be as much in love as Eugenia. "

"What? With a fellow like that! A complete outsider. "

"Outside of what? The human race?"

"Well, no, " said Eddie, as if he were yielding a good deal, "butoutside of your traditions and your set. "

"My set! Good for him to be outside of it, I say. What have they everdone to make anyone want to be inside of it? Why, David is an educatedgentleman. To hear him quote Horace--"

"Horace who?"

"Really, Eddie. "

"Oh, I see. You mean the poet. That's nothing to laugh at, Crystal. Itwas a natural mistake. I thought, of course, you meant some of thoseanarchists who want to upset the world. "

Crystal looked at him more honestly and seriously than she had yetdone. 

"Well, don't you think there _is_ something wrong with the presentarrangement of things, Eddie?"

"No, I don't, and I hate to hear you talk like a socialist. "

"I am a socialist. "

"You're nothing of the kind. "

"I suppose I know what I am. "

"Not at all--not at all. "

"I certainly think the rich are too rich, while the poor are sohorridly poor. "

"_You'd_ get on well without your maid and your car and your father'scharge accounts at all the shops, wouldn't you?"

Though agreeable to talk seriously if you agree, it is correspondinglydangerous if you disagree. Crystal stood up, trembling with an emotionwhich Eddie, although he was rather angry himself, considered utterlyunaccountable. 

"Yes, " she said, almost proudly, "I _am_ luxurious, I _am_ dependenton those things. But whose fault is that? It's the way I was broughtup--it's all wrong. But, even though I am dependent on them, I believeI could exist without them. I'd feel like killing myself if I didn'tthink so. Sometimes I want to go away and find out if I couldn'tlive and be myself without all this background of luxury. But at theworst--I'm just one girl--suppose I were weak and couldn't get onwithout them? That wouldn't prove that they are right. I'm not soblinded that I can't see that a system by which I profit may still beabsolutely wrong. But you always seem to think, Eddie, that it'spart of the Constitution of the United States that you should haveeverything you've always had. "

Eddie rose, too, with the manner of a man who has allowed things togo far enough. "Look here, my dear girl, " he said, "I am a man and I'molder than you, and have seen more of the world. I know you don'tmean any harm, but I must tell you that this is very wicked, dangeroustalk. "

"Dangerous, perhaps, Eddie, but I can't see how it can be wicked towant to give up your special privileges. "

"Where in the world do you pick up ideas like this?"

"I inherited them from an English ancestor of mine, who gave up allthat he had when he enlisted in Washington's army. "

"You got that stuff, " said Eddie, brushing this aside, "from DavidMoreton, and that infernal seditious paper his brother edits--and thatwhite-livered book which I haven't read against war. I'd like to putthem all in jail. "

"It's a pity, " said Crystal, "that your side can't think of a betterargument than putting everyone who disagrees with you in jail. "

With this she turned and left him, and, entering the ballroom, flungherself into the arms of the first partner she met. It was a timidboy, who, startled by the eagerness with which she chose him, withher bright eyes and quickly drawn breath, was just coming tothe conclusion that a lovely, rich, and admired lady, had fallenpassionately in love with him, when with equal suddenness she steppedout of his arms and was presently driving her small, open car down theavenue. 

Under the purple beech Eddie, left alone, sank back on the stone benchand considered, somewhat as the persecutors of Socrates may have done, suitable punishments for those who put vile, revolutionary ideas intothe heads of young and lovely women. 

In the meantime Ben, who had enjoyed the party more than most of theinvited guests, and far more than the disconsolate Eddie, had left hisvantage point at the window. He had suddenly become aware of a strangelight stealing under the trees, and, looking up, he saw withsurprise that the stars were growing small and the heavens turningsteel-color--in fact, that it was dawn. 

Convinced that sunrise was a finer sight than the end of the grandestball that ever was given, he made his way down a shabby back lane, and before long came out on the edge of the cliffs, with the wholepanorama of sunrise over the Atlantic spread out before him. 

He stood there a moment, somebody's close, well-kept lawn under hisfeet, and a pale-pink sea sucking in and out on the rocks a hundredfeet below. The same hot, red sun was coming up; there wasn't a steadybreeze, but cool salt puffs came to him now and then with a breakingwave. It was going to be a hot day, and Ben liked swimming better thanmost things in life. He hesitated. 

If he had turned to the left, he would have come presently to a publicbeach and would have had his swim conventionally and in due time. Butsome impulse told him to turn to the right, and he began to wanderwestward along the edge of the cliffs--always on his left hand, spaceand the sea, and on his right, lawns or gardens or parapets crownedby cactus plants in urns, and behind these a great variety ofhouses--French chateaux and marble palaces and nice little whitecottages, and, finally, a frowning Gothic castle. All alike seemedasleep, with empty piazzas and closed shutters, and the only sign oflife he saw in any of them was one pale housemaid shaking a duster outof a window in an upper gable. 

At last he came to a break in the cliffs--a cove, with a beach in it, a group of buildings obviously bathing-houses. The sacredness of thispavilion did not occur to Ben; indeed, there was nothing to suggestit. He entered it light-heartedly and was discouraged to find the doorof every cabin securely locked. The place was utterly deserted. ButBen was persistent, and presently he detected a bit of a garmenthanging over a door, and, pulling it out, he found himself inpossession of a man's bathing suit. A little farther on he discovereda telephone room unlocked. Here he undressed and a minute later wasswimming straight out to sea. 

The level rays of the sun were doing to the water just what theheadlights of the motors had done to the road; they were enlargingevery ripple and edging the deep purple-blue with yellow light. Exceptfor a fishing dory chunking out to its day's work, Ben had the seaand land to himself. He felt as if they were all his own, and, fora socialist, was guilty of the sin of pride of possession. He wasenjoying himself so much that it was a long time before he turned toswim back. 

He was swimming with his head under water most of the time so that hedid not at once notice that a raft he had passed on his way out wasnow occupied. As soon as he did see it his head came up. It was afemale figure, and even from a distance he could see that she wasunconscious of his presence and felt quite as sure of having the worldto herself as he was. She was sitting on the edge of the raft, kickinga pair of the prettiest legs in the world in and out of the water. They were clad in the thinnest of blue-silk stockings, the same inwhich a few minutes before she had been dancing, but not being ableto find any others in her bathhouse, she had just kept them on, recklessly ignoring the inevitable problem of what she should wearhome. She was leaning back on her straightened arms, with her headback, looking up into the sky and softly whistling to herself. Ben sawin a second that she was the girl of the silver turban. 

He stole nearer and nearer, cutting silently through the water, and then, when he had looked his fill, he put his head down again, splashed a little, and did not look up until his hand was on the raft, when he allowed an expression of calm surprise to appear on his face. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said. "Is this a private raft?"

The young lady, who had had plenty of time since the splash toarrange her countenance, looked at him with a blank coldness, and thensuddenly smiled. 

"I thought it was a private world, " she replied. 

"It's certainly a very agreeable one, " said Ben, climbing on the raft. "And what I like particularly about it is the fact that no one isalive but you and me. Newport appears to be a city of the dead. "

"It always was, " she answered, contemptuously. 

"Oh, come. Not an hour ago you were dancing in blue and green and asilver turban at a party over there, " and he waved his hand in thedirection from which he had come. 

"Did you think it was a good ball?"

"I enjoyed it, " he answered, truthfully. 

Her face fell. "How very disappointing, " she said. "I didn't see youthere. "

"Disappointing that you did not see me there?"

"No, " she replied, and then, less positively; "No; I meant it wasdisappointing that you were the kind of man who went to parties--andenjoyed them. "

"It would be silly to go if you didn't enjoy them, " he returned, lightly. 

She turned to him very seriously. "You're right, " she said; "it issilly--very silly, and it's just what I do. I consider parties likethat the lowest, emptiest form of human entertainment. They're dull;they're expensive; they keep you from doing intelligent things, like studying; they keep you from doing simple, healthy things, likesleeping and exercising; they make you artificial; they make you civilto people you despise--they make women, at least, for we must havepartners--"

"But why do you go, then?"

She was silent, and they looked straight and long at each other. Thenshe said, gravely:

"The answer's very humiliating. I go because I haven't anything elseto do. "

He did not reassure her. "Yes, that's bad, " he said, after a second. "But of course you could not expect to have anything else to do whenall your time is taken up like that. 'When the half gods go, ' youknow, 'the gods arrive. '"

The quotation was not new to Crystal; in fact, she had quoted it toEddie not very long before, apropos of another girl to whom he hadshown a mild attention, but it seemed to her as if she took in for thefirst time its real meaning. Whether it was the dawn, exhaustion, astimulating personality, love, or mere accident, the words now cameto her with all the beauty and truth of a religious conviction. Theyseemed to shake her and make her over. She felt as if she could neverbe sufficiently grateful to the person who had thus made all lifefresh and new to her. 

"Ah, " she said, very gently, "that's it. I see. You won't believe me, but I assure you from now on I mean to be entirely different. "

"Please, not too different. "

"Oh yes, yes, as different as possible. I've been so unhappy, andunhappy about nothing definite--that's the worst kind, only that Ihave not liked the life I was leading. "

She glanced at him appealingly. She had tried to tell this simplestory to so many people, for she had many friends, and yet no one hadever really understood. Some had told her she was spoiled, more, thatthere was no use in trying to change her life because she would soonmarry; most of them had advised her to marry and find out what realtrouble was. Now, as she spoke she saw that this strange young manfrom the sea not only understood her discontent, but thought itnatural, almost commonplace. 

She poured it all out. "Only the worst thing, " she ended, "is that I'mnot really any good. There isn't anything else that I know how to do. "

"I doubt that, " he answered, and she began to doubt it, too. "I'm surethere are lots of things you could do if you put your mind on it. Didyou ever try to write?"

Now, indeed, she felt sure that he was gifted with powers morethan mortal--to have guessed this secret which no one else had eversuspected. She colored deeply. 

"Why, yes, " she answered, "I think I can--a little, only I've solittle education. "

"So little education?"

"Yes, I belong to the cultivated classes--three languages and nothingsolid. "

"Well, you know, three languages seem pretty solid to me, " said Ben, who had wrestled very unsuccessfully with the French tongue. "Youspeak three languages, and let me see, you know a good deal aboutpainting and poetry and jade and Chinese porcelains?"

She shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. "Oh, of course everyoneknows about those things, but what good are they?"

They were a good deal of good to Ben. He pressed on toward his finalgoal. "What is your attitude toward fairies?" he asked, and MissCox would have heard in his tone a faint memory of his voice when heengaged a new office-boy. 

Her attitude toward fairies was perfectly satisfactory, and he showedso much appreciation that she went on and told him her great secretin full. She had once had something published and been paid money forit--fifteen dollars--and probably never in her life had she spoken ofany sum with so much respect. It had been, well, a sort of a review ofa new illustrated edition of Hans Andersen's Tales, treating them asif they were modern stories, commenting on them from the point ofview of morals and probability--making fun of people who couldn't givethemselves up to the charm of a story unless it tallied with their ownhorrid little experiences of life. She told it, she said, very badly, but perhaps he could get the idea. 

He got it perfectly. "Good, " he said. "I'll give you a job. I'm anewspaper editor. "

"Oh, " she exclaimed, "you're not Mr. Munsey, are you, or Mr. Reid, orMr. Ochs?"

Her knowledge of newspaper owners seemed to come to a sudden end. 

"No, " he answered, smiling, "nor even Mr. Hearst. I did not say Iowned a newspaper. I edit it. I need some one just like you for mybook page, only you'd have to come to New York and work hard, andthere wouldn't be very much salary. Can you work?"

"Anyone can. "

"Well, will you?"

"Indeed I will. " (It was a vow. ) "And now I must go. I have to drivemyself home in an open car, and the tourists do stare at one so--infancy dress. "

"Yes, but when am I to see you again? I leave Newport to-night. "

"Telephone me--2079--and we'll arrange to do something thisafternoon. "

"And whom shall I ask for?"

"Telephone at two-fifteen to the minute, and I'll answer the telephonemyself. "

She evidently rather enjoyed the mystery of their not knowing eachother's names. But a black idea occurred to Ben. She had slid off theraft and swum a few strokes before he shouted to her:

"Look here. Your name isn't Eugenia, is it?"

She waved her hand. "No, I'm Crystal, " she called back. 

"Good-by, Crystal. "

This time she did not wave, but, swimming on her side with long, easystrokes, she gave him a sweet, reassuring look. 

After she had gone he lay down on the raft with his face buried in hisarms. A few moments before he had thought he could never see enough ofthe sunrise and the sea, but now he wanted to shut it out in favor ofa much finer spectacle within him. So this was love. Strange that noone had ever been able to prepare you for it. Strange that poets hadnever been able to give you a hint of its stupendous inevitability. Hewondered if all miracles were like that--so simple--so--

Suddenly he heard her voice near him. He lifted his head from hisarms. She was there in the water below him, clinging to the raft withone hand. 

"I just came back to tell you something, " she said. "I thought youought to know it before things went any farther. "

He thought, "Good God! she's in love with some one else!" and thehorror of the idea made him look at her severely. 

"I'm not perhaps just as I seem--I mean my views are rather liberal. In fact"--she brought it out with an effort--"I'm almost a socialist. "

The relief was so great that Ben couldn't speak. He bent his head andkissed the hand that had tempted him a few hours before. 

She did not resent his action. Her special technique in such matterswas to pretend that such little incidents hardly came into the realmof her consciousness. She said, "At two-fifteen, then, " and swam awayfor good. 

Later in the day a gentleman who owned both a bathing house and abathing suit on Bailey's beach was showing the latter possession to agroup of friends. 

"No one can tell me that Newport isn't damp, " he said. "I haven't beenin bathing for twenty-four hours, and yet I can actually wring thewater out of my suit. "

CHAPTER II

That same morning, about ten o'clock, Mr. William Cord was shut up inthe study of his house--shut up, that is, as far as entrance from therest of the house was concerned, but very open as to windows lookingout across the grass to the sea. It was a small room, and the leatherchairs which made up most of its furnishings were worn, and thebookshelves were filled with volumes like railroad reports and _Poor'sManual_, but somehow the total effect of the room was so agreeablethat the family used it more than Mr. Cord liked. 

He was an impressive figure, tall, erect, and with that suggestionof unbroken health which had had something to do with his success inlife. His hair must have been of a sandy brown, for it had turned, not gray nor white, but that queer no-color that sandy hair does turn, melting into all pale surroundings. His long face was not vividlycolored, either, but was stamped with the immobility of expressionthat sensitive people in contact with violent life almost alwaysacquire. The result was that there seemed to be something dead abouthis face until you saw his eyes, dark and fierce, as if all the fireand energy of the man were concentrated in them. 

He was dressed in gray golfing-clothes that smelled more of peat thanpeat does, and, though officially supposed to be wrestling with themore secret part of correspondence which even his own secretary wasnot allowed to see, he was actually wiggling a new golf-club over therug, and toying with the romantic idea that it would enable him todrive farther than he had ever driven before. 

There was a knock at the door. Mr. Cord leaned the driver in a corner, clasped his hands behind his back, straddled his legs a trifle, sothat they seemed to grow out of the rug as the eternal oak grows outof the sod, and said, "Come in, " in the tone of a man who, consideringthe importance of his occupation, bears interruption exceedingly well. 

Tomes, the butler, entered. "Mr. Verriman, sir, to see you. "

"To see _me_?"

"Yes, sir. "

Cord just nodded at this, which evidently meant that the visitor wasto be admitted, for Tomes never made a mistake and Verriman presentlyentered. Mr. Cord had seen Eddie Verriman the night before at theball, and had thought him a very fine figure of a man, so now, puttingtwo and two together, he said to himself, "Is he here to ask myblessing?"

Aloud he said nothing, but just nodded; it was a belief that hadtranslated itself into a habit--to let the other man explain first. 

"I know I'm interrupting you, Mr. Cord, " Verriman began. Mr. Cord madea lateral gesture with his hand, as if all he had were at the disposalof his friends, even his most precious asset--time. 

"It's something very important, " Eddie went on. "I'm worried. Ihaven't slept. Mr. Cord, have you checked up Crystal's economicbeliefs lately?"

"Lately?" said Mr. Cord. "I don't know that I ever have. Have acigar?"

Eddie waved the cigar aside as if his host had offered it to him inthe midst of a funeral service. 

"Well, I have, " he said, as if some one had to do a parent's duty, "and I've been very much distressed--shocked. I had a long talk withher about it at the dance last night. "

"About economics?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Why, Eddie, don't I seem to remember your telling me you were in lovewith Crystal?"

"Yes, Mr. Cord, I am. "

"Then what do you want to talk economics for? Or is it done like thatnowadays?"

"I don't want to, " answered Eddie, almost in a wail. "_She_ does. Shegets me going and then we quarrel because she has terrible opinions. She talks wildly. I have to point out to her that she's wrong. Andlast night she told me"--Eddie glanced about to be sure he was notoverheard--"she told me that she was a socialist. "

Mr. Cord had just lit the very cigar which Eddie had waved away, andhe took the first critical puffs at it before he answered:

"Did you ask her what that was?"

"No--no--I didn't. "

"Missed a trick there, Eddie. "

It was impossible to accuse so masklike a magnate of frivolity, butEddie was often dissatisfied with Mr. Cord's reactions to the seriousproblems of life. 

"But don't you think it's terrible, " he went on, eagerly, "for Crystalto be a socialist? In this age of the world--civilization trembling onthe brink--chaos"--Eddie made a gesture toward the perfectly orderedshelves containing _Poor's Manual_--"staring us in the face? You saythat the half-baked opinions of an immature girl make no difference?"

"No, I shouldn't say that--at least not to Crystal, " murmured herfather. 

"But the mere fact that she picks up such ideas proves that they arein the air about us and that terrifies me--terrifies me, " ended Eddie, his voice rising as he saw that his host intended to remain perfectlycalm. 

"Which terrifies you, Eddie--Crystal or the revolution?"

"The general discontent--the fact that civilization is tr--"

"Oh yes, that, " said Mr. Cord, hastily. "Well, I wouldn't allow thatto terrify me, Eddie. I should have more sympathy with you if it hadbeen Crystal. Crystal is a good deal of a proposition, I grant you. The revolution seems to me simpler. If a majority of our fellowcountrymen really want it, they are going to get it in spite of youand me; and if they don't want it, they won't have it no matterhow Crystal talks to you at parties. So cheer up, Eddie, and have acigar. "

"They can, they will, " said Eddie, not even troubling to wave away thecigar this time. "You don't appreciate what an organized minority offoreign agitators can do in this country. Why, they can--"

"Well, if a minority of foreigners can put over a revolution againstthe will of the American people, we ought to shut up shop, Eddie. "

"You're not afraid?"

"No. "

"You mean you wouldn't fight it?"

"You bet your life I'd fight it, " said Mr. Cord, gayly, "but I fightlots of things without being afraid of them. What's the use of beingafraid? Here I am sixty-five, conservative and trained to only onegame, and yet I feel as if I could manage to make my own way evenunder soviet rule. Anyway, I don't want to die or emigrate justbecause my country changes its form of government. Only it would haveto be the wish of the majority, and I don't believe it ever will be. In the meantime there is just one thing I _am_ afraid of--andthat's the thing that you and most of my friends want to dofirst--suppressing free speech; if you suppress it, we won't know whowants what. Then you really do get an explosion. "

Eddie had got Mr. Cord to be serious now, with the unfortunate resultthat the older man was more shocking than ever. 

"Free speech doesn't mean treason and sedition, " Eddie began. 

"It means the other man's opinion. "

There was a pause during which Eddie became more perturbed and Mr. Cord settled back to his habitual calm. 

"Wouldn't you suppress _anything_?" Verriman asked at length, willingto know the worst. "Not even such a vile sheet as _Liberty_?"

"Do you ever see it, Eddie?"

"Read a rotten paper like that? Certainly not. Do you?"

"I subscribe to it. " And, bending down, Mr. Cord unlocked a drawer inhis desk and produced the issue of the preceding day. 

"I notice you keep it locked up, " said Eddie, and felt that he hadscored. 

"I have to, " replied Mr. Cord, "or else Crystal gets hold of it andcuts it all up into extracts--she must have sent you some--before Iget a chance to read it. Besides, it shocks Tomes. You ought to talkto Tomes, Eddie. He thinks about as you do--"

At this moment the door opened and Tomes himself entered. 

"Mr. Moreton would like to see you, sir. "

Even Cord's calm was a little disturbed by this unexpected news. 

"Mr. Moreton!" he exclaimed. "Not--not--not--not?"

"No, sir, " said Tomes, always in possession of accurate information. "His brother, I believe. "

"Show him in here, " said Cord, and added to Eddie, as Tomes left theroom: "Well, here he is--the editor himself, Eddie. You can say it allto him. "

"I don't want to see such fellows, " Verriman began. 

"Stay and protect me, Eddie. He may have a bomb in his pocket. "

"You don't really believe that he's come to--"

"No, Eddie, I don't. I think he's come like young Lochinvar--to dancea little late at the wedding. To try to persuade me to accept thatlazy, good-looking brother of his as a son-in-law. He'll have quite ajob over that. " Then, as the door opened, Mr. Cord's eyes concentratedon it and his manner became a shade sharper. "Ah, Mr. Moreton, goodmorning. Mr. Verriman--Mr. Moreton. "

Ben was a good-looking young man, but it was his expression--at onceilluminated and determined--that made him unusual. And the effect ofhis night and morning had been to intensify this, so that now, as hestood a moment in the doorway, he was a very attractive and compellingfigure. 

"I came to see my brother, Mr. Cord, " he said, simply, "but I hearhe's not here any more. If I could speak to you alone for a fewminutes--" He glanced at Eddie, whom he instantly recognized as theman who had not known how to talk to the woman in the world best worthtalking to. 

"Oh, you may speak before Mr. Verriman, " said Cord. "He knows thesituation--knows your brother--knows my children--knows about you. In fact, we were just speaking about your paper when you camein. However, I must tell you that Mr. Verriman doesn't approve of_Liberty_. At least, I believe I understood you right, Eddie. " And Mr. Cord, having thus assured himself a few minutes to regain his poise, leaned back comfortably in his chair. 

"What's wrong with the paper, Mr. Verriman?" said Ben, pleasantly. 

Eddie did not love the adventure of mental combat, but he was nocoward. "It seems to me, " he said, "that it preaches such radicalchanges in our government that it is seditious. To be frank, Mr. Moreton, I think the government ought to suppress it. "

"But we don't break the law. The government can't suppress us. "

"Then the laws ought to be changed so that it can. "

"That's all we advocate, Mr. Verriman, the changing of the law. Itisn't any more seditious for me to say it than for you to, is it?"

Of course in Eddie's opinion it was--much, much more seditious. Onlysomehow it was a difficult point to make clear, if a person was sowrongheaded he couldn't see it for himself. The point was that he, Eddie, was right in wanting the laws changed and Moreton was wrong. Anyone, it seemed to Eddie, would agree to that, unless he happenedto agree with Moreton beforehand, and those were just the people whoought to be deported, imprisoned, or even perhaps in rare instances, as examples, strung up to lamp-posts. Only each time he tried to putthese very natural opinions in words, they kept sounding wrong andtyrannical and narrow--qualities which Eddie knew he was entirelywithout. In order to counteract this effect, he tried at first tospeak very temperately and calmly, but, unhappily, this only had theeffect of making him sound patronizing to Ben's ears. 

In short, it was hardly to be expected that the discussion would beamicable, and it was not. Each man began to be angry in his own way. Eddie shouted a little, and Ben expressed himself with turns of phrasequite needlessly insulting. Ben found Verriman's assumption that theprofits of capital were bound up with patriotism, family life, andthe Christian religion almost as irritating as Verriman found Ben'sassumption that the government of labor as a class would be entirelywithout the faults that have always marked every form of classgovernment. 

"And suppose you got socialism, " said Eddie, at last, "suppose you diddivide everything up equally, don't you suppose that in a few yearsthe clever, strong, industrious men would have it all in their ownhands?"

"Very likely, " said Ben, "but that would be quite a change from thepresent arrangement, wouldn't it?"

Mr. Cord had a narrow escape from laughing out loud, which would havecost him the friendship of the man with whom on the whole he reallyagreed. He thought it was time to interfere. 

"This is very interesting, Mr. Moreton, " he said, "but I fancy itwasn't about the general radical propaganda that you came to see me. "

"No, " said Ben, turning slowly. He felt as a dog feels who is draggedout of the fight just as it begins to get exciting. "No, I came to seeyou about this unfortunate engagement of my brother's. "

"Unfortunate?" asked Mr. Cord, without criticism. 

"I should consider it so, and I understand you do, too. "

Cord did not move an eyelash; this was an absolutely new form ofattack. It had certainly never crossed his mind that any objectioncould come from the Moreton family. 

"You consider it unfortunate?" said Eddie, as if it would be mereinsolence on Ben's part to object to his brother's marrying anyone. 

"Will you give me your reasons for objecting?" said Cord. 

Ben smiled. "You ought to understand them, " he said, "for I imaginethey're pretty much the same as your own. I mean they are both foundedon class consciousness. I feel that it will be destructive to thethings I value most in David to be dependent on, or associated with, the capitalistic group. Just as you feel it will be destructive toyour daughter to be married to a tutor--a fellow with radical viewsand a seditious brother--"

"One moment, one moment, " said Cord; "you've got this all wrong sofar as I'm concerned. I do most emphatically disagree with the radicalpropaganda. I think the radical is usually just a man who hasn't gotsomething he wants. "

"And the conservative is a man who wants to keep something he's got, "said Ben, less hostilely than he had spoken to Eddie. 

"Exactly, exactly, " said Cord. "In ideality there isn't much to choosebetween them, but, generally speaking, I have more respect for the manwho has succeeded in getting something to preserve than for the manwho hasn't got anything to lose. "

"If their opportunities were equal. "

"I say in general. There is not much to choose between the two types;but there is in my opinion a shade in favor of the conservative onthe score of efficiency, and I am old-fashioned perhaps, but I likeefficiency. If it came to a fight, I should fight on the conservativeside. But this is all beside the point. My objections to your brother, Mr. Moreton, are not objections to his group or class. They arepersonal to him. Damned personal. "

"You don't like David?"

"Why, he's an attractive young fellow, but, if you'll forgive mysaying so, Mr. Moreton, I don't think he's any good. He's weak, he'sidle, he entirely lacks that aggressive will that--whether we haveyour revolution or not--is the only bulwark a woman has in this world. Why, Mr. Moreton, you are evidently a very much more advanced anddangerous radical than your brother, but I should not have half theobjection to you that I have to him. There is only one thing thatmakes a difference in this world--character. Your brother hasn't gotit. "

For an instant the perfect accuracy of Cord's statements about Davidleft Ben silent. Then he pulled himself together and said, with afirmness he did not wholly feel:

"You hardly do David justice. He may not have great force, but he hastalent, great sweetness, no vices--"

"Oh, quite, quite, quite, quite, " said Cord, with a gesture of hislong hand that should somehow have recalled to Ben the motion of ahand he had recently kissed. 

"However, " said Ben, "there is no use in arguing about ourdifferences. The point is we are agreed that this marriage ought notto be. Let us co-operate on that. Where could I find David? I believeif I could see him I'd have some effect on him. "

"You mean you could talk him out of marrying the girl he loves?"

"I might make him see the folly of it. "

"Well, I haven't said anything as bad about your brother as that, Mr. Moreton. But you do him injustice. You couldn't talk him out of it, and if you could, she'd talk him right back into it again. But thereis one thing to consider. I understand you make him an allowance. Howabout stopping that?"

"I wouldn't consider that for a moment, " said Ben, with more temperthan he had so far shown. "I don't make him that allowance so thatI can force him to do what I think best. I give it to him because heneeds it. I don't believe in force, Mr. Cord. "

"Oh yes, you do, Mr. Moreton. "

"What do you mean?"

"You were proposing to use a much more pernicious kind of force whenyou proposed talking the boy out of his first love. However, to becandid with you, I must tell you that the issue is dead. They ran offyesterday and were married in Boston. "

There was a short silence and then Ben moved toward the door. 

"Won't you stay to lunch?" said Mr. Cord, politely. 

"Thank you, no, " said Ben. He wanted to be alone. Like all dominatingpeople who don't get their own way in an altruistic issue, hisfeelings were deeply wounded. He took his hat from the disapprovingTomes, and went out to the sea to think. He supposed he was going tothink about David's future and the terrible blow his paper had justreceived. 

As the door closed behind him, Eddie turned to Mr. Cord with a worldof reproach in his eyes. 

"Well, " he said, "I must say, sir, I think you were unnecessarilygentle with that fellow. "

"Seemed to me a fine young fellow, " said Mr. Cord. 

"Asking him to lunch, " said Eddie. 

"I did that for Crystal, " replied Cord, getting up and slapping hispockets--a gesture which in some subconscious way he hoped would makeEddie go home. "She's always so keen to meet new people. If she heardthat the editor of _Liberty_ had been here while she was asleep andthat I had not tried to keep him for her to see--whew!--she would makea scene. "

"But she oughtn't to see people like that, " protested Eddie, as ifhe were trying to talk sense in a madhouse. "That was what I was justexplaining to you, Mr. Cord, when--"

"So you were, Eddie, so you were, " said Mr. Cord. "Stay to lunch andtell Crystal. Or, rather, " he added, hastily glancing at the clock, "come back to lunch in an hour. I have to go now and see--" Mr. Cordhesitated for the fraction of a second--"the gardener. If you don'tsee gardeners now and then and let them scold you about the weatherand the Lord's arrangement of the seasons, they go mad and beat theirwives. See you later, Eddie, " and Mr. Cord stepped out through theFrench window. It was only great crises like these that led him tooffer himself up to the attacks of his employees. 

A severe elderly man with a long, flat upper lip and side whiskersimmediately sprang apparently from the earth and approached him. Hehad exactly the manner of resolute gloom that a small boy has whensomething has gone wrong at school and he wants his mother to drag itout of him. 

"Good morning, sir, " he said. 

"Morning, McKellar, " said Cord, gayly. "Everything's all right, Isuppose. "

McKellar shook his head. Everything was about as far from all right asit well could be. The cook was a violent maniac who required peas tobe picked so young that they weren't worth the picking. Tomes and hisfootman were a band of malicious pirates who took pleasure in cuttingfor the table the very buds which McKellar was cherishing for thehorticultural show. And as for the season--McKellar could not remembersuch a devastatingly dry August since he was a lad at home. 

"Why, McKellar, we had rain two days ago. "

"You wouldn't call that little mist rain, sir. "

"And last week a perfect downpour. "

"Ah, that's the kind doesn't sink into the soil. " Looking upcritically at the heavens, McKellar expressed his settled convictionthat in two weeks' time hardly a blade or a shrub would be alive inthe island at Newport. 

"Well, that will save us all a lot of trouble, McKellar, " said Mr. Cord, and presently left his gloomy gardener. He had attained hisobject. When he went back into the house, Eddie had gone, and he couldgo back to his new driver in peace. 

He was not interrupted until ten minutes past one, when Crystal cameinto the room, her eyes shining with exactly the same color that, beyond the lawn, the sea was displaying. Unlike Eddie, she lookedbetter than in her fancy dress. She had on flat tennis shoes, a cottonblouse and a duck skirt, and a russet-colored sweater. Miss Cox wouldhave rejected every item of her costume except the row of pearls, which just showed at her throat. 

She kissed her father rapidly, and said:

"Good morning, dear. Are you ready for breakfast--lunch I mean?"

She was a little bit flustered for the reason that it seemed to heras if any one would be able to see that she was an entirely differentCrystal from the one of the evening before, and she was not quite surewhat she was going to answer when her father said, as she felt certainhe must say at any moment, "My dear child, what has come over you?"

He did not say this, however. He held out his golf-club and said, "Gota new driver. "

"Yes, yes, dear, very nice, " said Crystal. "But I want to have lunchpunctually, to-day. "

Mr. Cord sighed. Crystal wasn't always very sympathetic. "I'm ready, "he said, "only Eddie's coming. "

"_Eddie!_" exclaimed Crystal, drawing her shoulders up, as if at thesight of a cobra in her path. "Why is Eddie coming to lunch? I did notask him. "

"No, my dear, I took that liberty, " replied her father. "It seemed theonly way of getting rid of him. "

"Well, I sha'n't wait for him, " said Crystal, ringing the bell. "Ihave an engagement at a quarter past two. "

"At the golf club?" asked her father, his eye lighting a little. "Youmight drive me out, you know. "

"No, dear; quite in the other direction--with a man who was at theparty last night. "

"You enjoyed the party?"

"No, not a bit. "

"But you stayed till morning. "

"I stopped and took a swim. "

"You enjoyed that, I suppose?"

His daughter glanced at him and turned crimson; but she did not haveto answer, for at that moment Tomes came, in response to her ring, andshe said:

"We won't wait lunch for Mr. Verriman, Tomes. " Then, as he went away, she asked, "And what was Eddie doing here this morning, anyhow?"

"He was scolding me, " replied Mr. Cord. "Have you noticed, Crystal, what a lot of scolding is going on in the world at present? I believethat that is why no one is getting any work done--everyone is sobusy scolding everybody else. The politicians are scolding, and thenewspapers are scolding, and most of the fellows I know are scolding. I believe I've got hold of a great truth--"

"And may I ask what Eddie was scolding about?" asked Crystal, no moreinterested in great truths than most of us. 

"About you. "

Crystal moved her head about as if things had now reached a pointwhere it wasn't even worth while to be angry. "About me?"

"It seems you're a socialist, my dear. Eddie asked me how long it wassince I had taken an inventory of your economic beliefs. I could notremember that I ever had, but perhaps you will tell them to menow. That is, " Mr. Cord added, "if you can do it without scoldingme--probably an impossible condition to impose nowadays. "

"It's a pity about Eddie, " said Crystal, fiercely. "If only stupidpeople would be content to be stupid, instead of trying to run theworld--"

"Ah, my dear, it's only stupid people who are under the impressionthat they can. Good morning again, Eddie, we were just speaking ofyou. "

Mr. Cord added the last sentence without the slightest change of toneor expression as his guest was ushered in by Tomes, who, catchingCrystal's eyes for a more important fact than Eddie's arrival, murmured that luncheon was served. 

"Well, Eddie, " said Crystal, and there was a sort of gay vibration inher whole figure, and her tone was like a bright banner of war, "andso you came round to complain to my father, did you?"

Mr. Cord laid his hand on her shoulder. "Do you think you coulddemolish Eddie just as well at table, my dear?" he said. "If so, there's no use in letting the food get cold. "

"Oh, she can do it anywhere, " replied Eddie, bitterly, and then, striking his habitual note of warning, he went on, "but, honestly, Crystal, if you had heard what your father and I heard this morning--"

"I had a visit from David's brother this morning, " put in Mr. Cord, "the editor of your favorite morning paper. "

"Ben Moreton, here! Oh, _father_, why didn't you call me? Yes, Iknow, " she added, as her father opened his mouth to say that she hadleft most particular instructions that she was to be allowed to sleepas late as she could, "I know, but you must have known I should havewanted to look David's brother over. Has he long hair? Does he wear asoft tie? Did you hate him?"

"Eddie didn't take much of a fancy to him. "

"I should say not. A damned, hollow-eyed fanatic. "

"Is he as good-looking as David, father? What does he look like?"

Mr. Cord hesitated. "Well, a little like my engraving of ThomasJefferson as a young man. "

"He looks as if he might have a bomb in his pocket. "

"Oh, Eddie, do keep quiet, there's a dear, and let father give me oneof his long, wonderful accounts. Go ahead, father. "

"Well, " said Mr. Cord, helping himself from a dish that Tomes waspresenting to him, "as I told you, Eddie had dropped in very kindly toscold me about you, when Tomes announced Mr. Moreton. Tomes thought heought to be put straight out of the house. Didn't you, Tomes?"

"No, sir, " said Tomes, who was getting used to his employer, althoughhe did not encourage this sort of thing, particularly before thefootmen. 

"Well, Moreton came in and said, very simply--"

"Has he good manners, father?"

"He has no manners at all, " roared Eddie. 

"Oh, how nice, " said Crystal, of whom it might be asserted withoutflattery that she now understood in perfection the art of irritatingEddie. 

"He is very direct and natural, " her father continued. "He has a lotmore punch than your brother-in-law, my dear. In fact, I was ratherimpressed with the young fellow until he and Eddie fell to quarreling. Things did not go so well, then. "

"You mean, " said Crystal, the gossip rather getting the best of thereformer in her, "that he lost his temper horribly?"

"I should say he did, " said Eddie. 

"Well, Eddie, you know you were not perfectly calm, " answered Cord. "Let us say that they both lost their tempers, which is strange, foras far as I could see they were agreed on many essentials. They bothbelieve that one class in the community ought to govern the other. They both believe the world is in a very bad way; only, according toEddie, we are going to have chaos if capital loses its control ofthe situation; and according to Moreton we are going to have chaosif labor doesn't get control. So, as one or the other seems bound tohappen, we ought to be able to adjust ourselves to chaos. In fact, Crystal, I have been interviewing McKellar about having a chaos cellarbuilt in the garden. "

Eddie pushed back his plate; it was empty, but the gesture suggestedthat he could not go on choking down the food of a man who joked aboutsuch serious matters. 

"I must say, Mr. Cord, " he began, "I really must say--" He paused, surprised to find that he really hadn't anything that he must say, andCrystal turned to her father:

"But you haven't told me why he came. To see Eugenia, I suppose?"

"No; he hadn't heard of the marriage. He came to talk to his brother. "

"For you must know, " put in Eddie, hastily, "that Mr. Ben Moreton doesnot approve of the marriage--oh, dear, no. He would consider such aconnection quite beneath his family. He disapproves of Eugenia as asister-in-law. "

"How could any one disapprove of her?" asked her sister, hotly. 

"Jevver hear such nerve?" said Eddie. 

"It's not Eugenia; it's capital Moreton disapproves of, " Mr. Cord wenton, patiently explaining. "You see it never crossed our minds that theMoretons might object, but of course they do. They regard us as avery degrading connection. Doubtless it will hurt Ben Moreton with hisreaders to be connected with a financial pirate like myself, quite asmuch as it will hurt me in the eyes of most of my fellow board memberswhen it becomes known that my son-in-law's brother is the editor of_Liberty_. "

"The Moretons disapprove, " repeated Crystal, to whom the idea was notat all agreeable. 

"Disapprove, nonsense!" said Eddie. "I believe he came to blackmailyou. To see what he could get out of you if he offered to stop themarriage. Well, why not? If these fellows believe all the money oughtto be taken away from the capitalists, why should they care howit's done? I can't see much difference between robbing a man, andlegislating his fortune out of--"

"Well, I must tell you, father dear, " said Crystal, exactly as ifEddie had not been speaking, "that I think it was horrid of you not tohave me called when you must have known--"

"Crystal, you're scolding me, " wailed her father. "And most unjustly. I did ask him to lunch just for your sake, although I saw Eddie wasshocked, and I was afraid Tomes would give warning. But I did ask him, only he wouldn't stay. "

Crystal rose from the table with her eye on the clock, and they beganto make their way back to Mr. Cord's study, as she asked:

"Why wouldn't he stay?"

"I gathered because he didn't want to. Perhaps he was afraid he'd haveto argue with Eddie about capital and labor all through lunch. And ofcourse he did not know that I had another beautiful daughter sleepingoff the effects of a late party, or very likely he would haveaccepted. "

Very likely he would. 

Just as they entered the study, the telephone rang. Crystal sprangto the instrument, brushing away her father's hand, which had movedtoward it. 

"It's for me, dear, " she said, and continued, speaking into themouthpiece: "Yes, it's I. " (A pause. ) "Where are you?... Oh, yes, Iknow the place. I'll be there in five minutes, in a little blue car. "She hung up the receiver, sprang up, and looked very much surprised tosee Eddie and her father still there just as before. "Good-by, Eddie, "she said, "I'm sorry, but I have an engagement. Good-by, father. "

"You don't want to run me out to the golf club first?"

"Not possible, dear. The chauffeur can take you in the big car. "

"Yes, but he'll scold me all the way about there not being room enoughin the garage. "

Crystal was firm. "I'm sorry, but I can't, dear. This is important. Imay take a job. I'll tell you all about it this evening. " And she leftthe room, with a smile that kept getting entirely beyond her control. 

"What's this? What's this?" cried Eddie as the door shut. "A job. Youwouldn't let Crystal take a job, would you, Mr. Cord?"

"I haven't been consulted, " said Mr. Cord, taking out his new driveragain. 

"But didn't you notice how excited she was. I'm sure it's decided. "

"Yes, I noticed, Eddie; but it looked to me more like a man than ajob. How do you think we'd come out if I gave you a stroke and a halfa hole?"

Eddie was too perturbed even to answer. 

In the meantime, Crystal was spinning along Bellevue Avenue, forgetting to bow to her friends, and wondering why the car was goingso badly until, her eye falling on the speedometer, she noticed thatshe was doing a mild thirty-five miles an hour. Sooner, therefore, than the law allowed, she reached a small park that surrounds a statueof Perry, and there she picked up a passenger. 

Ben got in and shut the little door almost before she brought the carto a standstill. 

[Illustration: "I'll be there in five minutes, in a little blue car"]

"When you were little, " he said, "did you ever imagine somethingwonderful that might happen--like the door's opening and a delegationcoming to elect you captain of the baseball team, or whatever isa little girl's equivalent of that--and keep on imagining it andimagining it, until it seemed as if it really were going to happen?Well, I have been standing here saying to myself, Wouldn't it bewonderful if Crystal should come in a little blue car and take me todrive? And, by Heaven! you'll never believe me, but she actually did. "

"Tell me everything you've done since I saw you, " she answered. 

"I haven't done anything but think about you. Oh yes, I have, too. I've reappraised the universe. You see, you've just made me a presentof a brand-new world, and I've been pretty busy, I can tell you, untying the string and unwrapping the paper, and bless me, Crystal, itlooks like a mighty fine present so far. "

"Oh, " she said, "I think you talk charmingly. " She had started to say, "you make love charmingly, " but on second thoughts decided that theovert statement had better come from him. "Dear me, " she went on, "wehave so much to talk about. There's my job. Can't we talk a littleabout that?"

They could and did. Their talk consisted largely in his telling herhow much richer a service she could render his paper through havingbeen unconsciously steeped in beauty than if she had been merelyintellectually instructed--than if, as she more simply put it, shehad known something. And as he talked, her mind began to expand inthe warm atmosphere of his praise and to give off its perfume like aflower. 

But the idea of her working with him day after day, helping thedevelopment of the paper which had grown as dear as a child to him, was so desirable that he did not dare to contemplate it unless itpromised realization. 

"Oh, " he broke out, "you won't really do it. Your family will object, or something. Probably when I go away to-night, I shall never see youagain. "

"You are still going away to-night?"

"I must. "

She looked at him and slowly shook her head, as a mother shakes herhead at the foolish plans of a child. 

"I thought I was going, " he said, weakly. 

"Why?"

He groaned, but did not answer. 

She thought, "Oh, dear, I wish when men want to be comforted theywould not make a girl spend so much time and energy getting them tosay that they do want it. " Aloud she said:

"You must tell me what's the matter. "

"It's a long story. "

"We have all afternoon. "

"That's it--we haven't all eternity. "

"Oh, eternity, " said Crystal, dismissing it with the Cord wave of thehand. "Who wants eternity? 'Since we must die how bright the starrytrack, ' you know. "

"No; what is that?"

"I don't remember. "

"Oh. "

After this meeting of minds they drove for some time in silence. Benwas seeing a new aspect of Newport--bare, rugged country, sandyroads, a sudden high rock jutting out toward the sea, a rock on whichtradition asserts that Bishop Berkeley once sat and considered theillusion of matter. They stopped at length at the edge of a sandybeach. Crystal parked her car neatly with a sharp turn of the wheel, and got out. 

"There's a tea basket, " she called over her shoulder. 

Ben's heart bounded at the news--not that he was hungry, but as thehour was now but little past half after two a tea basket indicated aprolonged interview. He found it tucked away in the back of the car, and followed her. They sat down at the edge of the foam. He lit apipe, clasped his hands about his knees and stared out to sea; shecurled her feet backward, grasped an ankle in her hand, and, lookingat him, said:

"Now what makes you groan so?"

"I haven't meant to be dishonest, " he said, "but I have been obtainingyour friendship--trying to--under false pretenses. "

"Trying to?" said Crystal. "Now isn't it silly to put that in. "

He turned and smiled at her. She was really incredibly sweet. "But, all the same, " he went on, "there is a barrier, a real, tangiblebarrier between us. "

Crystal's heart suffered a chill convulsion at these words. "Goodgracious!" she thought. "He's entangled with another woman--ohdear!--_marriage_"--But she did not interrupt him, and he continued:

"I let you think that I was one of the men you might have known--thatI was asked to your party last night, whereas, as a matter of fact, Ionly watched you--"

Crystal's mind, working with its normal rapidity, invented, faced, andpassed over the fact that he must have been one of the musicians. Shesaid aloud:

"I think I ought to tell you that I'm not much of a believer inbarriers--between sensible people who want friendship. "

"Friendship!" exclaimed Ben, as if that were the last thing he hadcome out on a lovely summer afternoon to discuss. 

"There aren't any real barriers any more, " Crystal continued. "Differences of position, and religion, and all those things don'tseem to matter now. Romeo and Juliet wouldn't have paid any attentionto the little family disagreement if they had lived to-day. "

"In the case of Romeo and Juliet, if I remember correctly, " said Ben, "it was not exactly a question of friendship. "

She colored deeply, but he refused to modify his statement, for, afterall, it was correct. "But difference of opinion _is_ an obstacle, "he went on. "I have seen husbands and wives parted by differences ofopinion in the late war. And as far as I'm concerned there's a waron now--a different war, and I came here to try to prevent my brothermarrying into an enemy influence--"

"Good Heavens!" cried Crystal. "You are Ben Moreton! Why didn't I seeit sooner? I'm Crystal Cord, " and, lifting up her chin, she laughed. 

That she could laugh as the gulf opened between them seemed to himterrible. He turned his head away. 

She stopped laughing. "You don't think it's amusing?" (He shook hishead. ) "That we're relations-in-law, when we thought it was all sounknown and romantic? No wonder I felt at home with you, when I'veread so many of your letters to David--such nice letters, too--and Isubscribe to your paper, and read every word of the editorials. Andto think that you would not lunch with me to-day, when my father askedyou. "

"To think that it was you I was being asked to lunch with, and didn'tknow it!"

"Well, you dine with us to-morrow, " she answered, stating a simplefact. 

"Crystal, " he said, and put his hand on hers as if this would help himthrough his long explanation; but the continuity of his thought wasdestroyed and his spirit wounded by her immediately withdrawing it;and then--so exactly does the spring of love resemble the uncertainglory of an April day--he was rendered perfectly happy again byperceiving that her action was due to the publicity of their positionand not to repugnance to the caress. 

Fortunately he was a man not without invention, and so when a fewminutes later she suggested opening the tea basket, he insisted onmoving to a more retired spot on the plea that the teakettle wouldburn better out of the wind; and Crystal, who must have known thatTomes never gave her a teakettle, but made the tea at home and put itin a thermos bottle, at once agreed to the suggestion. 

They moved back across the road, where irregular rocks sheltered smallplots of grass and wild flowers, and here, instead of an Arcadianduet, they had, most unsuitably, their first quarrel. 

It began as quarrels are so apt to do, by a complete agreement. Ofcourse he would stay over the next day, which was Sunday, and not verybusy in the office of _Liberty_. In return he expected her undividedattention. She at once admitted that this was part of the plan--onlythere would have to be one little exception; she was dining out thisevening. Oh, well, that could be broken, couldn't it? She would liketo break it, but it happened to be one of those engagements that hadto be kept. Ben could not understand that. 

At first she tried to explain it to him: She had chosen her ownevening several weeks ago with these people, who wanted her to meet afriend of theirs who was motoring down specially from Boston. She feltshe must keep her word. 

"I assure you I don't want to, but you understand, don't you?"

If she had looked at his face she would not have asked the lastquestion. He did not understand; indeed, he had resolved not to. 

"No, " he said, "I must own, I don't. If you told me that you _wanted_to go, that would be one thing. I shouldn't have a word to say then. "

"Oh yes, you would, Ben, " said Crystal, but he did not notice her. 

"I can't understand your allowing yourself to be dragged there againstyour will. You say you despise this life, but you seem to take itpretty seriously if you can't break any engagement that you may make. "

"How absurd you are! Of course I often break engagements. "

"I see. You do when the inducement is sufficient. Well, that makes itall perfectly clear. "

She felt both angry and inclined to cry. She knew that to yield toeither impulse would instantly solve the problem and bring a veryunreasonable young man to reason. She ran over both scenes in herimagination. Registering anger, she would rise and say that, really, Mr. Moreton, if he would not listen to her explanation there was nouse in prolonging the discussion. That would be the critical moment. He would take her in his arms then and there, or else he would lether go, and they would drive in silence, and part at the little park, where of course she might say, "Aren't you silly to leave me likethis?"--only her experience was that it was never very practical tomake up with an angry man in public. 

To burst into tears was a safer method, but she had a naturalrepugnance to crying, and perhaps she was subconsciously aware thatshe might be left, after the quarrel was apparently made up by thismethod, with a slight resentment against the man who had forced her toadopt so illogical a line of conduct. 

A middle course appealed to her. She laid her hand on Ben's. A fewminutes before it would have seemed unbelievable to Ben that his ownhand would have remained cold and lifeless under that touch, but suchwas now the case. 

"Ben, " she said, "if you go on being disagreeable a second longer youmust make up your mind how you will behave when I burst into tears. "

"How I should behave?"

She nodded. 

His hands clasped hers. He told her how he should behave. He evenoffered to show her, without putting her to the trouble of tears. 

"You mean, " she said, "that you would forgive me? Well, forgive me, anyhow. I'm doing what I think is right about this old dinner. PerhapsI'm wrong about it; perhaps you're mistaken and I'm not absolutelyperfect, but if I were, think what a lot of fun you would miss inchanging me. And you know I never meant to abandon you for the wholeevening. I'll get away at half past nine and we'll take a littleturn. "

So that was settled. 

CHAPTER III

As they drove back she revealed another plan to him--she was takinghim for a moment to see a friend of hers. He protested. He did notwant to see anyone but herself, but Crystal was firm. He must see thiswoman; she was their celebrated parlor Bolshevist. Ben hated parlorBolshevists. Did he know any? No. Well, then. Anyhow, Sophia wouldnever forgive her if she did not bring him. Sophia adored celebrities. Sophia who? Sophia Dawson. The name seemed dimly familiar to Ben, andthen he remembered. It was the name on the thousand-dollar check forthe strike sufferers that had come in the day before. 

They drove up an avenue of little oaks to a formidable palace builtof gray stone, so smoothly faced that there was not a crevice in theimmense pale façade. Two men in knee-breeches opened the double doorsand they went in between golden grilles and rows of tall white lilies. They were led through a soundless hall, and up stairs so thicklycarpeted that the feet sank in as in new-fallen snow, and finally theywere ushered through a small painted door into a small painted room, which had been brought all the way from Sienna, and there they foundMrs. Dawson--a beautiful, worn, world-weary Mrs. Dawson, with onestreak of gray in the front of her dark hair, her tragic eyes, and herlong violet and black draperies--a perfect Sibyl. 

Crystal did not treat her as a Sibyl, however. "Hullo, Sophie!" shesaid. "This is my brother-in-law's brother, Ben Moreton. He's crazy tomeet you. You'll like him. I can't stay because I'm dining somewhereor other, but he's not. "

"Will he dine with me?" said Mrs. Dawson in a wonderful deep, slowvoice--"just stay on and dine with me alone?"

Ben began to say that he couldn't, but Crystal said yes, that he wouldbe delighted to, and that she would stop for him again about half pastnine, and that it was a wonderful plan, and then she went away. 

Mrs. Dawson seemed to take it all as a matter of course. "Sit down, Mr. Moreton, " she said. "I have a quarrel with you. "

Ben could not help feeling a little disturbed by the way he had beeninjected into Mrs. Dawson's evening without her volition. He did notsit down. 

"You know, " he said, "there isn't any reason why you should have meto dine just because Crystal says so. I do want to thank you forthe check you sent in to us for the strike fund. It will do a lot ofgood. "

"Oh, that, " replied Mrs. Dawson. "They are fighting all our battlesfor us. "

"It cheered us up in the office. I wanted to tell you, and now I thinkI'll go. I dare say you are dining out, anyhow--"

Her eyes flashed at him. "Dining out!" she exclaimed, as if thesuggestion insulted her. "You evidently don't know me. I never dineout. I have nothing in common with these people. I lead a very lonelylife. You do me a favor by staying. You and I could exchange ideas. There is no one in Newport whom I can talk to--reactionaries. "

"Miss Cord is not exactly a reactionary, " said Ben, sitting down. 

Mrs. Dawson smiled. "Crystal is not a reactionary; Crystal is achild, " she replied. "But what can you expect of WilliamCord's daughter? He is a dangerous and disintegratingforce--cold--cynical--he feels not the slightest public responsibilityfor his possessions. " Mrs. Dawson laid her hand on her heart as ifit were weighted with all her jewels and footmen and palaces. "MostBourbons are cynical about human life, but he goes farther; he iscynical about his own wealth. And that brings me to my quarrel withyou, Mr. Moreton. How could you let your brother spend his beautifulvigorous youth as a parasite to Cord's vapid son? Was that consistentwith your beliefs?"

This attack on his consistency from a lady whose consistency seemedeven more flagrant amused Ben, but as he listened he was obliged toadmit that there was a great deal of good sense in what she had to sayabout David, whom she had met once or twice at the Cords'. Ben was toocandid and eager not to ask her before long the question that wasin his mind--how it was possible for a woman holding her views to beleading a life so opposed to them. 

She was not at all offended, and even less at a loss for an answer. "I am not a free agent, Mr. Moreton, " she said. "Unhappily, before Ibegan to think at all, I had undertaken certain obligations. The lawallows a woman to dispose of everything but her property while she isstill a child. I married at eighteen. "

It was a story not without interest and Mrs. Dawson told it well. There does not live a man who would not have been interested. 

They dined, not in the great dining room downstairs, nor even in thepainted room from Sienna, but in a sort of loggia that opened from it, where, beyond the shaded lights, Ben could watch the moon rise out ofthe sea. 

It was a perfect little meal, short, delicious, and quickly servedby three servants. He enjoyed it thoroughly, although he found hishostess a strangely confusing companion. He would make up his mindthat she was a sincere soul captured by her environment, when afreshly discovered jewel on her long fingers would shake his faith. And he would just decide that she was a melodramatic fraud, when shewould surprise him by her scholarly knowledge of social problems. Shehad read deeply, knew several languages, and had known many of theEuropean leaders. Such phrases as "Jaurès wrote me ten days before hedied--" were frequent, but not too frequent, on her lips. 

By the time Crystal stopped for him Ben had begun to feel like a childwho has lost his mother in a museum, or as Dante might have felt if hehad missed Virgil from his side. When he bade Mrs. Dawson good night, she asked him to come back. 

"Come and spend September here, " she said, as if it were a smallthing. "You can work all day if you like. I sha'n't disturb you, andyou need never see a soul. It will do you good. "

He was touched by the invitation, but of course he refused it. Hetried to explain tactfully, but clearly, why it was that he couldn'tdo that sort of thing--that the editor of _Liberty_ did not take hisholiday at Newport. 

She understood, and sighed. "Ah, yes, " she said. "I'm like that man inmythology whom neither the sky nor the earth would receive. I'm verylonely, Mr. Moreton. "

He found himself feeling sorry for her, as he followed a footmandownstairs, his feet sinking into the carpets at each step. Crystal inthe blue car was at the door. She was bareheaded and the wind had beenblowing her hair about. 

"Well, " she said, as he got in, "did you have a good time? I'm sureyou had a good dinner. "

"Excellent, but confusing. I don't quite get your friend. "

"You don't understand Sophia?" Crystal's tone expressed surprise. "Youmean her jewels and her footmen? Why, Ben, it's just like the fathersof this country who talked about all men being equal and yet werethemselves slaveholders. She sincerely believes those things in a way, and then it's such a splendid role to play, and she enjoys that;and then it teases Freddie Dawson. Freddie is rather sweet if he'sthoroughly unhappy, and this keeps him unhappy almost all the time. Did she ask you to stay? I meant her to. "

"Yes, she did; but of course I couldn't. "

"Oh, Ben, why not?"

This brought them once more to the discussion of the barrier. Thistime Ben felt he could make her see. He said that she must look at itthis way--that in a war you could not go and stay in enemy country, however friendly your personal relations might be. Well, as far as hewas concerned this was a war, a class war. 

They were headed for the Ocean Drive, and Crystal rounded a sharp turnbefore she answered seriously:

"But I thought you didn't believe in war. "

"I don't, " he answered. "I hate it--I hate all violence. We--labor, I mean--didn't initiate this, but when men won't see, when they havepower and won't stop abusing it, there is only one way to make--"

"Why, Ben, " said Crystal, "you're just a pacifist in other people'squarrels, but as militaristic as can be in your own. I'm not apacifist, but I'm a better one than you, because I don't believe inemphasizing any difference between human beings. That's why I wanta League of Nations. I hate gangs--all women really do. Little girlsdon't form gangs like little boys. Every settlement worker knows that. I won't have you say that I belong to the other group. I won't beclassified. I'm a human being--and I intend to behave as such. "

Since she had left him she had been immersed again in her oldlife--her old friends--and the result had been to make her wonder ifher experience with Ben had been as wonderful as it had seemed. Whenshe stopped for him she had been almost prepared to find that the wildjoy of their meetings had been something accidental and temporary, andthat only a stimulating and pleasant friendship was left. But as soonas she saw that he really regarded their differences seriously, allher own prudence and doubt melted away. She knew she was ready to makeany sacrifices for him, and in view of that all talk of obstacles wasfolly. 

She stopped the car on the point of the island, with the open sea onone hand, the harbor on the other. In front of them the lightshipwas moving with a slow, majestic roll, and to the right was the longfestoon of Narragansett lights, and as they stopped the lighted bulkof the New York boat appeared, making its way toward Point Judith. 

His prolonged silence began to frighten her. 

"Ben, " she said, "do you seriously mean that you believe friendshipbetween us is impossible?"

"Friendship, nothing, " answered Moreton. "I love you. "

He said it as if it had always been understood between them, asof course it had, but the instant he said it, he gave her a quick, appealing look to see how she would take so startling an assertion. 

If Crystal had poured out just what was in her mind at that second shewould have answered: "Of course you do. I've known that longer thanyou have. And can't you see that if I had had any doubt about itsbeing true, I'd have taken steps to make it true? But, as I really didnot doubt it, I've been able to be quite passive and leave it mostlyto you, which I so much prefer. "

But rigorous candor is rarely attained, and Crystal did not saythis. In fact, for a few seconds she did not say anything, but merelyallowed her eyes to shine upon him, with the inevitable result thatat the end of precisely six seconds of their benevolent invitation hetook her in his arms and kissed her. It was a very unprotected point, and several cars were standing not too far away, but Crystal, who hadan excellent sense of proportion, made no objection whatever. She wasbeing proved right in two important particulars--first, that she wasa human being, and second, that there was no barrier between them. She was very generous about it. She did not say, "Where's your barriernow?" or anything like that; she simply said nothing, and the barrierpassed out of the conversation and was no more seen. 

Very soon, alleging that she must get home at the time at which sheusually did get home from dinners, she took him back; but she soothedhim with the promise of an uninterrupted day to follow. 

Time--the mere knowledge of unbroken hours ahead--is a boon whichreal love cannot do without. Minor feelings may flourish on snatchedinterviews and stolen meetings, but love demands--and usuallygets--protected leisure. The next day these lovers had it. They spentthe morning, when Mr. Cord was known to be playing golf, at theCords' house, and then when Mr. Cord telephoned that he was staying toluncheon at the club, if Crystal did not object (and Crystal did not), she and Ben arranged a picnic--at least Tomes did, and they went offabout one o'clock in the blue car. They went to a pool in the rocksthat Crystal had always known about, with high walls around it, andhere, with a curtain of foam between them and the sea, for the waveswere rising, they ate lunch, as much alone as on a desert island. 

It was here that Ben asked her to marry him, or, to be accurate, itwas here that they first began talking about their life together, andwhether Nora would become reconciled to another woman about the flat. 

The nearest approach to a definite proposal was Ben's saying:

"You would not mind my saying something about all this to your fatherbefore I go this evening, would you?"

And Crystal replied: "Poor father! It will be a blow, I'm afraid. "

"Well, " said Ben, "he told me himself that he liked me better thanDavid. "

"That's not saying much. "

At this Ben laughed lightly. 

He might have had his wrong-headed notions about barriers, but he wasnot so un-American as to regard a father as an obstacle. 

"But, oh, Crystal, " he added, "suppose you find you do hate beingpoor. It is a bore in some ways. "

Crystal, who had been tucking away the complicated dishes of herluncheon basket, looked at Ben and lightly sucked one finger to whichsome raspberry jam from Tomes's supernal sandwiches had adhered. 

"I sha'n't mind it a bit, Ben, " she said, "and for a goodreason--because I'm terribly conceited. " He did not understand atall, and she went on: "I believe I shall be just as much of aperson--perhaps more--without money. The women who really mind beingpoor are the humble-minded ones, who think that they are made by theirclothes and their lovely houses and their maids and their sables. Whenthey lose them they lose all their personality, and of course thatterrifies them. I don't think I shall lose mine. Does it shock you toknow that I think such a lot of myself?"

It appeared it did not shock him at all. 

[Illustration: "Suppose you find you do hate being poor?"]

When they reached the house she established him in the drawing-roomand went off to find her father. 

She was a true woman, by which is meant now and always that shepreferred to allow a man to digest his dinner before she tried tobring him to a rational opinion. But in this case her hands were tied. The Cords dined at eight--or sometimes a little later, and Ben'sboat left for New York at half past nine, so that it would be utterlyimpossible to postpone the discussion of her future until afterdinner. It had to be done at once. 

Crystal ran up and knocked at his bedroom door. Loud splashings fromthe adjoining bathroom were all the answer she got. She sat down onthe stairs and waited. Those are the moments that try men's and evenwomen's souls. For the first time her enterprise seemed to her alittle reckless. For an instant she had the surprising experience ofrecognizing the fact that Ben was a total stranger. She looked at thegray-stone stairway on which she was sitting and thought that her lifehad been as safe and sheltered as a cloister, and now, steered by thistotal stranger, she proposed to launch herself on an unchartedcourse of change. And to this program she was to bring her father'sconsent--for she knew very well that if she couldn't, Ben wouldn't beable to--in the comparatively short time between now and dinner. Then, the splashing having ceased, the sound of bureau drawers succeeded, and Crystal sprang up and knocked again. 

"That you, Peters?" said an unencouraging voice. (Peters was Mr. Cord's valet. )

"No, dear, it's I, " said Crystal. 

"Oh, come in, " said Mr. Cord. He was standing in the middle of theroom in his shirt sleeves and gloomily contemplating the shirt hewore. "What's this laundress, anyhow? A Bolshevist or a pastry-cook?"he said. "Did you ever see anything like this shirt?"

Crystal approached and studied the shirt. It appeared to her to beperfectly done up, but she said: "Yes, dear, how terrible! I'll packher off to-morrow, but you always look all right whatever you wear;that's some comfort. " She saw that even this hadn't done much good, and, going to the heart of the problem, she asked, "How did your golfgo?"

Mr. Cord's gloom gathered as he answered, with resignation, "Oh, allright. "

His manner was exactly similar to Ben's in his recent moment ofdepression, and not unlike McKellar's when he had explained what hesuffered under the good Lord's weather. 

"Is Eddie's game any better?" asked Crystal, feeling her way. 

"No, " cried her father, contemptuously. "He's rotten, but I'm worse. And golf-clubs, Crystal! No one can make a club any more. Have younoticed that? But the truth of the matter is, I'm getting too oldto play golf. " And Mr. Cord sat down with a good but unconsciousimitation of a broken old man. 

Of course Crystal swept this away. She scolded him a little, pointedout his recent prowess, and spoke slightingly of all younger athletes, but she really had not time to do the job thoroughly, for the thoughtof Ben, sitting so anxious in the drawing-room alone, hurried her on. 

"Anyhow, dear, " she said, "I've come to talk to you about somethingterribly important. What would you say, father, if I told you I wasengaged?"

Mr. Cord was so startled that he said, what was rare for him, thefirst thing that came into his head:

"Not to Eddie?"

The true diplomatist, we have been told, simply takes advantage ofchance, and Crystal was diplomatic. "And suppose it is?" she replied. 

"I should refuse my consent, " replied her father. 

Crystal looked hurt. "Is there anything against Eddie, " she asked, "except his golf?"

"Yes, " answered her father, "there are two of the most serious thingsin the world against him--first, that he doesn't amount to anything;and second, that you don't love him. "

"No, " Crystal admitted, "I don't, but then--love--father, isn't loverather a serious undertaking nowadays? Is it a particularly helpfuladjunct to marriage? Look at poor Eugenia. Isn't it really moresensible to marry a nice man who can support one, and then if in timeone does fall in love with another man--"

"Never let me hear you talk like that again, Crystal, " said herfather, with a severity and vigor he seldom showed outside of boardmeetings. "It's only your ignorance of life that saves you from beingactually revolting. I'm an old man and not sentimental, you'llgrant, but, take my word for it, love is the only hope of pulling offmarriage successfully, and even then it's not easy. As for Eugenia, Ithink she's made a fool of herself and is going to be unhappy, but I'drather do what she has done than what you're contemplating. At leastshe cared for that fellow--"

"I'm glad you feel like that, darling, " said Crystal, "because itisn't Eddie I'm engaged to, but Ben Moreton. He's waiting downstairsnow. "

Mr. Cord started up--his eyes shining like black flames. 

"By God! Crystal, " he said, "you sha'n't marry thatfellow--Eugenia--perhaps--but not you. "

"But, father, you said yourself, you thought he was a fine--"

"I don't care what I said, " replied Mr. Cord, and, striding to thedoor, he flung it open and called in a voice that rolled about thestone hall: "Mr. Moreton, Mr. Moreton! Come up here, will you?"

Ben came bounding up the stairs like a panther. Cord beckoned him inwith a sharp gesture and shut the door. 

"This won't do at all, Moreton, " he said. "You can't have Crystal. "

Ben did not answer; he looked very steadily at Cord, who went on:

"You think I can't stop it--that she's of age and that you wouldn'ttake a penny of my money, anyhow. That's the idea, isn't it?"

"That's it, " said Ben. 

Cord turned sharply to Crystal. "Does what I think make any differenceto you?" he asked. 

"A lot, dear, " she answered, "but I don't understand. You never seemedso much opposed to the radical doctrine. "

"No, it's the radical, not the doctrine, your father objects to, " saidBen. 

"Exactly, " answered Mr. Cord. "You've put it in a nutshell. Crystal, I'm going to tell you what these radicals really are--they'refailures--everyone of them. Sincere enough--they want the worldchanged because they haven't been able to get along in it as itis--they want a new deal because they don't know how to play theircards; and when they get a new hand, they'll play it just as badly. It's not their theories I object to, but them themselves. You think ifyou married Moreton you'd be going into a great new world of idealism. You wouldn't. You'd be going into a world of failure--of the pettiest, most futile quarrels in the world. The chief characteristic of the manwho fails is that he always believes it's the other fellow's fault;and they hate the man who differs with them by one per cent more thanthey hate the man who differs by one hundred. Has there ever been arevolution where they did not persecute their fellow revolutionistsworse than they persecuted the old order, or where the new rule wasn'tmore tyrannical than the old?"

"No one would dispute that, " said Ben. "It is the only way to winthrough to--"

"Ah, " said Cord, "I know what you're going to say, but I tell you, you win through to liberal practices when, and only when, theconservatives become converted to your ideas, and put them through foryou. That's why I say I have no quarrel with radical doctrines--theyare coming, always coming, but"--Cord paused to give his words fullweight--"I hate the radical. "

There was a little pause. Crystal, who had sunk into a low chair, raised her eyes to Ben, as if she expected a passionate contradictionfrom him, but it did not come. 

"Yes, " he said, after a moment, "that's all true, Mr. Cord--withlimitations; but, granting it, you've put my side, too. What are we tosay of the conservative--the man who has no vision of his own--whohas to go about stealing his beliefs from the other side? He's veryefficient at putting _them_ into effect--but efficient as a tool, asa servant. Look at the mess he makes of his own game when he tries toact on his own ideas. He crushes democracy with an iron efficiency, and he creates communism. He closes the door to trade-unionism andmakes a revolution. That's efficiency for you. We radicals are notso damned inefficient, while we let the conservatives do our work forus. "

"Well, let it be revolution, then, " said Cord. "I believe you'reright. It's coming, but do you want to drag a girl like Crystal intoit? Think of her! Say you take her, as I suppose a young fellow likeyou can do. She'd have perhaps ten years of an exciting division ofallegiance between your ideas and the way she had been brought up, andthe rest of her life (for, believe me, as we get older we all returnto our early traditions)--the rest of her life she'd spend regrettingthe ties and environment of her youth. On the other hand, if she givesyou up she will have regrets, too, I know, but they won't wreck herand embitter her the way the others will. "

Ben's face darkened. No man not a colossal egotist could hear sucha prophesy with indifference. He did not at once answer, and then heturned to Crystal. 

"What do you think of that?" he asked. 

To the surprise of both men, Crystal replied with a laugh. "I waswondering, " she said, "when either of you would get round to askingwhat I thought of it all. "

"Well, what do you think?" said Cord, almost harshly. 

Crystal rose, and, slipping her arm through his, leaned her headon the point of her father's shoulder--he was of a good height. "Ithink, " she said, "you both talk beautifully. I was so proud of youboth--saying such profound things so easily, and keeping your tempersso perfectly" (both brows smoothed out), "and it was all the morewonderful because, it seemed to me, you were both talking about thingsyou knew nothing about. "

"What do you mean?" burst from both men with simultaneousastonishment. 

"Ben, dear, father doesn't know any radicals--except you, and he'sonly seen you twice. Father dear, I don't believe Ben ever talkedfive minutes with an able, successful conservative until he came hereto-day. "

"You're going to throw me over, Crystal?" said Ben, seeing her posemore clearly than he heard her words. 

"No, " said Mr. Cord, bitterly, "she's going to throw over an old manin favor of a young one. "

"You silly creatures, " said Crystal, with a smile that made the wordsaffectionate and not rude. "How can I ever throw either of you over?I'm going to be Ben's wife, and I am my father's daughter. I'm goingto be those two things for all my life. "

Ben took her hand. She puzzled him, but he adored her. "But someday, Crystal, " he said, "you will be obliged to choose between ourviews--mine or your father's. You must see that. "

"He's right, " her father chimed in. "This is not a temporarydifference of opinion, you know, Crystal. This cleavage is as old asmankind--the radical against the conservative. Time doesn't reconcilethem. "

Again the idea came to her: "They do love to form gangs, the poordears. " Aloud she said: "Yes, but the two types are rarely pure ones. Why, father, you think Ben is a radical, but he's the most hideboundconservative about some things--much worse than you--about free verse, for instance. I read a long editorial about it not a month ago. Hereally thinks anyone who defends it ought to be deported to somepoetic limbo. Ben, you think my father is conservative. But there's agreat scandal in his mental life. He's a Baconian--"

"He thinks Bacon wrote the plays!" exclaimed Ben, really shocked. 

"Certainly I do, " answered Mr. Cord. "Every man who uses his mind mustthink so. There is nothing in favor of the Shakespeare theory, excepttradition--"

He would have talked for several hours upon the subject, but Crystalinterrupted him by turning to Ben and continuing what she had meant tosay:

"When you said I should have to choose between your ideas, you meantbetween your political ideas. Perhaps I shall, but I won't make mychoice, rest assured, until I have some reason for believing that eachof you knows something--honestly knows something about the other one'spoint of view. "

"I don't get it, exactly, " said Ben. 

She addressed Mr. Cord. 

"Father, " she went on, "Ben has a little flat in Charles Street, andan old servant, and that's where I'm going to live. "

Her father, though bitterly wounded, had regained his sardonic calm. "Perhaps, " he said, "you'll bring him up to Seventy-ninth Street forSunday dinner now and then. "

Crystal shook her head. "No, dear, " she said. "That isn't the way it'sgoing to be. As soon as I get settled and have time to look about me, I shall take another little flat for you. You will live with us, for afew months in the winter, and get to know Ben's friends--his gang, as you would say--get to know them not as a philanthropist, or anemployer, or an observer, but just as one of our friends--see if theyreally are the way you think they are. And then, in March you shall gooff to Palm Beach or Virginia just as usual. "

"That's a fine idea, " said Mr. Cord, sarcastically. "Do you realizethat I shall hardly survive your marriage with the editor of_Liberty_. I shall be kicked off--requested to resign from half adozen boards for having such a son-in-law--"

"There's freedom for you, " said Ben. 

"And, " continued Mr. Cord, "if it were known that I consented to themarriage, and actually consorted with such fellows! You must realize, Crystal, that most of the most influential men in the country thinkthe way Eddie does. Half my boards are composed of older Eddies. "

"You'll do better to resign from them, then, " said Crystal. 

Ben had been very much struck by Crystal's suggestion. 

"Really, Mr. Cord, " he said, "I believe that is a great idea ofCrystal's. I really believe if capital had more idea of the realviews of labor--as you said, you eventually adopt all our ideas, whywouldn't an intimate knowledge of individuals hurry that process?"

"Simply because I should lose all influence with my own people bymerely investigating you in a friendly spirit. "

"Glory!" exclaimed Ben, with open contempt for such people. "Think ofpenalizing the first honest attempt to understand!"

"You see the point of my plan, don't you, Ben?" said Crystal. 

"You bet I do. "

"That's wonderful, " she answered, "for you've only heard half of it. In July, August, and September, we will come here to Newport, and youwill get to understand father's--"

"Hold on, " cried Ben, "just a moment. That is absolutely impossible, Crystal. You don't understand. The paper couldn't keep me a day if Idid that. "

"Ha!" cried Mr. Cord, coming suddenly to life. "There's freedom foryou!"

"That would be very cruel of the owners, Ben, but if they did--"

"It wouldn't be cruel at all, " said Moreton. "They wouldn't have anychoice. I should have lost all influence with my readers, if it wereknown--"

"Glory!" said Mr. Cord. "Think of penalizing the first honest attemptto understand the capitalistic class!"

Ben stood silent, caught in the grip of an intellectual dilemma whichhe felt every instant would dissolve itself and which didn't. 

Crystal for the first time moved away from her father. "Those are myterms, " she said. "I stay with the man who agrees to them, and if youboth decline them--well, I'll go off and try and open the oyster bymyself. "

There was a long momentous pause, and then Tomes's discreet knock onthe door. 

"Mr. Verriman on the telephone, madam. "

"I can't come, " said Crystal. "Ask him to send a message. "

"Don't you see, Crystal, what your plan would do?" said her father. "Either it would make Moreton a red revolutionist and me a persecutingBourbon, or else it would just ruin us both for either of ourobjectives. "

"It won't ruin you for my objectives, " said Crystal, "and women aremore human, you know, than men. "

Another knock at the door. Tomes's voice again:

"Mr. Verriman wishes to know if he might dine here this evening?"

"No, " said Cord, looking at Crystal. 

Crystal raised her voice. "Certainly, Tomes. Say we shall be delightedto have him--at eight. "

Both men turned to her. 

"Why did you do that, Crystal? Verriman--here--to-night?"

Crystal did not answer--the identity of their tones, their words, and their irritation with her should have told them the answer, butdidn't. 

She knew that only opposition to Eddie and Eddie's many prototypescould weld her two men solidly together. 

THE END