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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crimson Tide, by Robert W. Chambers
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Crimson Tide
+
+Author: Robert W. Chambers
+
+Illustrator: A. I. Keller
+
+Release Date: September 1, 2009 [EBook #29880]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIMSON TIDE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "I HATE IT AS YOU HATED THE BEASTS WHO SLEW YOUR FRIEND"]
+
+
+
+
+THE CRIMSON TIDE
+
+A NOVEL
+
+By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS
+
+Author of "The Moonlit Way," "The Laughing Girl," "The Restless Sex,"
+etc.
+
+WITH FRONTISPIECE BY A. I. KELLER
+
+A. L. BURT COMPANY
+
+Publishers--New York
+
+Published by arrangement with D. Appleton and Company
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS
+
+Copyright, 1919, by The International Magazine Company
+
+PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+To
+
+MARGARET ILLINGTON BOWES
+
+AND
+
+EDWARD J. BOWES
+
+
+
+
+                                   I
+
+              I'd rather walk with Margaret,
+              I'd rather talk with Margaret,
+              And anchor in some sylvan nook
+              And fish Dream Lake with magic hook
+              Than sit indoors and write this book.
+
+                                   II
+
+              An author's such an ass, alas!
+              To watch the world through window glass
+              When out of doors the skies are fair
+              And pretty girls beyond compare--
+              Like Margaret--are strolling there.
+
+                                  III
+
+              I'd rather walk with E. J. Bowes,
+              I'd rather talk with E. J. Bowes,
+              In woodlands where the sunlight gleams
+              Across the golden Lake of Dreams
+              Than drive a quill across these reams.
+
+                                   IV
+
+              If I could have my proper wish
+              With these two friends I'd sit and fish
+              Where sheer cliffs wear their mossy hoods
+              And Dream Lake widens in the woods,
+              But Fate says "No! Produce your goods!"
+
+                                 ENVOI
+
+              Inspect my goods and choose a few
+              Dear Margaret, and Edward, too;
+              Then sink them in the Lake of Dreams
+              In dim, gold depths where sunshine streams
+              Down from the sky's unclouded blue,
+              And I'll be much obliged to you.
+
+                                                R. W. C.
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+
+An American ambulance going south stopped on the snowy road; the
+driver, an American named Estridge, got out; his companion, a young
+woman in furs, remained in her seat.
+
+Estridge, with the din of the barrage in his ears, went forward to
+show his papers to the soldiers who had stopped him on the snowy
+forest road.
+
+His papers identified him and the young woman; and further they
+revealed the fact that the ambulance contained only a trunk and some
+hand luggage; and called upon all in authority to permit John Henry
+Estridge and Miss Palla Dumont to continue without hindrance the
+journey therein described.
+
+The soldiers--Siberian riflemen--were satisfied and seemed friendly
+enough and rather curious to obtain a better look at this American
+girl, Miss Dumont, described in the papers submitted to them as
+"American companion to Marie, third daughter of Nicholas Romanoff,
+ex-Tzar."
+
+An officer came up, examined the papers, shrugged.
+
+"Very well," he said, "if authority is to be given this American lady
+to join the Romanoff family, now under detention, it is not my
+affair."
+
+But he, also, appeared to be perfectly good natured about the matter,
+accepting a cigarette from Estridge and glancing at the young woman in
+the ambulance as he lighted it.
+
+"You know," he remarked, "if it would interest you and the young
+lady, the Battalion of Death is over yonder in the birch woods."
+
+"The woman's battalion?" asked Estridge.
+
+"Yes. They make their début to-day. Would you like to see them?
+They're going forward in a few minutes, I believe."
+
+Estridge nodded and walked back to the ambulance.
+
+"The woman's battalion is over in those birch woods, Miss Dumont.
+Would you care to walk over and see them before they leave for the
+front trenches?"
+
+The girl in furs said very gravely:
+
+"Yes, I wish to see women who are about to go into battle."
+
+She rose from the seat, laid a fur-gloved hand on his offered arm, and
+stepped down onto the snow.
+
+"To serve," she said, as they started together through the silver
+birches, following a trodden way, "is not alone the only happiness in
+life: it is the only reason for living."
+
+"I know you think so, Miss Dumont."
+
+"You also must believe so, who are here as a volunteer in Russia."
+
+"It's a little more selfish with me. I'm a medical student; it's a
+liberal education for me even to drive an ambulance."
+
+"There is only one profession nobler than that practised by the
+physician, who serves his fellow men," she said in a low, dreamy
+voice.
+
+"Which profession do you place first?"
+
+"The profession of those who serve God alone."
+
+"The priesthood?"
+
+"Yes. And the religious orders."
+
+"Nuns, too?" he demanded with the slightest hint of impatience in his
+pleasant voice.
+
+The girl noticed it, looked up at him and smiled slightly.
+
+"Had my dear Grand Duchess not asked for me, I should now he entering
+upon my novitiate among the Russian nuns.... And she, too, I think,
+had there been no revolution. She was quite ready a year ago. We
+talked it over. But the Empress would not permit it. And then came the
+trouble about the Deaconesses. That was a grave mistake----"
+
+She checked herself, then:
+
+"I do not mean to criticise the Empress, you understand."
+
+"Poor lady," he said, "such gentle criticism would seem praise to her
+now."
+
+They were walking through a pine belt, and in the shadows of that
+splendid growth the snow remained icy, so that they both slipped
+continually and she took his arm for security.
+
+"I somehow had not thought of you, Miss Dumont, as so austerely
+inclined," he said.
+
+She smiled: "Because I've been a cheerful companion--even gay? Well,
+my gaiety made my heart sing with the prospect of seeing again my
+dearest friend--my closest spiritual companion--my darling little
+Grand Duchess.... So I have been, naturally enough, good company on
+our three days' journey."
+
+He smiled: "I never suspected you of such extreme religious
+inclinations," he insisted.
+
+"Extreme?"
+
+"Well, a novice----" he hesitated. Then, "And you mean, ultimately, to
+take the black veil?"
+
+"Of course. I shall take it some day yet."
+
+He turned and looked at her, and the man in him felt the pity of it as
+do all men when such fresh, virginal youth as was Miss Dumont's turns
+an enraptured face toward that cloister door which never again opens
+on those who enter.
+
+Her arm rested warmly and confidently within his; the cold had made
+her cheeks very pink and had crisped the tendrils of her brown hair
+under the fur toque.
+
+"If," she said happily, "you have found in me a friend, it is because
+my heart is much too small for all the love I bear my fellow beings."
+
+"That's a quaint thing to say," he said.
+
+"It's really true. I care so deeply, so keenly, for my fellow beings
+whom God made, that there seemed only one way to express it--to give
+myself to God and pass my life in His service who made these fellow
+creatures all around me that I love."
+
+"I suppose," he said, "that is one way of looking at it."
+
+"It seemed to be the only way for me. I came to it by stages.... And
+first, as a child, I was impressed by the loveliness of the world and
+I used to sit for hours thinking of the goodness of God. And then
+other phases came--socialistic cravings and settlement work--but you
+know that was not enough. My heart was too full to be satisfied. There
+was not enough outlet."
+
+"What did you do then?"
+
+"I studied: I didn't know what I wanted, what I needed. I seemed lost;
+I was obsessed with a desire to aid--to be of service. I thought that
+perhaps if I travelled and studied methods----"
+
+She looked straight ahead of her with a sad little reflective smile:
+
+"I have passed by many strange places in the world.... And then I saw
+the little Grand Duchess at the Charity Bazaar.... We seemed to love
+each other at first glance.... She asked to have me for her
+companion.... They investigated.... And so I went to her."
+
+The girl's face became sombre and she bent her dark eyes on the snow
+as they walked.
+
+All the world was humming and throbbing with the thunder of the
+Russian guns. Flakes continually dropped from vibrating pine trees. A
+pale yellow haze veiled the sun.
+
+Suddenly Miss Dumont lifted her head:
+
+"If anything ever happens to part me from my friend," she said, "I
+hope I shall die quickly."
+
+"Are you and she so devoted?" he asked gravely.
+
+"Utterly. And if we can not some day take the vows together and enter
+the same order and the same convent, then the one who is free to do so
+is so pledged.... I do not think that the Empress will consent to the
+Grand Duchess Marie taking the veil.... And so, when she has no
+further need of me, I shall make my novitiate.... There are soldiers
+ahead, Mr. Estridge. Is it the woman's battalion?"
+
+He, also, had caught sight of them. He nodded.
+
+"It is the Battalion of Death," he said in a low voice. "Let's see
+what they look like."
+
+The girl-soldiers stood about carelessly, there in the snow among the
+silver birches and pines. They looked like boys in overcoats and boots
+and tall wool caps, leaning at ease there on their heavy rifles. Some
+were only fifteen years of age. Some had been servants, some
+saleswomen, stenographers, telephone operators, dressmakers, workers
+in the fields, students at the university, dancers, laundresses. And a
+few had been born into the aristocracy.
+
+They came, too, from all parts of the huge, sprawling Empire, these
+girl-soldiers of the Battalion of Death--and there were Cossack girls
+and gypsies among them--girls from Finland, Courland, from the Urals,
+from Moscow, from Siberia--from North, South, East, West.
+
+There were Jewesses from the Pale and one Jewess from America in the
+ranks; there were Chinese girls, Poles, a child of fifteen from
+Trebizond, a Japanese girl, a French peasant lass; and there were
+Finns, too, and Scandinavians--all with clipped hair under the
+astrakhan caps--sturdy, well shaped, soldierly girls who handled their
+heavy rifles without effort and carried a regulation equipment as
+though it were a sheaf of flowers.
+
+Their commanding officer was a woman of forty. She lounged in front of
+the battalion in the snow, consulting with half a dozen officers of a
+man's regiment.
+
+The colour guard stood grouped around the battalion colours, where its
+white and gold folds swayed languidly in the breeze, and clots of
+virgin snow fell upon it, shaken down from the pines by the
+cannonade.
+
+Estridge gazed at them in silence. In his man's mind one thought
+dominated--the immense pity of it all. And there was a dreadful
+fascination in looking at these girl soldiers, whose soft, warm flesh
+was so soon to be mangled by shrapnel and slashed by bayonets.
+
+"Good heavens," he muttered at last under his breath. "Was this
+necessary?"
+
+"The men ran," said Miss Dumont.
+
+"It was the filthy boche propaganda that demoralised them," rejoined
+Estridge. "I wonder--_are_ women more level headed? Is propaganda
+wasted on these girl soldiers? Are they really superior to the male
+of the species?"
+
+"I think," said Miss Dumont softly, "that their spiritual intelligence
+is deeper."
+
+"They see more clearly, morally?"
+
+"I don't know.... I think so sometimes.... We women, who are born
+capable of motherhood, seem to be fashioned also to realise Christ
+more clearly--and the holy mother who bore him.... I don't know if
+that's the reason--or if, truly, in us a little flame burns more
+constantly--the passion which instinctively flames more brightly
+toward things of the spirit than of the flesh.... I think it is true,
+Mr. Estridge, that, unless taught otherwise by men, women's
+inclination is toward the spiritual, and the ardour of her passion
+aspires instinctively to a greater love until the lesser confuses and
+perplexes her with its clamorous importunity."
+
+"Woman's love for man you call the lesser love?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, it is, compared to love for God," she said dreamily.
+
+Some of the girl-soldiers in the Battalion of Death turned their heads
+to look at this young girl in furs, who had come among them on the arm
+of a Red Cross driver.
+
+Estridge was aware of many bib brown eyes, many grey eyes, some blue
+ones fixed on him and on his companion in friendly or curious inquiry.
+They made him think of the large, innocent eyes of deer or channel
+cattle, for there was something both sweet and wild as well as honest
+in the gaze of these girl-soldiers.
+
+One, a magnificent blond six-foot creature with the peaches-and-cream
+skin of Scandinavia and the clipped gold hair of the northland,
+smiled at Miss Dumont, displaying a set of superb teeth.
+
+"You have come to see us make our first charge?" she asked in Russian,
+her sea-blue eyes all a-sparkle.
+
+Miss Dumont said "Yes," very seriously, looking at the girl's
+equipment, her blanket roll, gas-mask, boots and overcoat.
+
+Estridge turned to another girl-soldier:
+
+"And if you are made a prisoner?" he enquired in a low voice. "Have
+you women considered that?"
+
+"Nechevo," smiled the girl, who had been a Red Cross nurse, and who
+wore two decorations. She touched the red and black dashes of colour
+on her sleeve significantly, then loosened her tunic and drew out a
+tiny bag of chamois. "We all carry poison," she said smilingly. "We
+know the boche well enough to take that precaution."
+
+Another girl nodded confirmation. They were perfectly cheerful about
+it. Several others drew near and showed their little bags of poison
+slung around their necks inside their blouses. Many of them wore holy
+relics and medals also.
+
+Miss Dumont took Estridge's arm again and looked over at the big blond
+girl-soldier, who also had been smilingly regarding her, and who now
+stepped forward to meet them halfway.
+
+"When do you march to the first trenches?" asked Miss Dumont gravely.
+
+"Oh," said the blond goddess, "so you are English?" And she added in
+English: "I am Swedish. You have arrived just in time. I t'ink we go
+forward immediately."
+
+"God go with you, for Russia," said Miss Dumont in a clear, controlled
+voice.
+
+But Estridge saw that her dark eyes were suddenly brilliant with
+tears. The big blond girl-soldier saw it, too, and her splendid blue
+eyes widened. Then, somehow, she had stepped forward and taken Miss
+Dumont in her strong arms; and, holding her, smiled and gazed intently
+at her.
+
+"You must not grieve for us," she said. "We are not afraid. We are
+happy to go."
+
+"I know," said Palla Dumont; and took the girl-soldier's hands in
+hers. "What is your name?" she asked.
+
+"Ilse Westgard. And yours?"
+
+"Palla Dumont."
+
+"English? No?"
+
+"American."
+
+"Ah! One of our dear Americans! Well, then, you shall tell your
+countrymen that you have seen many women of many lands fighting rifle
+in hand, so that the boche shall not strangle freedom in Russia. Will
+you tell them, Palla?"
+
+"If I ever return."
+
+"You shall return. I, also, shall go to America. I shall seek for you
+there, pretty comrade. We shall become friends. Already I love you
+very dearly."
+
+She kissed Palla Dumont on both cheeks, holding her hands tightly.
+
+"Tell me," she said, "why you are in Russia, and where you are now
+journeying?"
+
+Palla looked at her steadily: "I am the American companion to the
+Grand Duchess Marie; and I am journeying to the village where the
+Imperial family is detained, because she has obtained permission for
+me to rejoin her."
+
+There was a short silence; the blue eyes of the Swedish girl had
+become frosty as two midwinter stars. Suddenly they glimmered warm
+again as twin violets:
+
+"Kharasho!" she said smiling. "And do you love your little comrade
+duchess?"
+
+"Next only to God."
+
+"That is very beautiful, Palla. She is a child to be enlightened.
+Teach her the greater truth."
+
+"She has learned it, Ilse."
+
+"_She_?"
+
+"Yes. And, if God wills it, she, and I also, take the vows some day."
+
+"The veil!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You! A nun!"
+
+"If God accepts me."
+
+The Swedish girl-soldier stood gazing upon her as though fascinated,
+crushing Palla's slim hands between her own.
+
+Presently she shook her head with a wearied smile:
+
+"That," she said, "is one thing I can not understand--the veil. No. I
+can understand _this_----" turning her head and glancing proudly
+around her at her girl comrades. "I can comprehend this thing that I
+am doing. But not what you wish to do, Palla. Not such service as you
+offer."
+
+"I wish to serve the source of all good. My heart is too full to be
+satisfied by serving mankind alone."
+
+The girl-soldier shook her head: "I try to understand. I can not. I am
+sorry, because I love you."
+
+"I love you, Ilse. I love my fellows."
+
+After another silence:
+
+"You go to the imperial family?" demanded Ilse abruptly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I wish to see you again. I shall try."
+
+The battalion marched a few moments later.
+
+It was rather a bad business. They went over the top with a cheer.
+Fifty answered roll call that night.
+
+However, the hun had learned one thing--that women soldiers were
+inferior to none.
+
+Russia learned it, too. Everywhere battalions were raised, uniformed,
+armed, equipped, drilled. In the streets of cities the girl-soldiers
+became familiar sights: nobody any longer turned to stare at them.
+There were several dozen girls in the officers' school, trying for
+commissions. In all the larger cities there were infantry battalions
+of girls, Cossack troops, machine gun units, signallers; they had a
+medical corps and transport service.
+
+But never but once again did they go into action. And their last stand
+was made facing their own people, the brain-crazed Reds.
+
+And after that the Battalion of Death became only a name; and the
+girl-soldiers bewildered fugitives, hunted down by the traitors who
+had sold out to the Germans at Brest-Litovsk.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+A door opened; the rush of foggy air set the flames of the altar
+candles blowing wildly. There came the clank of armed men.
+
+Then, in the dim light of the chapel, a novice sprang to her feet,
+brushing the white veil from her pallid young face.
+
+At that the ex-Empress, still kneeling, lifted her head from her
+devotions and calmly turned it, looking around over her right
+shoulder.
+
+The file of Red infantry advanced, shuffling slowly forward as though
+feeling their way through the candle-lit dusk across the stone floor.
+Their accoutrements clattered and clinked in the intense stillness. A
+slovenly officer, switching a thin, naked sword in his ungloved fist,
+led them. Another officer, carrying a sabre and marching in the rear,
+halted to slam and lock the heavy chapel door; then he ran forward to
+rejoin his men, while the chapel still reverberated with the echoes of
+the clanging door.
+
+A chair or two fell, pushed aside by the leading soldiers and hastily
+kicked out of the way as the others advanced more swiftly now. For
+there seemed to be some haste. These men were plainly in a hurry,
+whatever their business there might be.
+
+The Tzesarevitch, kneeling beside his mother, got up from his knees
+with visible difficulty. The Empress also rose, leisurely, supporting
+herself by one hand resting on the prie-dieu.
+
+Then several young girls, who had been kneeling behind her at their
+devotions, stood up and turned to stare at the oncoming armed men, now
+surrounding them.
+
+The officer carrying the naked sword, and reeking with fumes of
+brandy, counted these women in a loud, thick voice.
+
+"That's right," he said. "You're all present--one! two! three! four!
+five! six!--the whole accursed brood!" pointing waveringly with his
+sword from one to another.
+
+Then he laughed stupidly, leering out of his inflamed eyes at the five
+women who all wore the garbs of the Sisters of Mercy, their white
+coiffes and tabliers contrasting sharply with the sombre habits of the
+Russian nuns who had gathered in the candle-lit dusk behind them.
+
+"What do you wish?" demanded the ex-Empress in a fairly steady voice.
+
+"Answer to your names!" retorted the officer brutally. The other
+officer came up and began to fumble for a note book in the breast of
+his dirty tunic. When he found it he licked the lead of his pencil and
+squinted at the ex-Empress out of drunken eyes.
+
+"Alexandra Feodorovna!" he barked in her face. "If you're here, say
+so!"
+
+She remained calm, mute, cold as ice.
+
+A soldier behind her suddenly began to shout:
+
+"That's the German woman. That's the friend of the Staretz Novykh!
+That's Sascha! Now we've got her, the thing to do is to shoot
+her----"
+
+"Mark her present," interrupted the officer in command. "No
+ceremony, now. Mark the cub Romanoff present. Mark 'em all--Olga,
+Tatyana, Marie, Anastasia!--no matter which is which--they're all
+Romanoffs----"
+
+But the same soldier who had interrupted before bawled out again:
+"They're not Romanoffs! There are no German Romanoffs. There are no
+Romanoffs in Russia since a hundred and fifty years----"
+
+The little Tzesarevitch, Alexis, red with anger, stepped forward to
+confront the man, his frail hands fiercely clenched. The officer in
+command struck him brutally across the breast with the flat of his
+sword, shoved him aside, strode toward the low door of the chapel
+crypt and jerked it open.
+
+"Line them up!" he bawled. "We'll settle this Romanoff dispute once
+for all! Shove them into line! Hurry up, there!"
+
+But there seemed to be some confusion between the nuns and the
+soldiers, as the latter attempted to separate the ex-Empress and the
+young Grand Duchesses from the sisters.
+
+"What's all that trouble about!" cried the officer commanding. "Drive
+back those nuns, I tell you! They're Germans, too! They're Sascha's
+new Deaconesses! Kick 'em out of the way!"
+
+Then the novice, who had cried out in fear when the Red infantry first
+entered the chapel, forced her way out into the file formed by the
+Empress and her daughters.
+
+"There's a frightful mistake!" she cried, laying one hand on the arm
+of a young girl dressed, like the others, as a Sister of Mercy. "This
+woman is Miss Dumont, my American companion! Release her! =I= am the
+Grand Duchess Marie!"
+
+The girl, whose arm had been seized, looked at the young novice over
+her shoulder in a dazed way; then, suddenly her lovely face flushed
+scarlet; tears sprang to her eyes; and she said to the infuriated
+officer:
+
+"It is not true, Captain! I am the Grand Duchess Marie. She is trying
+to save me!"
+
+"What the devil is all this row!" roared the officer, who now came
+tramping and storming among the prisoners, switching his sword to and
+fro with ferocious impatience.
+
+The little Sister of Mercy, frightened but resolute, pointed at the
+novice, who still clutched her by the arm: "It is not true what she
+tells you," she repeated. "I am the Grand Duchess Marie, and this
+novice is my American companion, Miss Dumont, who loves me devotedly
+and who now attempts to sacrifice herself in my place----"
+
+"I _am_ the Grand Duchess Marie!" interrupted the novice excitedly.
+"This young girl dressed like a Sister of Mercy is only my American
+companion----"
+
+"Damnation!" yelled the officer. "I'll take you both, then!" But the
+girl in the Sister of Mercy's garb turned and violently pushed the
+novice from her so that she stumbled and fell on her knees among the
+nuns.
+
+Then, confronting the officer: "You Bolshevik dog," she said
+contemptuously, "don't you even know the daughter of your dead Emperor
+when you see her!" And she struck him across the face with her prayer
+book.
+
+As he recoiled from the blow a soldier shouted: "There's your proof!
+There's your insolent Romanoff for you! To hell with the whole litter!
+Shoot them!" Instantly a savage roar from the Reds filled that dim
+place; a soldier violently pushed the young Tzesarevitch into the file
+behind the Empress and held him there; the Grand Duchess Olga was
+flung bodily after him; the other children, in their hospital dresses,
+were shoved brutally toward their places, menaced by butt and
+bayonet.
+
+"March!" bawled the officer in command.
+
+But now, among the dark-garbed nuns, a slender white figure was
+struggling frantically to free herself:
+
+"You red dogs!" she cried in an agonised voice. "Let that English
+woman go! It is I you want! Do you hear! I mock at you! I mock at your
+resolution! Boje Tzaria Khrani! Down with the Bolsheviki!"
+
+A soldier turned and fired at her; the bullet smashed an ikon above
+her head.
+
+"I am the Grand Duchess Marie!" she sobbed. "I demand my place! I
+demand my fate! Let that American girl go! Do you hear what I say? Red
+beasts! Red beasts! I am the Grand Duchess!----"
+
+The officer who closed the file turned savagely and shook his heavy
+cavalry sabre at her: "I'll come back in a moment and cut your throat
+for you!" he yelled.
+
+Then, in the file, and just as the last bayonets were vanishing
+through the crypt door, one of the young girls turned and kissed her
+hand to the sobbing novice--a pretty gesture, tender, gay, not tragic,
+even almost mischievously triumphant.
+
+It was the adieu of the Grand Duchess Tatyana to the living world--her
+last glimpse of it through the flames of the altar candles gilding the
+dead Christ on his jewelled cross--the image of that Christ she was so
+soon to gaze upon when those lovely, mischievous young eyes of hers
+unclosed in Paradise....
+
+The door of the crypt slammed. A terrible silence reigned in the
+chapel.
+
+Then the novice uttered a cry, caught the foot of the cross with
+desperate hands, hung there convulsively.
+
+To her the Mother Superior turned, weeping. But at her touch the girl,
+crazed with grief, lifted both hands and tore from her own face the
+veil of her novitiate just begun;--tore her white garments from her
+shoulders, crying out in a strangled voice that if a Christian God let
+such things happen then He was no God of hers--that she would never
+enter His service--that the Lord Christ was no bridegroom for her;
+and, her novitiate was ended--ended together with every vow of
+chastity, of humility, of poverty, of even common humanity which she
+had ever hoped to take.
+
+The girl was now utterly beside herself; at one moment flaming and
+storming with fury among the terrified, huddling nuns; the next
+instant weeping, stamping her felt-shod foot in ungovernable revolt at
+this horror which any God in any heaven could permit.
+
+And again and again she called out on Christ to stop this thing and
+prove Himself a real God to a pagan world that mocked Him.
+
+Dishevelled, her rent veil in tatters on her naked shoulders, she
+sprang across the chapel to the crypt door, shook it, tore at it,
+seized chair after chair and shattered them to splinters against the
+solid panels of oak and iron.
+
+Then, suddenly motionless, she crouched and listened.
+
+"Oh, Mother of God!" she panted, "intervene now--_now_!--or never!"
+
+The muffled rattle of a rather ragged volley answered her prayer.
+
+Outside the convent a sentry--a Kronstadt sailor--stood. He also heard
+the underground racket. He nodded contentedly to himself. Other shots
+followed--pistol shots--singly.
+
+After a few moments a wisp of smoke from the crypt crept lazily out of
+the low oubliettes. The day was grey and misty; rain threatened; and
+the rifle smoke clung low to the withered grass, scarcely lifting.
+
+The sentry lighted a third cigarette, one eye on the barred
+oubliettes, from which the smoke crawled and spread out over the
+grass.
+
+After a while a sweating face appeared behind the bars and a
+half-stifled voice demanded why there was any delay about fetching
+quick-lime. And, still clinging to the bars with bloody fingers, he
+added:
+
+"There's a damned novice in the chapel. I promised to cut her throat
+for her. Go in and get her and bring her down here."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The novice was nowhere to be found.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+They searched the convent thoroughly; they went out into the garden
+and beat the shrubbery, kicking through bushes and saplings, their
+cocked rifles poised for a snap shot.
+
+Peasants, gathering there more thickly now, watched them stupidly; the
+throng increased in the convent grounds. Some Bolshevik soldiers
+pushed through the rapidly growing crowd and ran toward a birch wood
+east of the convent. Beyond the silvery fringe of birches, larger
+trees of a heavy, hard-wood forest loomed. Among these splendid trees
+a number of beeches were being felled on both sides of the road.
+
+"Did you see a White Nun run this way?" demanded the soldiers of the
+wood-cutters. The latter shook their heads:
+
+"Nothing has passed," they said seriously, "except some Ural Cossacks
+riding north like lost souls in a hurricane."
+
+An officer of the Red battalion, who had now hastened up with pistol
+swinging, flew into a frightful rage:
+
+"Cossacks!" he bellowed. "You cowardly dogs, what do you mean by
+letting Kaledines' horsemen gallop over you like that--you with your
+saws and axes--twenty lusty comrades to block the road and pull the
+Imperialists off their horses! Shame! For all I know you've let a
+Romanoff escape alive into the world! That's probably what you've
+done, you greasy louts!"
+
+The wood-cutters gaped stupidly; the Bolshevik officer cursed them
+again and gesticulated with his pistol. Other soldiers of the Red
+battalion ran up. One nudged the officer's elbow without saluting:
+
+"That other prisoner can't be found----"
+
+"What! That Swedish girl!" yelled the officer.
+
+Several soldiers began speaking excitedly:
+
+"While we were in the cellar, they say she ran away----"
+
+"Yes, Captain, while we were about that business in the crypt,
+Kaledines' horsemen rode up outside----"
+
+"Who saw them?" demanded the officer hoarsely. "God curse you, who saw
+them?"
+
+Some peasants had now come up. One of them began:
+
+"Your _honour_, I saw Prince Kaledines' riders----"
+
+"_Whose!_"
+
+"The Hetman's----"
+
+"Your _honour_! _Prince_ Kaledines! The Hetman! Damnation! Who do you
+think you are! Who do you think I am!" burst out the Red officer in a
+fury. "Get out of my way!----" He pushed the peasants right and left
+and strode away toward the convent. His soldiers began to straggle
+after him. One of them winked at the wood-cutters with his tongue in
+his cheek, and slung the rifle he carried over his right shoulder _en
+bandoulière_, muzzle downward.
+
+"The Tavarish is in a temper," he said with a jerk of his thumb
+toward the officer. "We arrested that Swedish girl in the uniform
+of the woman's battalion. One shoots that breed on sight, you know.
+But we were in such a hurry to finish with the Romanoffs----" He
+shrugged: "You see, comrades, we should have taken her into the crypt
+and shot her along with the Romanoffs. That's how one loses these
+birds--they're off if you turn your back to light a cigarette in
+the wind."
+
+One of the wood-cutters said: "Among Kaledines' horsemen were two
+women. One was crop-headed like a boy, and half naked."
+
+"A White Nun?"
+
+"God knows. She had some white rags hanging to her body, and dark hair
+clipped like a boy's."
+
+"That--was--she!" said the soldier with slow conviction. He turned and
+looked down the long perspective of the forest road. Only a raven
+stalked there all alone over the fallen leaves.
+
+"Certainly," he said, "that was our White Nun. The Cossacks took her
+with them. They must have ridden fast, the horsemen of Kaledines."
+
+"Like a swift storm. Like the souls of the damned," replied a
+peasant.
+
+The soldier shrugged: "If there's still a Romanoff loose in the
+world, God save the world!... And that big heifer of a Swedish
+wench!--she was a bad one, I tell you!--Took six of us to catch her
+and ten to hold her by her ten fingers and toes! Hey! God bless me,
+but she stands six feet and is made of steel cased in silk--all white,
+smooth and iron-hard--the blond young snow-tiger that she is!--the
+yellow-haired, six-foot, slippery beastess! God bless me--God bless
+me!" he muttered, staring down the wood-road to its vanishing point
+against the grey horizon.
+
+Then he hitched his slung rifle to a more comfortable position,
+turned, gazed at the convent across the fields, which his distant
+comrades were now approaching.
+
+"A German nest," he said aloud to himself, "full of their damned
+Deaconesses! Hey! I'll be going along to see what's to be done with
+them, also!"
+
+He nodded to the wood-cutters:
+
+"Vermin-killing time," he remarked cheerily. "After the dirty work is
+done, peace, land enough for everybody, ease and plenty and a full
+glass always at one's elbows--eh, comrades?"
+
+He strode away across the fields.
+
+It had begun to snow.
+
+
+
+
+ARGUMENT
+
+
+The Cossacks sang as they rode:
+
+                                   I
+
+                     "Life is against us
+                     We are born crying:
+                     Life that commenced us
+                     Leaves us all dying.
+                            We were born crying;
+                            We shall die sighing.
+
+                     "Shall we sit idle?
+                     Follow Death's dance!
+                     Pick up your bridle,
+                     Saddle and lance!
+                     Cossacks, advance!"
+
+They were from the Urals: they sat their shaggy little grey horses,
+lance in hand, stirrup deep in saddle paraphernalia--kit-bags, tents,
+blankets, trusses of straw, a dead fowl or two or a quarter of beef.
+And from every saddle dangled a balalaika and the terrible Cossack
+whip.
+
+The steel of their lances flashed red in the setting sun; snow whirled
+before the wind in blinding pinkish clouds, powdering horse and rider
+from head to heel.
+
+Again one rider unslung his balalaika, struck it, looking skyward as
+he rode:
+
+                    "Stars in your courses,
+                    This is our answer;
+                    Women and horses,
+                    Singer and dancer
+                             Fall to the lancer!
+                             That is your answer!
+
+                    "Though the Dark Raider
+                    Rob us of joy----
+                    Death, the Invader,
+                    Come to destroy----
+                    _Nichevo! Stoi!_"
+
+They rode into a forest, slowly, filing among the silver birches, then
+trotting out amid the pines.
+
+The Swedish girl towered in her saddle, dwarfing the shaggy pony. She
+wore her grey wool cap, overcoat, and boots. Pistols bulged in the
+saddle holsters; sacks of grain and a bag of camp tins lay across
+pommel and cantle.
+
+Beside her rode the novice, swathed to the eyes in a sheepskin
+greatcoat, and a fur cap sheltering her shorn head.
+
+Her lethargy--a week's reaction from the horrors of the convent--had
+vanished; and a feverish, restless alertness had taken its place.
+
+Nothing of the still, white novice was visible now in her brilliant
+eyes and flushed cheeks.
+
+Her tragic silence had given place to an unnatural loquacity; her
+grief to easily aroused mirth; and the dark sorrow in her haunted eyes
+was gone, and they grew brown and sunny and vivacious.
+
+She talked freely with her comrade, Ilse Westgard; she exchanged
+gossip and banter with the Cossacks, argued with them, laughed with
+them, sang with them.
+
+At night she slept in her sheepskin in Ilse Westgard's vigorous arms;
+morning, noon and evening she filled the samovar with snow beside
+Cossack fires, or in the rare cantonments afforded in wretched
+villages, where whiskered and filthy mujiks cringed to the Cossacks,
+whispering to one another: "There is no end to death; there is no end
+to the fighting and the dying, God bless us all. There is no end."
+
+In the glare of great fires in muddy streets she stood, swathed in her
+greatcoat, her cap pushed back, looking like some beautiful, impudent
+boy, while the Cossacks sang "Lada oy Lada!"--and let their slanting
+eyes wander sideways toward her, till her frank laughter set the
+singers grinning and the _gusli_ was laid aside.
+
+And once, after a swift gallop to cross a railroad and an exchange of
+shots with the Red guards at long range, the sotnia of the Wild
+Division rode at evening into a little hamlet of one short, miserable
+street, and shouted for a fire that could be seen as far as Moscow.
+
+That night they discovered vodka--not much--enough to set them
+singing first, then dancing. The troopers danced together in the
+fire-glare--clumsily, in their boots, with interims of the _pas
+seul_ savouring of the capers of those ancient Mongol horsemen in
+the _Hezars_ of Genghis Khan.
+
+But no dancing, no singing, no clumsy capers were enough to satisfy
+these riders of the Wild Division, now made boisterous by vodka and
+horse-meat. Gossip crackled in every group; jests flew; they shouted
+at the peasants; they roared at their own jokes.
+
+"Comrade novice!--Pretty boy with a shorn head!" they bawled.
+"Harangue us once more on law and love."
+
+She stood with legs apart and thumbs hooked in her belt, laughing at
+them across the fire. And all around crowded the wretched _mujiks_,
+peering at her through shaggy hair, out of little wolfish eyes.
+
+A Cossack shouted: "My law first! Land for all! That is what we have,
+we Cossacks! Land for the people, one and all--land for the _mujik_;
+land for the bourgeois; land for the aristocrat! That law solves all,
+clears all questions, satisfies all. It is the Law of Peace!"
+
+A Cossack shoved a soldier-deserter forward into the firelight. He
+wore a patch of red on his sleeve.
+
+"Answer, comrade! Is that the true law? Or have you and your comrades
+made a better one in Petrograd?"
+
+The deserter, a little frightened, tried to grin: "A good law is, kill
+all generals," he said huskily. "Afterward we shall have peace."
+
+A roar of laughter greeted him; these dark, thickset Cossacks with
+slanting eyes were from the Urals. What did they care how many
+generals were killed? Besides, their hetman had already killed
+himself.
+
+Their officer moved out into the firelight--a reckless rider but a
+dull brain--and stood lashing at his snow-crusted boots with the
+silver-mounted quirt.
+
+"Like gendarmes," he said, "we Cossacks are forever doing the dirty
+work of other people. Why? It begins to sicken me. Why are we forever
+executing the law! What law? Who made it? The Tzar. And he is dead,
+and what is the good of the law he made?
+
+"Why should free Cossacks be policemen any more when there is no law?
+
+"We played gendarme for the Monarchists. We answered the distress call
+of the Cadets and the bourgeoisie! Where are they? Where is the law
+they made?"
+
+He stood switching his dirty boots and swinging his heavy head right
+and left with the stupid, lowering menace of a bull.
+
+"Then came the Mensheviki with their law," he bellowed suddenly.
+"Again we became policemen, galloping to their whistle. Where are
+they? Where is their law?"
+
+He spat on the snow, twirled his quirt.
+
+"There is only one law to govern the land," he roared. "It is the law
+of hands off and mind your business! It's a good law."
+
+"A good law for those who already have something," cried a high, thin
+voice from the throng of peasants.
+
+The Cossacks, who all possessed their portion of land, yelled with
+laughter. One of them called out to the Swedish girl for her opinion,
+and the fair young giantess strode gracefully out into the fire-ring,
+her cap in her hand and the thick blond ringlets shining like gold on
+her beautiful head.
+
+"Listen! Listen to this soldier of the Death Battalion!" shouted the
+Cossacks in great glee. "She will tell us what the law should be!"
+
+She laughed: "We fought for it--we women soldiers," she said. "And the
+law we fought for was made when the first tyrant fell.
+
+"This is the law: Freedom of mind; liberty of choice; an equal chance
+for all; no violence; only orderly debate to determine the will of the
+land."
+
+A Cossack said loudly: "_Da volna!_ Those who have nothing would take,
+then, from those who have!"
+
+"I think not!" cried another,"--not in the Urals!"
+
+Thunderous laughter from their comrades and cries of, "Palla! Let us
+hear our pretty boy, who has made for the whole world a law."
+
+Palla Dumont, her slender hands thrust deep in her great coat sleeves,
+and standing like a nun lost in mystic revery, looked up with gay
+audacity--not like a nun at all, now, save for the virginal allure
+that seemed a part of the girl.
+
+"There is only one law, Tavarishi," she said, turning slightly from
+her hips as she spoke, to include those behind her in the circle: "and
+that law was not made by man. That law was born, already made, when
+the first man was born. It has never changed. It comprehends
+everything; includes everything and everybody; it solves all
+perplexity, clears all doubts, decides all questions.
+
+"It is a living law; it exists; it is the key to every problem; and it
+is all ready for you."
+
+The girl's face had altered; the half mischievous audacity in defiance
+of her situation--the gay, impudent confidence in herself and in these
+wild comrades of hers, had given place to something more serious, more
+ardent--the youthful intensity that smiles through the flaming
+enchantment of suddenly discovered knowledge.
+
+"It is the oldest of all laws," she said. "It was born perfect. It is
+yours if you accept it. And this law is the Law of Love."
+
+A peasant muttered: "One gives where one loves."
+
+The girl turned swiftly: "That is the soul of the Law!" she cried, "to
+give! Is there any other happiness, Tavarishi? Is there any other
+peace? Is there need of any other law?
+
+"I tell you that the Law of Love slays greed! And when greed dies, war
+dies. And hunger, and misery die, too!
+
+"Of what use is any government and its lesser laws and customs, unless
+it is itself governed by that paramount Law?
+
+"Of what avail are your religions, your churches, your priests, your
+saints, relics, ikons--all your candles and observances--unless
+dominated by that Law?
+
+"Of what use is your God unless that Law of Love also governs Him?"
+
+She stood gazing at the firelit faces, the virginal half-smile on her
+lips.
+
+A peasant broke the silence: "Is she a new saint, then?" he said
+distinctly.
+
+A Cossack nodded to her, grinning respectfully:
+
+"We always like your sermons, little novice," he said. And, to the
+others: "Nobody wishes to deny what she says is quite true"--he
+scratched his head, still grinning--"only--while there are Kurds in
+the world----"
+
+"And Bolsheviki!" shouted another.
+
+"True! And Turks! God bless us, Tavarishi," he added with a wry face,
+"it takes a stronger stomach to love these beasts than is mine----"
+
+In the sudden shout of laughter the girl, Palla, looked around at her
+comrade, Ilse.
+
+"Until each accepts the Law of Love," said the Swedish girl-soldier,
+laughing, "it can not be a law."
+
+"I have accepted it," said Palla gaily; but her childishly lovely
+mouth was working, and she clenched her hands in her sleeves to
+control the tremor.
+
+Silent, the smile still stamped on her tremulous lips, she stood for a
+few moments, fighting back the deep emotions enveloping her in surging
+fire--the same ardent and mystic emotions which once had consumed her
+at the altar's foot, where she had knelt, a novice, dreaming of
+beatitudes ineffable.
+
+If that vision, for her, was ended--its substance but the shadow of a
+dream--the passion that created it, the fire that purified it, the
+ardent heart that needed love--love sacred, love unalloyed--needed
+love still, burned for it, yearning to give.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+As she lifted her head and looked around her with dark eyes still a
+little dazed, there was a sudden commotion among the _mujiks_; a
+Cossack called out something in a sharp voice; their officer walked
+hastily out into the darkness; a shadowy rider spurred ahead of him.
+
+Suddenly a far voice shouted: "Who goes there! _Stoi!_"
+
+Then red flashes came out of the night; Cossacks ran for their horses;
+Ilse appeared with Palla's pony as well as her own, and halted to
+listen, the fearless smile playing over her face.
+
+"Mount!" cried many voices at once. "The Reds!"
+
+Palla flung herself astride her saddle; Ilse galloped beside her,
+freeing her pistols; everywhere in the starlight the riders of the
+Wild Division came galloping, loosening their long lances as they
+checked their horses in close formation.
+
+Then, with scarcely a sound in the unbroken snow, they filed away
+eastward at a gentle trot, under the pale lustre of the stars.
+
+
+
+
+THE CRIMSON TIDE
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+On the 7th of November, 1917, the Premier of the Russian Revolutionary
+Government was a hunted fugitive, his ministers in prison, his troops
+scattered or dead. Three weeks later, the irresponsible Reds had begun
+their shameful career of treachery, counselled by a pallid, black-eyed
+man with a muzzle like a mouse--one L. D. Bronstein, called Trotzky;
+and by two others--one a bald, smooth-shaven, rotund little man with
+an expression that made men hesitate, and features not trusted by
+animals and children.
+
+The Red Parliament called him Vladimir Ulianov, and that's what he
+called himself. He had proved to be reticent, secretive, deceitful,
+diligent, and utterly unhuman. His lower lip was shaped as though
+something dripped from it. Blood, perhaps. His eyes were brown and not
+entirely unattractive. But God makes the eyes; the mouth is fashioned
+by one's self.
+
+The world knew him as Lenine.
+
+The third man squinted. He wore a patch of sparse cat-hairs on his
+chin and upper lip.
+
+His head was too big; his legs too short, but they were always in a
+hurry, always in motion. He had a persuasive and ardent tongue, and
+practically no mind. The few ideas he possessed inclined him to
+violence--always the substitute for reason in this sort of agitator.
+It was this ever latent violence that proved persuasive. His name was
+Krylenko. His smile was a grin.
+
+These three men betrayed Christ on March 3d, 1918.
+
+On the Finland Road, outside of Petrograd, the Red ragamuffins held a
+perpetual carmagnole, and all fugitives danced to their piping, and
+many paid for the music.
+
+But though White Guards and Red now operated in respectively hostile
+gangs everywhere throughout the land, and the treacherous hun armies
+were now in full tide of their Baltic invasion, there still remained
+ways and means of escape--inconspicuous highways and unguarded roads
+still open that led out of that white hell to the icy but friendly
+seas clashing against the northward coasts.
+
+Diplomats were inelegantly "beating it." A kindly but futile
+Ambassador shook the snow of Petrograd from his galoshes and solemnly
+and laboriously vanished. Mixed bands of attachés, consular personnel,
+casuals, emissaries, newspaper men, and mission specialists scattered
+into unfeigned flight toward those several and distant sections of
+"God's Country," divided among civilised nations and lying far away
+somewhere in the outer sunshine.
+
+Sometimes White Guards caught these fugitives; sometimes Red Guards;
+and sometimes the hun nabbed them on the general hunnish principle
+that whatever is running away is fair game for a pot shot.
+
+Even the American Red Cross was "suspect"--treachery being alleged in
+its relations with Roumania; and hun and Bolshevik became very
+troublesome--so troublesome, in fact, that Estridge, for example, was
+having an impossible time of it, arrested every few days, wriggling
+out of it, only to be collared again and detained.
+
+Sometimes they questioned him concerning gun-running into Roumania;
+sometimes in regard to his part in conducting the American girl, Miss
+Dumont, to the convent where the imperial family had been detained.
+
+That the de facto government had requested him to undertake this
+mission and to employ an American Red Cross ambulance in the affair
+seemed to make no difference.
+
+He continued to be dogged, spied on, arrested, detained, badgered,
+until one evening, leaving the Smolny, he encountered an American--a
+slim, short man who smiled amiably upon him through his glasses,
+removed a cigar from his lips, and asked Estridge what was the nature
+of his evident and visible trouble.
+
+So they walked back to the hotel together and settled on a course of
+action during the long walk. What this friend in need did and how he
+did it, Estridge never learned; but that same evening he was
+instructed to pack up, take a train, and descend at a certain station
+a few hours later.
+
+Estridge followed instructions, encountered no interference, got off
+at the station designated, and waited there all day, drinking boiling
+tea.
+
+Toward evening a train from Petrograd stopped at the station, and from
+the open door of a compartment Estridge saw his chance acquaintance of
+the previous day making signs to him to get aboard.
+
+Nobody interfered. They had a long, cold, unpleasant night journey,
+wedged in between two soldiers wearing arm-bands, who glowered at a
+Russian general officer opposite, and continued to mutter to each
+other about imperialists, bourgeoisie, and cadets.
+
+At every stop they were inspected by lantern light, their papers
+examined, and sometimes their luggage opened. But these examinations
+seemed to be perfunctory, and nobody was detained.
+
+In the grey of morning the train stopped and some soldiers with red
+arm-bands looked in and insulted the general officer, but offered no
+violence. The officer gave them a stony glance and closed his cold,
+puffy eyes in disdain. He was blond and looked like a German.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+At the next stop Estridge received a careless nod from his chance
+acquaintance, gathered up his luggage and descended to the frosty
+platform.
+
+Nobody bothered to open their bags; their papers were merely glanced
+at. They had some steaming tea and some sour bread together.
+
+A little later a large sleigh drove up behind the station; their light
+baggage was stowed aboard, they climbed in under the furs.
+
+"Now," remarked his calm companion to Estridge, "we're all right if
+the Reds, the Whites and the boches don't shoot us up."
+
+"What are the chances?" inquired Estridge.
+
+"Excellent, excellent," said his companion cheerily, "I should say we
+have about one chance in ten to get out of this alive. I'll take
+either end--ten to one we don't get out--ten to two we're shot up and
+not killed--ten to three we are arrested but not killed--one to ten we
+pull through with whole skins."
+
+Estridge smiled. They remained silent, probably preoccupied with the
+hazards of their respective fortunes. It grew colder toward noon.
+
+The young man seated beside Estridge in the sleigh smoked continually.
+
+He was attached to one of the American missions sent into Russia by an
+optimistic administration--a mission, as a whole, foredoomed to
+political failure.
+
+In every detail, too, it had already failed, excepting only in that
+particular part played by this young man, whose name was Brisson.
+
+He, however, had gone about his occult business in a most amazing
+manner--the manner of a Yankee who knows what he wants and what his
+country ought to want if it knew enough to know it wanted it.
+
+He was the last American to leave Petrograd: he had taken his time; he
+left only when he was quite ready to leave.
+
+And this was the man, now seated beside Estridge, who had coolly and
+cleverly taken his sporting chance in remaining till the eleventh hour
+and the fifty-ninth minute in the service of his country. Then, as the
+twelfth hour began to strike, he bluffed his way through.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+During the first two or three days of sleigh travel, Brisson learned
+all he desired to know about Estridge, and Estridge learned almost
+nothing about Brisson except that he possessed a most unholy genius
+for wriggling out of trouble.
+
+Nothing, nobody, seemed able to block this young man's progress. He
+bluffed his way through White Guards and Red; he squirmed affably out
+of the clutches of wandering Cossacks; he jollied officials of all
+shades of political opinion; but he always continued his journey from
+one étape to the next. Also, he was continually lighting one large
+cigar after another. Buttoned snugly into his New York-made arctic
+clothing, and far more comfortable at thirty below zero than was
+Estridge in Russian costume, he smoked comfortably in the teeth of the
+icy gale or conversed soundly on any topic chosen. And the range was
+wide.
+
+But about himself and his mission in Russia he never conversed except
+to remark, once, that he could buy better Russian clothing in New York
+than in Petrograd.
+
+Indeed, his only concession to the customs of the country was in the
+fur cap he wore. But it was the galoshes of Manhattan that saved his
+feet from freezing. He had two pair and gave one to Estridge.
+
+During several hundreds of miles in sleighs, Brisson's constant regret
+was the absence of ferocious wolves. He desired to enjoy the whole
+show as depicted by the geographies. He complained to Estridge quite
+seriously concerning the lack of enterprise among the wolves.
+
+But there seemed to be no wolves in Russia sufficiently polite to
+oblige him; so he comforted himself by patting his stomach where,
+sewed inside his outer underclothing, reposed documents destined to
+electrify the civilised world with proof infernal of the treachery of
+those three men who belong in history and in hell to the fraternity
+which includes Benedict Arnold and Judas.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+One late afternoon, while smoking his large cigar and hopefully
+inspecting the neighbouring forest for wolves, this able young man
+beheld a sotnia of Ural Cossacks galloping across the snow toward the
+flying sleigh, where he and Estridge sat so snugly ensconced.
+
+There was, of course, only one thing to do, and that was to halt.
+Kaledines had blown his brains out, but his riders rode as swiftly as
+ever. So the sleigh stopped.
+
+And now these matchless horsemen of the Wild Division came galloping
+up around the sleigh. Brilliant little slanting eyes glittered under
+shaggy head-gear; broad, thick-lipped mouths split into grins at sight
+of the two little American flags fluttering so gaily on the sleigh.
+
+Then two booted and furred riders climbed out of their saddles, and,
+under their sheepskin caps, Brisson saw the delicate features of two
+young women, one a big, superb, blue-eyed girl; the other slim,
+dark-eyed, and ivory-pale.
+
+The latter said in English: "Could you help us? We saw the flags on
+your sleigh. We are trying to leave the country. I am American. My
+name is Palla Dumont. My friend is Swedish and her name is Ilse
+Westgard."
+
+"Get in, any way," said Brisson briskly. "We can't be in a worse mess
+than we are. I imagine it's the same case with you. So if we're all
+going to smash, it's pleasanter, I think, to go together."
+
+At that the Swedish girl laughed and aided her companion to enter the
+sleigh.
+
+"Good-bye!" she called in her clear, gay voice to the Cossacks. "When
+we come back again we shall ride with you from Vladivostok to Moscow
+and never see an enemy!"
+
+When the young women were comfortably ensconced in the sleigh, the
+riders of the Wild Division crowded their horses around them and
+shook hands with them English fashion.
+
+"When you come back," they cried, "you shall find us riding through
+Petrograd behind Korniloff!" And to Brisson and Estridge, in a
+friendly manner: "Come also, comrades. We will show you a monument
+made out of heads and higher than the Kremlin. That would be a funny
+joke and worth coming back to see."
+
+Brisson said pleasantly that such an exquisite jest would be well
+worth their return to Russia.
+
+Everybody seemed pleased; the Cossacks wheeled their shaggy mounts and
+trotted away into the woods, singing. The sleigh drove on.
+
+"This is very jolly," said Brisson cheerfully. "Wherever we're bound
+for, now, we'll all go together."
+
+"Is not America the destination of your long journey?" inquired the
+big, blue-eyed girl.
+
+Brisson chuckled: "Yes," he said, "but bullets sometimes shorten
+routes and alter destinations. I think you ought to know the worst."
+
+"If that's the worst, it's nothing to frighten one," said the Swedish
+girl. And her crystalline laughter filled the icy air.
+
+She put one persuasive arm around her slender, dark-eyed comrade:
+
+"To meet God unexpectedly is nothing to scare one, is it, Palla?" she
+urged coaxingly.
+
+The other reddened and her eyes flashed: "What God do you mean?" she
+retorted. "If I have anything to say about my destination after death
+I shall go wherever love is. And it does not dwell with the God or in
+the Heaven that we have been taught to desire and hope for."
+
+The Swedish girl patted her shoulder and smiled in good humoured
+deprecation at Brisson and Estridge.
+
+"God let her dearest friend die under the rifles of the Reds," she
+explained cheerfully, "and my little comrade can not reconcile this
+sad affair with her faith in Divine justice. So she concludes there
+isn't any such thing. And no Divinity." She shrugged: "That is what
+shakes the faith in youth--the seeming indifference of the Most
+High."
+
+Palla Dumont sat silent. The colour had died out in her cheeks, her
+dark, indifferent eyes became fixed.
+
+Estridge opened the fur collar of his coat and pulled back his fur
+cap.
+
+"Do you remember me?" he said to Ilse Westgard.
+
+The girl laughed: "Yes, I remember you, now!"
+
+To Palla Dumont he said: "And do _you_ remember?"
+
+At that she looked up incuriously; leaned forward slowly; gazed
+intently at him; then she caught both his hands in hers with a swift,
+sobbing intake of breath.
+
+"You are John Estridge," she said. "You took me to her in your
+ambulance!" She pressed his hands almost convulsively, and he felt her
+trembling under the fur robe.
+
+"Is it true," he said, "--that ghastly tragedy?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"All died?"
+
+"All."
+
+Estridge turned to Brisson: "Miss Dumont was companion to the Grand
+Duchess Marie," he said in brief explanation.
+
+Brisson nodded, biting his cigar.
+
+The Swedish girl-soldier said: "They were devoted--the little Grand
+Duchess and Palla.... It was horrible, there in the convent
+cellar--those young girls----" She gazed out across the snow; then,
+
+"The Reds who did it had already made me prisoner.... They arrested me
+in uniform after the decree disbanding us.... I was on my way to join
+Kaledines' Cossacks--a rendezvous.... Well, the Reds left me outside
+the convent and went in to do their bloody work. And I gnawed the rope
+and ran into the chapel to hide among the nuns. And there I saw a
+White Nun--quite crazed with grief----"
+
+"I had heard the volley that killed her," said Palla, in explanation,
+to nobody in particular. She sat staring out across the snow with dry,
+bright eyes.
+
+Brisson looked askance at her, looked significantly at the Swedish
+girl, Ilse Westgard: "And what happened then?" he inquired, with the
+pleasant, impersonal manner of a physician.
+
+Ilse said: "Palla had already begun her novitiate. But what happened
+in those terrible moments changed her utterly.... I think she went mad
+at the moment.... Then the Superior came to me and begged me to hide
+Palla because the Bolsheviki had promised to return and cut her throat
+when they had finished their bloody business in the crypt.... So I
+caught her up in my arms and I ran out into the convent grounds. And
+at that very moment, God be thanked, a sotnia of the Wild Division
+rode up looking for me. And they had led horses with them. And we were
+in the saddle and riding like maniacs before I could think. That is
+all, except, an hour ago we saw your sleigh."
+
+"You have been hiding with the Cossacks ever since!" exclaimed
+Estridge to Palla.
+
+"That is her history," replied Ilse, "and mine. And," she added
+cheerfully but tenderly, "my little comrade, here, is very, very
+homesick, very weary, very deeply and profoundly unhappy in the loss
+of her closest friend... and perhaps in the loss of her faith in
+God."
+
+"I am tranquil and I am not unhappy,"--said Palla. "And if I ever win
+free of this murderous country I shall, for the first time in my life,
+understand what the meaning of life really is. And shall know how to
+live."
+
+"You thought you knew how to live when you took the white veil," said
+Ilse cheerfully. "Perhaps, after all, you may make other errors before
+you learn the truth about it all. Who knows? You might even care to
+take the veil again----"
+
+"Never!" cried Palla in a clear, hard little voice, tinged with the
+scorn and anger of that hot revolt which sometimes shakes youth to the
+very source of its vitality.
+
+Ilse said very calmly to Estridge: "With me it is my reason and not
+mere hope that convinces me of God's existence. I try to reason with
+Palla because one is indeed to be pitied who has lost belief in
+God----"
+
+"You are mistaken," said Palla drily; "--one merely becomes one's self
+when once the belief in that sort of God is ended."
+
+Ilse turned to Brisson: "That," she said, "is what seems so impossible
+for some to accept--so terrible--the apparent indifference, the lack
+of explanation--God's dreadful reticence in this thunderous whirlwind
+of prayer that storms skyward day and night from our martyred world."
+
+Palla, listening, sat forward and said to Brisson: "There is only one
+religion and it has only two precepts--love and give! The rest--the
+forms, observances, creeds, ceremonies, threats, promises, are
+man-made trash!
+
+"If man's man-made God pleases him, let him worship him. That kind of
+deity does not please me. I no longer care whether He pleases me or
+not. He no longer exists as far as I am concerned."
+
+Brisson, much interested, asked Palla whether the void left by
+discredited Divinity did not bewilder her.
+
+"There is no void," said the girl. "It is already filled with my own
+kind of God, with millions of Gods--my own fellow creatures."
+
+"Your fellow beings?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You think your fellow creatures can fill that void?"
+
+"They have filled it."
+
+Brisson nodded reflectively: "I see," he said politely, "you intend to
+devote your life to the cult of your fellow creatures."
+
+"No, I do not," said the girl tranquilly, "but I intend to love them
+and live my life that way unhampered." She added almost fiercely: "And
+I shall love them the more because of their ignorant faith in an
+all-seeing and tender and just Providence which does not exist! I
+shall love them because of their tragic deception and their
+helplessness and their heart-breaking unconsciousness of it all."
+
+Ilse Westgard smiled and patted Palla's cheeks: "All roads lead
+ultimately to God," she said, "and yours is a direct route though you
+do not know it."
+
+"I tell you I have nothing in common with the God you mean," flashed
+out the girl.
+
+Brisson, though interested, kept one grey eye on duty, ever hopeful of
+wolves. It was snowing hard now--a perfect geography scene, lacking
+only the wolves; but the étape was only half finished. There might be
+hope.
+
+The rather amazing conversation in the sleigh also appealed to him,
+arousing all his instincts of a veteran newspaper man, as well as his
+deathless curiosity--that perpetual flame which alone makes any
+intelligence vital.
+
+Also, his passion for all documents--those sewed under his underclothes,
+as well as these two specimens of human documents--were now keeping
+his lively interest in life unimpaired.
+
+"Loss of faith," he said to Palla, and inclined toward further debate,
+"must be a very serious thing for any woman, I imagine."
+
+"I haven't lost faith in love," she said, smilingly aware that he was
+encouraging discussion.
+
+"But you say you have lost faith in spiritual love--"
+
+"I did not say so. I did not mean the other kind of love when I said
+that love is sufficient religion for me."
+
+"But spiritual love means Deity----"
+
+"It does _not_! Can you imagine the all-powerful father watching his
+child die, horribly--and never lifting a finger! Is that love? Is that
+power? _Is_ that Deity?"
+
+"To penetrate the Divine mind and its motives for not intervening is
+impossible for us----"
+
+"That is priest's prattle! Also, I care nothing now about Divine
+motives. Motives are human, not divine. So is policy. That is why the
+present Pope is unworthy of respect. He let his flock die. He deserted
+his Cardinal. He let the hun go unrebuked. He betrayed Christ. I care
+nothing about any mind weak enough, politic enough, powerless enough,
+to ignore love for motives!
+
+"One loves, or one does not love. Loving is giving--" The girl sat up
+in the sleigh and the thickening snowflakes drove into her flushed
+face. "Loving is giving," she repeated, "--giving life to love; giving
+_up_ life for love--giving! _giving!_ always giving!--always
+forgiving! That is love! That is the only God!--the indestructible,
+divine God within each one of us!"
+
+Brisson appraised her with keen and scholarly eyes. "Yet," he said
+pleasantly, "you do not forgive God for the death of your friend.
+Don't you practise your faith?"
+
+The girl seemed nonplussed; then a brighter tint stained her cheeks
+under the ragged sheepskin cap.
+
+"Forgive God!" she cried. "If there really existed that sort of God,
+what would be the use of forgiving what He does? He'd only do it
+again. That is His record!" she added fiercely, "--indifference to
+human agony, utter silence amid lamentations, stone deaf, stone dumb,
+motionless. It is not in me to fawn and lick the feet of such an
+image. No! It is not in me to believe it alive, either. And I do not!
+But I know that love lives: and if there be any gods at all, it must
+be that they are without number, and that their substance is of that
+immortality born inside us, and which we call love! Otherwise, to me,
+now, symbols, signs, saints, rituals, vows--these things, in my mind,
+are all scrapped together as junk. Only, in me, the warm faith
+remains--that within me there lives a god of sorts--perhaps that
+immortal essence called a soul--and that its only name is love. And it
+has given us only one law to live by--the Law of Love!"
+
+Brisson's cigar had gone out. He examined it attentively and found it
+would be worth relighting when opportunity offered.
+
+Then he smiled amiably at Palla Dumont:
+
+"What you say is very interesting," he remarked. But he was too polite
+to add that it had been equally interesting to numberless generations
+through the many, many centuries during which it all had been said
+before, in various ways and by many, many people.
+
+Lying back in his furs reflectively, and deriving a rather cold
+satisfaction from his cigar butt, he let his mind wander back through
+the history of theocracy and of mundane philosophy, mildly amused to
+recognize an ancient theory resurrected and made passionately original
+once more on the red lips of this young girl.
+
+But the Law of Love is not destined to be solved so easily; nor had it
+ever been solved in centuries dead by Egyptian, Mongol, or Greek--by
+priest or princess, prophet or singer, or by any vestal or acolyte of
+love, sacred or profane.
+
+No philosophy had solved the problem of human woe; no theory
+convinced. And Brisson, searching leisurely the forgotten corridors of
+treasured lore, became interested to realise that in all the history
+of time only the deeds and example of one man had invested the human
+theory of divinity with any real vitality--and that, oddly enough,
+what this girl preached--what she demanded of divinity--had been both
+preached and practised by that one man alone--Jesus Christ.
+
+Turning involuntarily toward Palla, he said: "Can't you believe in
+Him, either?"
+
+She said: "He was one of the Gods. But He was no more divine than any
+in whom love lives. Had He been more so, then He would still
+intervene to-day! He is powerless. He lets things happen. And we
+ourselves must make it up to the world by love. There is no other
+divinity to intervene except only our own hearts."
+
+But that was not, as the young girl supposed, her fixed faith,
+definite, ripened, unshakable. It was a phase already in process of
+fading into other phases, each less stable, less definite, and more
+dangerous than the other, leaving her and her ardent mind and heart
+always unconsciously drifting toward the simple, primitive and natural
+goal for which all healthy bodies are created and destined--the
+instinct of the human being to protect and perpetuate the race by the
+great Law of Love.
+
+Brisson's not unkindly cynicism had left his lips edged with a slight
+smile. Presently he leaned back beside Estridge and said in a low
+voice:
+
+"Purely pathological. Ardent religious instinct astray and running
+wild in consequence of nervous dislocations due to shock. Merely
+over-storage of superb physical energy. Intellectual and spiritual
+wires overcrowded. Too many volts.... That girl ought to have been
+married early. Only a lot of children can keep her properly occupied.
+Only outlet for her kind. Interesting case. Contrast to the Swedish
+girl. Fine, handsome, normal animal that. She could pick me up between
+thumb and finger. Great girl, Estridge."
+
+"She is really beautiful," whispered Estridge, glancing at Ilse.
+
+"Yes. So is Mont Blanc. That sort of beauty--the super-sort. But it's
+the other who is pathologically interesting because her wires are
+crossed and there's a short circuit somewhere. Who comes in contact
+with her had better look out."
+
+"She's wonderfully attractive."
+
+"She is. But if she doesn't disentangle her wires and straighten out
+she'll burn out.... What's that ahead? A wolf!"
+
+It was the rest house at the end of the étape--a tiny, distant speck
+on the snowy plain.
+
+Brisson leaned over and caught Palla's eye. Both smiled.
+
+"Well," he said, "for a girl who doesn't believe in anything, you seem
+cheerful enough."
+
+"I am cheerful because I _do_ believe in everything and in everybody."
+
+Brisson laughed: "You shouldn't," he said. "Great mistake. Trust in
+God and believe nobody--that's the idea. Then get married and close
+your eyes and see what God will send you!"
+
+The girl threw back her pretty head and laughed.
+
+"Marriage and priests are of no consequence," she said, "but I adore
+little children!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+They were a weary, half-starved and travel-stained quartette when the
+Red Guards stopped them for the last time in Russia and passed them
+through, warning them that the White Guards would surely do murder if
+they caught them.
+
+The next day the White Guards halted them, but finally passed them
+through, counselling them to keep out of the way of the Red Guards if
+they wished to escape being shot at sight.
+
+In the neat, shiny, carefully scrubbed little city of Helsingfors they
+avoided the huns by some miracle--one of Brisson's customary
+miracles--but another little company of Americans and English was
+halted and detained, and one harmless Yankee among them was arrested
+and packed off to a hun prison.
+
+Also, a large and nervous party of fugitives of mixed nationalities
+and professions--consuls, chargés, attachés, and innocent, agitated
+citizens--was summarily grabbed and ordered into indefinite limbo.
+
+But Brisson's daily miracles continued to materialise, even in the
+land of the Finn. By train, by sleigh, by boat, his quartette
+floundered along toward safety, and finally emerged from the white
+hell of the Red people into the sub-arctic sun--Estridge with
+painfully scanty luggage, Palla Dumont with none at all, Ilse
+Westgard carrying only her Cossack saddle-bags, and Brisson with his
+damning papers still sewed inside his clothes, and owing Estridge ten
+dollars for not getting murdered.
+
+They all had become excellent comrades during those anxious days of
+hunger, fatigue and common peril, but they were also a little tired of
+one another, as becomes all friends when subjected to compulsory
+companionship for an unreasonable period.
+
+And even when one is beginning to fall in love, one can become
+surfeited with the beloved under such circumstances.
+
+Besides, Estridge's budding sentiment for Ilse Westgard, and her
+wholesome and girlish inclination for him, suffered an early chill.
+For the poor child had acquired trench pets from the Cossacks, and had
+passed on a few to Estridge, with whom she had been constantly seated
+on the front seat.
+
+Being the frankest thing in Russia, she told him with tears in her
+blue eyes; and they had a most horrid time of it before they came
+finally to a sanitary plant erected to attend to such matters.
+
+Episodes of that sort discourage sentiment; so does cold, hunger and
+discomfort incident on sardine-like promiscuousness.
+
+Nobody in the party desired to know more than they already knew
+concerning anybody else. In fact, there was little more to know,
+privacy being impossible. And the ever instinctive hostility of the
+two sexes, always and irrevocably latent, became vaguely apparent at
+moments.
+
+Common danger swept it away at times; but reaction gradually revealed
+again what is born under the human skin--the paradox called
+sex-antipathy. And yet the men in the party would not have hesitated
+to sacrifice their lives in defence of these women, nor would the
+women have faltered under the same test.
+
+Brisson was the philosophical stoic of the quartette. Estridge groused
+sometimes. Palla, when she thought herself unnoticed, camouflaged her
+face in her furs and cried now and then. And occasionally Ilse
+Westgard tried the patience of the others by her healthy capacity for
+unfeigned laughter--sometimes during danger-laden and inopportune
+moments, and once in the shocking imminence of death itself.
+
+As, for example, in a vile little village, full of vermin and typhus,
+some hunger-crazed peasants, armed with stolen rifles and ammunition,
+awoke them where they lay on the straw of a stable, cursed them for
+aristocrats, and marched them outside to a convenient wall, at the
+foot of which sprawled half a dozen blood-soaked, bayoneted and
+bullet-riddled landlords and land owners of the district.
+
+And things had assumed a terribly serious aspect when, to their
+foolish consternation, the peasants discovered that their purloined
+cartridges did not fit their guns.
+
+Then, in the very teeth of death, Ilse threw back her blond head and
+laughed. And there was no mistaking the genuineness of the girl's
+laughter.
+
+Some of their would-be executioners laughed too;--the hilarity spread.
+It was all over; they couldn't shoot a girl who laughed that way. So
+somebody brought a samovar; tea was boiled; and they all went back to
+the barn and sat there drinking tea and swapping gossip and singing
+until nearly morning.
+
+That was a sample of their narrow escapes. But Brisson's only comment
+before he went to sleep was that Estridge would probably owe him a
+dollar within the next twenty-four hours.
+
+They had a hair-raising time in Helsingfors. On one occasion, German
+officers forced Palla's door at night, and the girl became ill with
+fear while soldiers searched the room, ordering her out of bed and
+pushing her into a corner while they ripped up carpets and tore the
+place to pieces in a swinishly ferocious search for "information."
+
+But they did nothing worse to her, and, for some reason, left the
+hotel without disturbing Brisson, whose room adjoined and who sat on
+the edge of his bed with an automatic in each hand--a dangerous
+opportunist awaiting events and calmly determined to do some
+recruiting for hell if the huns harmed Palla.
+
+She never knew that. And the worst was over now, and the Scandinavian
+border not far away. And in twenty-four hours they were over--Brisson
+impatient to get his papers to Washington and planning to start for
+England on a wretched little packet-boat, in utter contempt of mines,
+U-boats, and the icy menace of the North Sea.
+
+As for the others, Estridge decided to cable and await orders in
+Copenhagen; Palla, to sail for home on the first available Danish
+steamer; Ilse, to go to Stockholm and eventually decide whether to
+volunteer once more as a soldier of the proletariat or to turn
+propagandist and carry the true gospel to America, where, she had
+heard, the ancient liberties of the great Democracy were becoming
+imperilled.
+
+The day before they parted company, these four people, so oddly thrown
+together out of the boiling cauldron of the Russian Terror, arranged
+to dine together for the last time.
+
+Theirs were the appetites of healthy wolves; theirs was the thirst of
+the marooned on waterless islands; and theirs, too, was the feverish
+gaiety of those who had escaped great peril by land and sea; and who
+were still physically and morally demoralized by the glare and the
+roar of the hellish conflagration which was still burning up the world
+around them.
+
+So they met in a private dining room of the hotel for dinner on the
+eve of separation.
+
+Brisson and Estridge had resurrected from their luggage the remains of
+their evening attire; Ilse and Palla had shopped; and they now
+included in a limited wardrobe two simple dinner gowns, among more
+vital purchases.
+
+There were flowers on the table, no great variety of food but plenty
+of champagne to make up--a singular innovation in apology for short
+rations conceived by the hotel proprietor.
+
+There was a victrola in the corner, too, and this they kept going to
+stimulate their nerves, which already were sufficiently on edge
+without the added fillip of music and champagne.
+
+"As for me," said Brisson, "I'm in sight of nervous dissolution
+already;--I'm going back to my wife and children, thank God--" he
+smiled at Palla. "I'm grateful to the God you don't believe in, dear
+little lady. And if He is willing, I'll report for duty in two weeks."
+He turned to Estridge:
+
+"What about you?"
+
+"I've cabled for orders but I have none yet. If they're through with
+me I shall go back to New York and back to the medical school I came
+from. I hate the idea, too. Lord, how I detest it!"
+
+"Why?" asked Palla nervously.
+
+"I've had too much excitement. You have too--and so have Ilse and
+Brisson. I'm not keen for the usual again. It bores me to contemplate
+it. The thought of Fifth Avenue--the very idea of going back to all
+that familiar routine, social and business, makes me positively ill.
+What a dull place this world will be when we're all at peace again!"
+
+"We won't be at peace for a long, long while," said Ilse, smiling. She
+lifted a goblet in her big, beautifully shaped hand and drained it
+with the vigorous grace of a Viking's daughter.
+
+"You think the war is going to last for years?" asked Estridge.
+
+"Oh, no; not this war. But the other," she explained cheerfully.
+
+"What other?"
+
+"Why, the greatest conflict in the world; the social war. It's going
+to take many years and many battles. I shall enlist."
+
+"Nonsense," said Brisson, "you're not a Red!"
+
+The girl laughed and showed her snowy teeth: "I'm one kind of Red--not
+the kind that sold Russia to the boche--but I'm very, very red."
+
+"Everybody with a brain and a heart is more or less red in these
+days," nodded Palla. "Everybody knows that the old order is
+ended--done for. Without liberty and equal opportunity civilisation is
+a farce. Everybody knows it except the stupid. And they'll have to be
+instructed."
+
+"Very well," said Brisson briskly, "here's to the universal but
+bloodless revolution! An acre for everybody and a mule to plough it!
+Back to the soil and to hell with the counting house!"
+
+They all laughed, but their brimming glasses went up; then Estridge
+rose to re-wind the victrola. Palla's slim foot tapped the parquet in
+time with the American fox-trot; she glanced across the table at
+Estridge, lifted her head interrogatively, then sprang up and slid
+into his arms, delighted.
+
+While they danced he said: "Better go light on that champagne, Miss
+Dumont."
+
+"Don't you think I can keep my head?" she demanded derisively.
+
+"Not if you keep up with Ilse. You're not built that way."
+
+"I wish I were. I wish I were nearly six feet tall and beautiful in
+every limb and feature as she is. What wonderful children she could
+have! What magnificent hair she must have had before she sheared it
+for the Woman's Battalion! Now it's all a dense, short mass of
+gold--she looks like a lovely boy who requires a barber."
+
+"Your hair is not unbecoming, either," he remarked, "--short as it is,
+it's a mop of curls and very fetching."
+
+"Isn't it funny?" she said. "I sheared mine for the sake of Mother
+Church; Ilse cut off hers for the honour of the Army! Now we're
+both out of a job--with only our cropped heads to show for the
+experience!--and no more army and no more church--at least, as far
+as I am concerned!"
+
+And she threw back hers with its thick, glossy curls and laughed,
+looking up at him out of her virginal brown eyes of a child.
+
+"I'm sorry I cut my hair," she added presently. "I look like a
+Bolshevik."
+
+"It's growing very fast," he said encouragingly.
+
+"Oh, yes, it grows fast," she nodded indifferently. "Shall we return
+to the table? I am rather thirsty."
+
+Ilse and Brisson were engaged in an animated conversation when they
+reseated themselves. The waiter arrived about that time with another
+course of poor food.
+
+Palla, disregarding Estridge's advice, permitted the waiter to refill
+her glass.
+
+"I can't eat that unappetising entrée," she insisted, "and champagne,
+they say, is nourishing and I'm still hungry."
+
+"As you please," said Brisson; "but you've had two glasses already."
+
+"I don't care," she retorted childishly; "I mean to live to the utmost
+in future. For the first time in my silly existence I intend to be
+natural. I wonder what it feels like to become a little intoxicated?"
+
+"It feels rotten," remarked Estridge.
+
+"Really? _How_ rotten?" She laughed again, laid her hand on the
+goblet's stem and glanced across at him defiantly, mischievously.
+However, she seemed to reconsider the matter, for she picked up a
+cigarette and lighted it at a candle.
+
+"Bah!" she exclaimed with a wry face. "It stings!"
+
+But she ventured another puff or two before placing it upon a saucer
+among its defunct fellows.
+
+"Ugh!" she complained again with a gay little shiver, and bit into a
+pear as though to wash out the contamination of unaccustomed
+nicotine.
+
+"Where are you going when we all say good-bye?" inquired Estridge.
+
+"I? Oh, I'm certainly going home on the first Danish boat--home to
+Shadow Hill, where I told you I lived."
+
+"And you have nobody but your aunt?"
+
+"Only that one old lady."
+
+"You won't remain long at Shadow Hill," he predicted.
+
+"It's very pretty there. Why don't you think I am likely to remain?"
+
+"You won't remain," he repeated. "You've slipped your cable. You're
+hoisting sail. And it worries me a little."
+
+The girl laughed. "It's a pretty place, Shadow Hill, but it's dull.
+Everybody in the town is dull, stupid, and perfectly satisfied:
+everybody owns at least that acre which Ilse demands; there's no
+discontent at Shadow Hill, and no reason for it. I really couldn't
+bear it," she added gaily; "I want to go where there's healthy
+discontent, wholesome competition, natural aspiration--where things
+must be bettered, set right, helped. You understand? That is where I
+wish to be."
+
+Brisson heard her. "Can't you practise your loving but godless creed
+at Shadow Hill?" he inquired, amused. "Can't you lavish love on the
+contented and well-to-do?"
+
+"Yes, Mr. Brisson," she replied with sweet irony, "but where the poor
+and loveless fight an ever losing battle is still a better place for
+me to practise my godless creed and my Law of Love."
+
+"Aha!" he retorted, "--a brand new excuse for living in New York
+because all young girls love it!"
+
+"Indeed," she said with some little heat, "I certainly do intend to
+live and not to stagnate! I intend to live as hard as I can--live and
+enjoy life with all my might! Can one serve the world better than by
+loving it enough to live one's own life through to the last happy
+rags? Can one give one's fellow creatures a better example than to
+live every moment happily and proclaim the world good to live in, and
+mankind good to live with?"
+
+Ilse whispered, leaning near: "Don't take any more champagne, Palla."
+
+The girl frowned, then looked serious: "No, I won't," she said
+naïvely. "But it is wonderful how eloquent it makes one feel, isn't
+it?"
+
+And to Estridge: "You know that this is quite the first wine I have
+ever tasted--except at Communion. I was brought up to think it meant
+destruction. And afterward, wherever I travelled to study, the old
+prejudice continued to guide me. And after that, even when I began to
+think of taking the veil, I made abstinence one of my first
+preliminary vows.... And _look_ what I've been doing to-night!"
+
+She held up her glass, tasted it, emptied it.
+
+"There," she said, "I desired to shock you. I don't really want any
+more. Shall we dance? Ilse! Why don't you seize Mr. Brisson and make
+him two-step?"
+
+"Please seize me," added Brisson gravely.
+
+Ilse rose, big, fresh, smilingly inviting; Brisson inspected her
+seriously--he was only half as tall--then he politely encircled her
+waist and led her out.
+
+They danced as though they could not get enough of it--exhilaration
+due to reaction from the long strain during dangerous days.
+
+It was already morning, but they danced on. Palla's delicate
+intoxication passed--returned--passed--hovered like a rosy light in
+her brain, but faded always as she danced.
+
+There were snapping-crackers and paper caps; and they put them on and
+pelted each other with the drooping table flowers.
+
+Then Estridge went to the piano and sang an ancient song, called "The
+Cork Leg"--not very well--but well intended and in a gay and
+inoffensive voice.
+
+But Ilse sang some wonderful songs which she had learned in the
+Battalion of Death.
+
+And that is what was being done when a waiter knocked and asked
+whether they might desire to order breakfast.
+
+That ended it. The hour of parting had arrived.
+
+No longer bored with one another, they shook hands cordially,
+regretfully.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was not a very long time, as time is computed, before these four
+met again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+The dingy little Danish steamer _Elsinore_ passed in at dawn, her
+camouflage obscured by sea-salt, her few passengers still prostrated
+from the long battering administered by the giant seas of the northern
+route.
+
+A lone Yankee soldier was aboard--an indignant lieutenant of infantry
+named Shotwell--sent home from a fighting regiment to instruct the
+ambitious rookie at Camp Upton.
+
+He had hailed his assignment with delight, thankfully rid himself of
+his cooties, reported in Paris, reported in London; received orders to
+depart via Denmark; and, his mission there fullfilled, he had sailed
+on the _Elsinore_, already disenchanted with his job and longing to be
+back with his regiment.
+
+And now, surly from sea-sickness, worried by peace rumours, but still
+believing that the war would last another year and hopeful of getting
+back before it ended, he emerged from his stuffy quarters aboard the
+_Elsinore_ and gazed without enthusiasm at the minarets of Coney
+Island, now visible off the starboard bow.
+
+Near him, in pasty-faced and shaky groups, huddled his fellow
+passengers, whom he had not seen during the voyage except when lined
+up for life-drill.
+
+He had not wished to see them, either, nor, probably, had they
+desired to lavish social attentions on him or upon one another.
+
+These pallid, discouraged voyagers were few--not two dozen cabin
+passengers in all.
+
+Who they might be he had no curiosity to know; he had not exchanged
+ten words with any of them during the entire and nauseating voyage; he
+certainly did not intend to do so now.
+
+He favoured them with a savage glance and walked over to the port
+side--the Jersey side--where there seemed to be nobody except a tired
+Scandinavian sailor or two.
+
+In the grey of morning the Hook loomed up above the sea, gloomy as a
+thunder-head charged with lightning.
+
+After a while the batteries along the Narrows slipped into view.
+Farther on, camouflaged ships rode sullenly at anchor, as though
+ashamed of their frivolous and undignified appearance. A battleship
+was just leaving the Lower Bay, smoke pouring from every funnel.
+Destroyers and chasers rushed by them, headed seaward.
+
+Then, high over the shore mists and dimly visible through rising
+vapours, came speeding a colossal phantom.
+
+Vague as a shark's long shadow sheering translucent depths, the huge
+dirigible swept eastward and slid into the Long Island fog.
+
+And at that moment somebody walked plump into young Shotwell; and the
+soft, fragrant shock knocked the breath out of both.
+
+She recovered hers first:
+
+"I'm sorry!" she faltered. "It was stupid. I was watching the balloon
+and not looking where I was going. I'm afraid I hurt you."
+
+He recovered his breath, saluted ceremoniously, readjusted his
+overseas cap to the proper angle.
+
+Then he said, civilly enough: "It was my fault entirely. It was I who
+walked into you. I hope I didn't hurt you."
+
+They smiled, unembarrassed.
+
+"That was certainly a big dirigible," he ventured. "There are bigger
+Zeps, of course."
+
+"Are there really?"
+
+"Oh, yes. But they're not much good in war, I believe."
+
+She turned her trim, small head and looked out across the bay; and
+Shotwell, who once had had a gaily receptive eye for pulchritude,
+thought her unusually pretty.
+
+Also, the steady keel of the _Elsinore_ was making him feel more human
+now; and he ventured a further polite observation concerning the
+pleasures of homecoming after extended exile.
+
+She turned with a frank shake of her head: "It seems heartless to say
+so, but I'm rather sorry I'm back," she said.
+
+He smiled: "I must admit," he confessed, "that I feel the same way. Of
+course I want to see my people. But I'd give anything to be in France
+at this moment, and that's the truth!"
+
+The girl nodded her comprehension: "It's quite natural," she remarked.
+"One does not wish to come home until this thing is settled."
+
+"That's it exactly. It's like leaving an interesting play half
+finished. It's worse--it's like leaving an absorbing drama in which
+you yourself are playing an exciting rôle."
+
+She glanced at him--a quick glance of intelligent appraisal.
+
+"Yes, it must have seemed that way to you. But I've been merely one
+among a breathless audience.... And yet I can't bear to leave in the
+very middle--not knowing how it is to end. Besides," she added
+carelessly, "I have nobody to come back to except a rather remote
+relative, so my regrets are unmixed."
+
+There ensued a silence. He was afraid she was about to go, but
+couldn't seem to think of anything to say to detain her.
+
+For the girl was very attractive to a careless and amiably casual man
+of his sort--the sort who start their little journey through life with
+every intention of having the best kind of a time on the way.
+
+She was so distractingly pretty, so confidently negligent of
+convention--or perhaps disdainful of it--that he already was
+regretting that he had not met her at the beginning of the voyage
+instead of at the end.
+
+She had now begun to button up her ulster, as though preliminary to
+resuming her deck promenade. And he wanted to walk with her. But
+because she had chosen to be informal with him did not deceive him
+into thinking that she was likely to tolerate further informality on
+his part. And yet he had a vague notion that her inclinations were
+friendly.
+
+"I'm sorry," he said rather stupidly, "that I didn't meet you in the
+beginning."
+
+The slightest inclination of her head indicated that although possibly
+she might be sorry too, regrets were now useless. Then she turned up
+the collar of her ulster. The face it framed was disturbingly lovely.
+And he took a last chance.
+
+"And so," he ventured politely, "you have really been on board the
+_Elsinore_ all this time!"
+
+She turned her charming head toward him, considered him a moment; then
+she smiled.
+
+"Yes," she said; "I've been on board all the time. I didn't crawl
+aboard in mid-ocean, you know."
+
+The girl was frankly amused by the streak of boyishness in him--the
+perfectly transparent desire of this young man to detain her in
+conversation. And, still amused, she leaned back against the rail. If
+he wanted to talk to her she would let him--even help him. Why not?
+
+"Is that a wound chevron?" she inquired, looking at the sleeve of his
+tunic.
+
+"No," he replied gratefully, "it's a service stripe."
+
+"And what does the little cord around your shoulder signify?"
+
+"That my regiment was cited."
+
+"For bravery?"
+
+"Well--that was the idea, I believe."
+
+"Then you've been in action."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Over the top?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How many times?"
+
+"Several. Recently it's been more open work, you know."
+
+"And you were not hit?"
+
+"No."
+
+She regarded him smilingly: "You are like all soldiers have faced
+death," she said. "You are not communicative."
+
+At that he reddened. "Well, everybody else was facing it, too, you
+know. We all had the same experience."
+
+"Not all," she said, watching him. "Some died."
+
+"Oh, of course."
+
+The girl's face flushed and she nodded emphatically: "Of course! And
+_that_ is our Yankee secret;--embodied in those two words--'of
+course.' That is exactly why the boche runs away from our men. The
+boche doesn't know why he runs, but it is because you all say, 'of
+course!--of course we're here to kill and get killed. What of it? It's
+in the rules of the game, isn't it? Very well; we're playing the
+game!'
+
+"But the rules of the hun game are different. According to their
+rules, machine guns are not charged on. That is not according to plan.
+Oh, no! But it is in your rules of the game. So after the boche has
+killed a number of you, and you say, 'of course,' and you keep coming
+on, it first bewilders the boche, then terrifies him. And the next
+time he sees you coming he takes to his heels."
+
+Shotwell, amused, fascinated, and entirely surprised, began to laugh.
+
+"You seem to know the game pretty well yourself," he said. "You are
+quite right. That is the idea."
+
+"It's a wonderful game," she mused. "I can understand why you are not
+pleased at being ordered home."
+
+"It's rather rotten luck when the outfit had just been cited," he
+explained.
+
+"Oh. I should think you _would_ hate to come back!" exclaimed the
+girl, with frank sympathy.
+
+"Well, I was glad at first, but I'm sorry now. I'm missing a lot, you
+see."
+
+"Why did they send you back?"
+
+"To instruct rookies!" he said with a grimace. "Rather inglorious,
+isn't it? But I'm hoping I'll have time to weather this detail and get
+back again before we reach the Rhine."
+
+"I want to get back again, too," she reflected aloud, biting her lip
+and letting her dark eyes rest on the foggy statue of Liberty,
+towering up ahead.
+
+"What was your branch?" he inquired.
+
+"Oh, I didn't do anything," she exclaimed, flushing. "I've been in
+Russia. And now I must find out at once what I can do to be sent to
+France."
+
+"The war caught you over there, I suppose," he hazarded.
+
+"Yes.... I've been there since I was twenty. I'm twenty-four. I had a
+year's travel and study and then I became the American companion of
+the little Russian Grand Duchess Marie."
+
+"They all were murdered, weren't they?" he asked, much interested.
+
+"Yes.... I'm trying to forget----"
+
+"I beg your pardon----"
+
+"It's quite all right. I, myself, mentioned it first; but I can't talk
+about it yet. It's too personal----" She turned and looked at the
+monstrous city.
+
+After a silence: "It's been a rotten voyage, hasn't it?" he remarked.
+
+"Perfectly rotten. I was so ill I could scarcely keep my place during
+life-drill.... I didn't see you there," she added with a faint smile,
+"but I'm sure you were aboard, even if you seem to doubt that I was."
+
+And then, perhaps considering that she had been sufficiently amiable
+to him, she gave him his congé with a pleasant little nod.
+
+"Could I help you--do anything--" he began. But she thanked him with
+friendly finality.
+
+They sauntered in opposite directions; and he did not see her again to
+speak to her.
+
+Later, jolting toward home in a taxi, it occurred to him that it might
+have been agreeable to see such an attractively informal girl again.
+Any man likes informality in women, except among the women of his own
+household, where he would promptly brand it as indiscretion.
+
+He thought of her for a while, recollecting details of the episode and
+realising that he didn't even know her name. Which piqued him.
+
+"Serves me right," he said aloud with a shrug of finality. "I had more
+enterprise once."
+
+Then he looked out into the sunlit streets of Manhattan, all brilliant
+with flags and posters and swarming with prosperous looking
+people--his own people. But to his war-enlightened and disillusioned
+eyes his own people seemed almost like aliens; he vaguely resented
+their too evident prosperity, their irresponsible immunity, their
+heedless preoccupation with the petty things of life. The acres of
+bright flags fluttering above them, the posters that made a gay
+back-ground for the scene, the sheltered, undisturbed routine of peace
+seemed to annoy him.
+
+An odd irritation invaded him; he had a sudden impulse to stop his
+taxi and shout, "Fat-heads! Get into the game! Don't you know the
+world's on fire? Don't you know what a hun really is? You'd better
+look out and get busy!"
+
+Fifth Avenue irritated him--shops, hotels, clubs, motors, the
+well-dressed throngs began to exasperate him.
+
+On a side street he caught a glimpse of his own place of business; and
+it almost nauseated him to remember old man Sharrow, and the walls
+hung with plans of streets and sewers and surveys and photographs; and
+his own yellow oak desk----
+
+"Good Lord!" he thought. "If the war ends, have I got to go back to
+that!----"
+
+The family were at breakfast when he walked in on them--only two--his
+father and mother.
+
+In his mother's arms he suddenly felt very young and subdued, and very
+glad to be there.
+
+"Where the devil did you come from, Jim?" repeated his father, with
+twitching features and a grip on his son's strong hand that he could
+not bring himself to loosen.
+
+Yes, it was pretty good to get home, after all-- ... And he might not
+have come back at all. He realised it, now, in his mother's arms,
+feeling very humble and secure.
+
+His mother had realised it, too, in every waking hour since the day
+her only son had sailed at night--that had been the hardest!--at
+night--and at an unnamed hour of an unnamed day!--her only son--gone
+in the darkness----
+
+On his way upstairs, he noticed a red service flag bearing a single
+star hanging in his mother's window.
+
+He went into his own room, looked soberly around, sat down on the
+lounge, suddenly tired.
+
+He had three days' leave before reporting for duty. It seemed a
+miserly allowance. Instinctively he glanced at his wrist-watch. An
+hour had fled already.
+
+"The dickens!" he muttered. But he still sat there. After a while he
+smiled to himself and rose leisurely to make his toilet.
+
+"Such an attractively informal girl," he thought regretfully.
+
+"I'm sorry I didn't learn her name. Why didn't I?"
+
+Philosophy might have answered: "But to what purpose? No young man
+expects to pick up a girl of his own kind. And he has no business with
+other kinds."
+
+But Shotwell was no philosopher.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The "attractively informal girl," on whom young Shotwell was
+condescending to bestow a passing regret while changing his linen,
+had, however, quite forgotten him by this time. There is more
+philosophy in women.
+
+Her train was now nearing Shadow Hill; she already could see the
+village in its early winter nakedness--the stone bridge, the old-time
+houses of the well-to-do, Main Street full of automobiles and farmers'
+wagons, a crowded trolley-car starting for Deepdale, the county seat.
+
+After four years the crudity of it all astonished her--the stark
+vulgarity of Main Street in the sunshine, every mean, flimsy
+architectural detail revealed--the dingy trolley poles, the telegraph
+poles loaded with unlovely wires and battered little electric light
+fixtures--the uncompromising, unrelieved ugliness of street and
+people, of shop and vehicle, of treeless sidewalks, brick pavement,
+car rails, hydrants, and rusty gasoline pumps.
+
+Here was a people ignorant of civic pride, knowing no necessity for
+beauty, having no standards, no aspirations, conscious of nothing but
+the grosser material needs.
+
+The hopelessness of this American town--and there were thousands like
+it--its architectural squalor, its animal unconsciousness, shocked her
+after four years in lands where colour, symmetry and good taste are
+indigenous and beauty as necessary as bread.
+
+And the girl had been born here, too; had known no other home except
+when at boarding school or on shopping trips to New York.
+
+Painfully depressed, she descended at the station, where she climbed
+into one of the familiar omnibuses and gave her luggage check to the
+lively young driver.
+
+Several drummers also got in, and finally a farmer whom she recognised
+but who had evidently forgotten her.
+
+The driver, a talkative young man whom she remembered as an obnoxious
+boy who delivered newspapers, came from the express office with her
+trunk, flung it on top of the bus, gossiped with several station
+idlers, then leisurely mounted his seat and gathered up the reins.
+
+Rattling along the main street she became aware of changes--a brand
+new yellow brick clothing store--a dreadful Quick Lunch--a moving
+picture theatre--other monstrosities. And she saw familiar faces on
+the street.
+
+The drummers got out with their sample cases at the Bolton House--Charles
+H. Bolton, proprietor. The farmer descended at the "Par Excellence
+Market," where, as he informed the driver, he expected to dispose of a
+bull calf which he had finally decided "to veal."
+
+"Which way, ma'am?" inquired the driver, looking in at her through the
+door and chewing gum very fast.
+
+"To Miss Dumont's on Shadow Street."
+
+"Oh!..." Then, suddenly he knew her. "Say, wasn't you her niece?" he
+demanded.
+
+"I _am_ Miss Dumont's niece," replied Palla, smiling.
+
+"Sure! I didn't reckonise you. Used to leave the _Star_ on your
+doorstep! Been away, ain't you? Home looks kinda good to you, even if
+it's kinda lonesome--" He checked himself as though recollecting
+something else. "Sure! You been over in Rooshia livin' with the Queen!
+There was a piece in the _Star_ about it. Gee!" he added affably.
+"That was pretty soft! Some life, I bet!"
+
+And he grinned a genial grin and climbed into his seat, chewing
+rapidly.
+
+"He means to be friendly," thought the heart-sick girl, with a
+shudder.
+
+When Palla got out she spoke pleasantly to him as she paid him, and
+inquired about his father--a shiftless old gaffer who used, sometimes,
+to do garden work for her aunt.
+
+But the driver, obsessed by the fact that she had lived with the
+"Queen of Rooshia," merely grinned and repeated, "Pretty soft," and,
+shouldering her trunk, walked to the front door, chewing furiously.
+
+Martha opened the door, stared through her spectacles.
+
+"Land o' mercy!" she gasped. "It's Palla!" Which, in Shadow Hill, is
+the manner and speech of the "hired girl," whose "folks" are
+"neighbours" and not inferiors.
+
+"How do you do, Martha," said the girl smilingly; and offered her
+gloved hand.
+
+"Well, I'm so's to be 'round--" She wheeled on the man with the trunk:
+"Here, _you_! Don't go-a-trackin' mud all over my carpet like that!
+Wipe your feet like as if you was brought up respectful!"
+
+"Ain't I wipin' em?" retorted the driver, in an injured voice. "Now
+then, Marthy, where does this here trunk go to?"
+
+"Big room front--wait, young fellow; you just follow me and be careful
+don't bang the banisters----"
+
+Half way up she called back over her shoulder: "Your room's all ready,
+Palla--" and suddenly remembered something else and stood aside on the
+landing until the young man with the trunk had passed her; then waited
+for him to return and get himself out of the house. Then, when he had
+gone out, banging the door, she came slowly back down the stairs and
+met Palla ascending.
+
+"Where is my aunt?" asked Palla.
+
+And, as Martha remained silent, gazing oddly down at her through her
+glasses:
+
+"My aunt isn't ill, is she?"
+
+"No, she ain't ill. H'ain't you heard?"
+
+"Heard what?"
+
+"Didn't you get my letter?"
+
+"_Your_ letter? Why did _you_ write? What is the matter? Where is my
+aunt?" asked the disturbed girl.
+
+"I wrote you last month."
+
+"_What_ did you write?"
+
+"You never got it?"
+
+"No, I didn't! What has happened to my aunt?"
+
+"She had a stroke, Palla."
+
+"What! Is--is she dead!"
+
+"Six weeks ago come Sunday."
+
+The girl's knees weakened and she sat down suddenly on the stairs.
+
+"Dead? My Aunt Emeline?"
+
+"She had a stroke a year ago. It made her a little stiff in one leg.
+But she wouldn't tell you--wouldn't bother you. She was that proud of
+you living as you did with all those kings and queens. 'No,' sez she
+to me, 'no, Martha, I ain't a-goin' to worry Palla. She and the Queen
+have got their hands full, what with the wicked way those Rooshian
+people are behaving. No,' sez she, 'I'll git well by the time she
+comes home for a visit after the war----'"
+
+Martha's spectacles became dim. She seated herself on the stairs and
+wiped them on her apron.
+
+"It came in the night," she said, peering blindly at Palla.... "I
+wondered why she was late to breakfast. When I went up she was lying
+there with her eyes open--just as natural----"
+
+Palla's head dropped and she covered her face with both hands.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+There remained, now, nothing to keep Palla in Shadow Hill.
+
+She had never intended to stay there, anyway; she had meant to go to
+France.
+
+But already there appeared to be no chance for that in the scheme of
+things. For the boche had begun to squeal for mercy; the frightened
+swine was squirting life-blood as he rushed headlong for the home sty
+across the Rhine; his death-stench sickened the world.
+
+Thicker, ranker, reeked the bloody abomination in the nostrils of
+civilisation, where Justice strode ahead through hell's own
+devastation, kicking the boche to death, kicking him through Belgium,
+through France, out of Light back into Darkness, back, back to his
+stinking sty.
+
+The rushing sequence of events in Europe since Palla's arrival in
+America bewildered the girl and held in abeyance any plan she had
+hoped to make.
+
+The whole world waited, too, astounded, incredulous as yet of the
+cataclysmic debacle, slowly realising that the super-swine were but
+swine--maddened swine, devil driven. And that the Sea was very near.
+
+No romance ever written approached in wild extravagance the story of
+doom now unfolding in the daily papers.
+
+Palla read and strove to comprehend--read, laid aside her paper, and
+went about her own business, which alone seemed dully real.
+
+And these new personal responsibilities--now that her aunt was
+dead--must have postponed any hope of an immediate departure for
+France.
+
+Her inheritance under her aunt's will, the legal details, the
+inventory of scattered acreage and real estate, plans for their proper
+administration, consultations with an attorney, conferences with Mr.
+Pawling, president of the local bank--such things had occupied and
+involved her almost from the moment of her arrival home.
+
+At first the endless petty details exasperated her--a girl fresh from
+the tremendous tragedy of things where, one after another, empires
+were crashing amid the conflagration of a continent. And she could not
+now keep her mind on such wretched little personal matters while her
+heart battered passionately at her breast, sounding the exciting
+summons to active service.
+
+To concentrate her thoughts on mortgages and deeds when she was
+burning to be on her way to France--to confer power of attorney, audit
+bills for taxes, for up-keep of line fences, when she was mad to go to
+New York and find out how quickly she could be sent to France--such
+things seemed more than a girl could endure.
+
+In Shadow Hill there was scarcely anything to remind her that the fate
+of the world was being settled for all time.
+
+Only for red service flags here and there, here and there a burly
+figure in olive-drab swaggering along Main Street, nothing except
+war-bread, the shortage of coal and sugar, and outrageous prices
+reminded her that the terrific drama was still being played beyond
+the ocean to the diapason of an orchestra thundering from England to
+Asia and from Africa to the Arctic.
+
+But already the eternal signs were pointing to the end. She read the
+_Republican_ in the morning, the _Star_ at night. Gradually it became
+apparent to the girl that the great conflagration was slowly dying
+down beyond the seas; that there was to be no chance of her returning;
+that there was to be no need of her services even if she were already
+equipped to render any, and now, certainly, no time for her to learn
+anything which might once have admitted her to comradeship in the
+gigantic conflict between man and Satan. She was too late. The world's
+tragedy was almost over.
+
+With the signing of the armistice, all dreams of service ended
+definitely for her.
+
+False news of the suspension of hostilities should have, in a measure,
+prepared her. Yet, the ultimately truthful news that the war was over
+made her almost physically ill. For the girl's ardent religious
+fervour had consumed her emotional energy during the incessant
+excitement of the past three years. But now, for this natural ardour,
+there was no further employment. There was no outlet for mind or heart
+so lately on fire with spiritual fervour. God was no more; her friend
+was dead. And now the war had ended. And nobody in the world had any
+need of her--any need of this woman who needed the world--and
+love--spiritual perhaps, perhaps profane.
+
+The false peace demonstration, which set the bells of Shadow Hill
+clanging in the wintry air and the mill whistles blowing from distant
+villages, left her tired, dazed, indifferent. The later celebration,
+based on official news, stirred her spiritually even less. And she
+felt ill.
+
+There was a noisy night celebration on Main Street, but she had no
+desire to see it. She remained indoors reading the _Star_ in the
+sitting room with Max, the cat. She ate no dinner. She cried herself
+to sleep.
+
+However, now that the worst had come--as she naïvely informed the
+shocked Martha next morning--she began to feel relieved in a restless,
+feverish way.
+
+A healthful girl accumulates much bodily energy over night; Palla's
+passionate little heart and her active mind completed a storage
+battery very quickly charged--and very soon over-charged--and an
+outlet was imperative.
+
+Always, so far in her brief career, she had had adequate outlets. As a
+child she found satisfaction in violent exercises; in flinging herself
+headlong into every outdoor game, every diversion among the urchins of
+her circle. As a school girl her school sports and her studies, and
+whatever social pleasures were offered, had left the safety valve
+open.
+
+Later, mistress of her mother's modest fortune, and grown to restless,
+intelligent womanhood, Palla had gone abroad with a married
+school-friend, Leila Vance. Under her auspices she had met nice people
+and had seen charming homes in England--Colonel Vance being somebody
+in the county and even somebody in London--a diffident, reticent,
+agriculturally inclined land owner and colonel of yeomanry. And long
+ago dead in Flanders. And his wife a nurse somewhere in France.
+
+But before the war a year's travel and study had furnished the
+necessary outlet to Palla Dumont. And then--at a charity bazaar--a
+passionate friendship had flashed into sacred flame--a friendship born
+at sight between her and the little Grand Duchess Marie.
+
+War was beginning; Colonel Vance was dead; but imperial inquiry
+located Leila. And imperial inquiry was satisfied. And Palla became
+the American companion and friend of the youthful Grand Duchess Marie.
+For three years that blind devotion had been her outlet--that and
+their mutual inclination for a life to be dedicated to God.
+
+What was to be her outlet now?--now that the little Grand Duchess was
+dead--now that God, as she had conceived him, had ceased to exist for
+her--now that the war was ended, and nobody needed that warm young
+heart of hers--that ardent little heart so easily set throbbing with
+the passionate desire to give.
+
+The wintry sunlight flooded the familiar sitting room, setting potted
+geraniums ablaze, gilding the leather backs of old books, staining
+prisms on the crystal chandelier with rainbow tints, and causing Max,
+the family cat, to blink until the vertical pupils of his amber eyes
+seemed to disappear entirely.
+
+There was some snow outside--not very much--a wild bird or two among
+the naked apple trees; green edges, still, where snowy lawn and flower
+border met.
+
+And there was colour in the leafless shrubbery, too--wine-red stems of
+dogwood, ash-blue berry-canes, and the tangled green and gold of
+willows. And over all a pale cobalt sky, and a snow-covered hill,
+where, in the woods, crows sat cawing on the taller trees, and a slow
+goshawk sailed.
+
+A rich land, this, even under ice and snow--a rich, rolling land
+hinting of fat furrows and heavy grain; and of spicy, old-time gardens
+where the evenings were heavy with the scent of phlox and lilies.
+
+Palla, her hands behind her back, seeming very childish and slim in
+her black gown, stood searching absently among the books for
+something to distract her--something in harmony with the restless glow
+of hidden fires hot in her restless heart.
+
+But war is too completely the great destroyer, killing even the
+serener pleasures of the mind, corrupting normal appetite, dulling all
+interest except in what pertains to war.
+
+War is the great vandal, too, obliterating even that interest in the
+classic past which is born of respect for tradition. War slays all
+yesterdays, so that human interest lives only in the fierce and
+present moment, or blazes anew at thought of what may be to-morrow.
+
+Only the chronicles of the burning hour can hold human attention where
+war is. For last week is already a decade ago; and last year a dead
+century; but to-day is vital and to-morrow is immortal.
+
+It was so with Palla. Her listless eyes swept the ranks of handsome,
+old-time books--old favourites bound in gold and leather, masters of
+English prose and poetry gathered and garnered by her grand-parents
+when books were rare in Shadow Hill.
+
+Not even the modern masters appealed to her--masters of fiction
+acclaimed but yesterday; virile thinkers in philosophy, in science;
+enfranchised poets who had stridden out upon Olympus only yesterday to
+defy the old god's lightning with unshackled strophes--and sometimes
+unbuttoned themes.
+
+But it was with Palla as with others; she drifted back to the morning
+paper, wherein lay the interest of the hour. And nothing else
+interested her or the world.
+
+Martha announced lunch. Max accompanied her on her retreat to the
+kitchen. Palla loitered, not hungry, nervous and unquiet under the
+increasing need of occupation for that hot heart of hers.
+
+After a while she went out to the dining room, ate enough, endured
+Martha to the verge, and retreated to await the evening paper.
+
+Her attorney, Mr. Tiddley, came at three. They discussed quit-claims,
+mortgages, deeds, surveys, and reported encroachments incident to the
+decay of ancient landmarks. And the conversation maddened her.
+
+At four she put on a smart mourning hat and her black furs, and walked
+down to see the bank president, Mr. Pawling. The subject of their
+conversation was investments; and it bored her. At five she returned
+to the house to receive a certain Mr. Skidder--known in her childhood
+as Blinky Skidder, in frank recognition of an ocular peculiarity--a
+dingy but jaunty young man with a sheep's nose, a shrewd upper lip,
+and snapping red-brown eyes, who came breezily in and said: "Hello,
+Palla! How's the girl?" And took off his faded mackinaw uninvited.
+
+Mr. Skidder's business had once been the exploitation of farmers and
+acreage; his specialty the persuasion of Slovak emigrants into the
+acquisition of doubtful land. But since the war, emigrants were few;
+and, as honest men must live, Mr. Skidder had branched out into
+improved real estate and city lots. But the pickings, even here, were
+scanty, and loans hard to obtain.
+
+"I've changed my mind," said Palla. "I'm not going to sell this house,
+Blinky."
+
+"Well, for heaven's sake--ain't you going to New York?" he insisted,
+taken aback.
+
+"Yes, I am. But I've decided to keep my house."
+
+"That," said Mr. Skidder, snapping his eyes, "is silly sentiment, not
+business. But please yourself Palla. I ain't saying a word. I ain't
+trying to tell you I can get a lot more for you than your house is
+worth--what with values falling and houses empty and the mills letting
+men go because there ain't going to be any more war orders!--but
+please yourself, Palla. I ain't saying a word to urge you."
+
+"You've said several," she remarked, smilingly. "But I think I'll keep
+the house for the present, and I'm sorry that I wasted your time."
+
+"Please yourself, Palla," he repeated. "I guess you can afford to from
+all I hear. I guess you can do as you've a mind to, now.... So you're
+fixing to locate in New York, eh?"
+
+"I think so."
+
+"Live in a flat?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"What are you going to do in New York?" he asked curiously.
+
+"I'm sure I don't know. There'll be plenty to do, I suppose."
+
+"You bet," he said, blinking rapidly, "there's always something doing
+in that little old town." He slapped his knee: "Palla," he said, "I'm
+thinking of going into the movie business."
+
+"Really?"
+
+"Yes, I'm considering it. Slovaks and bum farms are played out.
+There's no money in Shadow Hill--or if there is, it's locked up--or
+the income tax has paralysed it. No, I'm through. There's nothing
+doing in land; no commissions. And I'm considering a quick getaway."
+
+"Where do you expect to go?"
+
+"Say, Palla, when you kiss your old home good-bye, there's only one
+place to go. Get me?"
+
+"New York?" she inquired, amused.
+
+"That's me! There's a guy down there I used to correspond with--a
+feller named Puma--Angelo Puma--not a regular wop, as you might say,
+but there's some wop in him, judging by his map--or Mex--or kike,
+maybe--or something. Anyway, he's in the moving picture business--The
+Ultra-Fillum Company. I guess there's a mint o' money in fillums."
+
+She nodded, a trifle bored.
+
+"I got a chance to go in with Angelo Puma," he said, snapping his
+eyes.
+
+"Really?"
+
+"You know, Palla, I've made a little money, too, since you been over
+there living with the Queen of Russia."
+
+"I'm very glad, Blinky."
+
+"Oh, it ain't much. And," he added shrewdly, "it ain't so paltry,
+neither. Thank the Lord, I made hay while the Slovaks lasted.... So,"
+he added, getting up from his chair, "maybe I'll see you down there in
+New York, some day----"
+
+He hesitated, his blinking eyes redly intent on her as she rose to her
+slim height.
+
+"Say, Palla."
+
+She looked at him inquiringly.
+
+"Ever thought of the movies?"
+
+"As an investment?"
+
+"Well--that, too. There's big money in it. But I meant--I mean--it
+strikes me you'd make a bird of a movie queen."
+
+The suggestion mildly amused her.
+
+"I mean it," he insisted. "Grab it from me, Palla, you've got the
+shape, and you got the looks and you got the walk and the ways and the
+education. You got something peculiar--like you had been born a rich
+swell--I mean you kinda naturally act that way--kinda cocksure of
+yourself. Maybe you got it living with that Queen----"
+
+Palla laughed outright.
+
+"So you think because I've seen a queen I ought to know how to act
+like a movie queen?"
+
+"Well," he said, picking up his hat, "maybe if I go in with Angelo
+Puma some day I'll see you again and we'll talk it over."
+
+She shook hands with him.
+
+"Be good," he called back as she closed the front door behind him.
+
+The early winter night had fallen over Shadow Hill. Palla turned on
+the electric light, stood for a while looking sombrely at the framed
+photographs of her father and mother, then, feeling lonely, went into
+the kitchen where Martha was busy with preparations for dinner.
+
+"Martha," she said, "I'm going to New York."
+
+"Well, for the land's sake----"
+
+"Yes, and I'm going day after to-morrow."
+
+"What on earth makes you act like a gypsy, Palla?" she demanded
+querulously, seasoning the soup and tasting it. "Your pa and ma wasn't
+like that. They was satisfied to set and rest a mite after being away.
+But you've been gone four years 'n more, and now you're up and off
+again, hippity-skip! clippity-clip!----"
+
+"I'm just going to run down to New York and look about. I want to look
+around and see what----"
+
+"That's _you_, Palla! That's what you allus was doing as a
+child--allus looking about you with your wide brown eyes, to see what
+you could see in the world!... You know what curiosity did to the
+cat?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Pinched her paw in the mouse-trap."
+
+"I'll be careful," said the girl, laughing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+In touch with his unexciting business again, after many months of
+glorious absence, and seated once more at his abhorred yellow-oak
+desk, young Shotwell discovered it was anything except agreeable for
+him to gather up the ravelled thrums of civilian life after the
+thrilling taste of service over seas.
+
+For him, so long accustomed to excitement, the zest of living seemed
+to die with the signing of the armistice.
+
+In fact, since the Argonne drive, all luck seemed to have deserted
+him; for in the very middle of operations he had been sent back to the
+United States as instructor; and there the armistice had now caught
+him. Furthermore, then, before he realised what dreadful thing was
+happening to him, he had been politely assigned to that vague limbo
+supposedly inhabited by a mythical organisation known as The Officers'
+Reserve Corps, and had been given indefinite leave of absence
+preliminary to being mustered out of the service of the United
+States.
+
+To part from his uniform was agonising, and he berated the fate that
+pried him loose from tunic and puttees. So disgusted was he that,
+although the Government allowed three months longer before discarding
+uniforms, he shed his in disgust for "cits."
+
+But James Shotwell, Jr., was not the only man bewildered and
+annoyed by the rapidity of events which followed the first days of
+demobilisation. Half a dozen other young fellows in the big real
+estate offices of Clarence Sharrow & Co. found themselves yanked out
+of uniform and seated once more at their familiar, uninviting desks
+of yellow oak--very young men, mostly, assigned to various camps of
+special three-month instruction; and now cruelly interrupted while
+scrambling frantically after commissions in machine-gun companies,
+field artillery, flying units, and tank corps.
+
+And there they were, back again at the old grind before they could
+realise their horrid predicament--the majority already glum and
+restless under the reaction, and hating Shotwell, who, among them all,
+had been the only man to cross the sea.
+
+This war-worn and envied veteran of a few months, perfectly aware that
+his military career had ended, was now trying to accept the situation
+and habituate himself to the loathly technique of commerce.
+
+Out of uniform, out of humour, out of touch with the arts of peace;
+still, at times, all a-quiver with the nervous shock of his
+experience, it was very hard for him to speak respectfully to Mr.
+Sharrow.
+
+As instructor to rookie aspirants he would have been somebody: he had
+already been somebody as a lieutenant of infantry in the thunderous
+scheme of things in the Argonne.
+
+But in the offices of Clarence Sharrow & Co. he was merely a rather
+nice-looking civilian subordinate, whose duties were to aid clients in
+the selection and purchase of residences, advise them, consult with
+them, make appointments to show them dwelling houses, vacant or still
+tenanted, and in every stage of repair or decrepitude.
+
+On the wall beside his desk hung a tinted map of the metropolis. Upon
+a table at his elbow were piled ponderous tomes depicting the Bronx in
+all its beauty, and giving details of suburban sewers. Other volumes
+contained maps of the fashionable residential district, showing every
+consecrated block and the exact location as well as the linear
+dimensions of every awesome residence and back yard from Washington
+Square to Yorkville.
+
+By referring to a note-book which he carried in his breast pocket,
+young Shotwell could inform any grand lady or any pompous or fussy
+gentleman what was the "asking price" of any particular residence
+marked for sale upon the diagrams of the ponderous tomes.
+
+Also--which is why Sharrow selected him for that particular
+job--clients liked his good manners and his engaging ways.
+
+The average client buys a freshly painted house in preference to a
+well-built one, but otherwise clamours always for a bargain. The
+richer the client the louder the clamour. And to such demands Shotwell
+was always sympathetic--always willing to inquire whether or not the
+outrageous price asked for a dwelling might possibly be "shaded" a
+little.
+
+It always could be shaded; but few clients knew that; and the
+majority, much flattered at their own business acumen, entertained
+kind feelings toward Sharrow & Co. and sentiments almost cordial
+toward young Shotwell when the "shading" process had proved to be
+successful.
+
+But the black-eye dealt the residential district long ago had not yet
+cleared up. Real property of that sort was still dull and inactive
+except for a flare-up now and then along Park Avenue and Fifth.
+
+War, naturally, had not improved matters; and, as far as the
+residential part of their business was concerned, Sharrow & Co.
+transacted the bulk of it in leasing apartments and, now and then, a
+private house, usually on the West Side.
+
+That morning, in the offices of Sharrow & Co., a few clients sat
+beside the desks of the various men who specialised in the particular
+brand of real estate desired: several neat young girls performed
+diligently upon typewriters; old man Sharrow stood at the door of his
+private office twirling his eyeglasses by the gold chain and urbanely
+getting rid of an undesirable visitor--one Angelo Puma, who wanted
+some land for a moving picture studio, but was persuasively unwilling
+to pay for it.
+
+He was a big man, too heavy, youngish, with plump olive skin, black
+hair, lips too full and too red under a silky moustache, and eyes that
+would have been magnificent in a woman--a Spanish dancer, for
+example--rich, dark eyes, softly brilliant under curling lashes.
+
+He seemed to covet the land and the ramshackle stables on it, but he
+wanted somebody to take back a staggering mortgage on the property.
+And Mr. Sharrow shook his head gently, and twirled his eyeglasses.
+
+"For me," insisted Puma, "I do not care. It is good property. I would
+pay cash if I had it. But I have not. No. My capital at the moment is
+tied up in production; my daily expenses, at present, require what
+cash I have. If your client is at all reasonable----"
+
+"He isn't," said Sharrow. "He's a Connecticut Yankee."
+
+For a moment Angelo Puma seemed crestfallen, then his brilliant smile
+flashed from every perfect tooth:
+
+"That is very bad for me," he said, buttoning-his showy overcoat.
+"Pardon me; I waste your time--" pulling on his gloves. "However, if
+your client should ever care to change his mind----"
+
+"One moment," said Sharrow, whose time Mr. Puma had indeed wasted at
+intervals during the past year, and who heartily desired to be rid of
+property and client: "Suppose you deal directly with the owner. We are
+not particularly anxious to carry the property; it's a little out of
+our sphere. Suppose I put you in direct communication with the
+owner."
+
+"Delighted," said Puma, flashing his smile and bowing from the waist;
+and perfectly aware that his badgering had bored this gentleman to the
+limit.
+
+"I'll write out his address for you," said Sharrow, "--one moment,
+please----"
+
+Angelo Puma waited, his glossy hat in one hand, his silver-headed
+stick and folded suede gloves in the other.
+
+Like darkly brilliant searchlights his magnificent eyes swept the
+offices of Sharrow & Co.; at a glance he appraised the self-conscious
+typists, surmised possibilities in a blond one; then, as a woman
+entered from the street, he rested his gaze upon her. And he kept it
+there.
+
+Even when Sharrow came out of his private office with the slip of
+paper, Angelo Puma's eyes still remained fastened upon the young girl
+who had spoken to a clerk and then seated herself in a chair beside
+the desk of James Shotwell, Jr.
+
+"The man's name," repeated Sharrow patiently, "is Elmer Skidder. His
+address is Shadow Hill, Connecticut."
+
+Puma turned to him as though confused, thanked him effusively, took
+the slip of paper, pulled on his gloves in a preoccupied way, and very
+slowly walked toward the street door, his eyes fixed on the girl who
+was now in animated conversation with young Shotwell.
+
+As he passed her she was laughing at something the young man had just
+said, and Puma deliberately turned and looked at her again--looked her
+full in the face.
+
+She was aware of him and of his bold scrutiny, of course--noticed his
+brilliant eyes, no doubt--but paid no heed to him--was otherwise
+preoccupied with this young man beside her, whom she had neither seen
+nor thought about since the day she had landed in New York from the
+rusty little Danish steamer _Elsinore_.
+
+And now, although he had meant nothing at all to her except an episode
+already forgotten, to meet him again had instantly meant something to
+her.
+
+For this man now represented to her a link with the exciting
+past--this young soldier who had been fresh from the furnace when she
+had met him on deck as the _Elsinore_ passed in between the forts in
+the grey of early morning.
+
+The encounter was exciting her a little, too, over-emphasising its
+importance.
+
+"Fancy!" she repeated, "my encountering you here and in civilian
+dress! Were you dreadfully disappointed by the armistice?"
+
+"I'm ashamed to say I took it hard," he admitted.
+
+"So did I. I had hoped so to go to France. And you--oh, I _am_ sorry
+for you. You were so disgusted at being detailed from the fighting
+line to Camp Upton! And now the war is over. What a void!"
+
+"You're very frank," he said. "We're supposed to rejoice, you know."
+
+"Oh, of course. I really do rejoice----"
+
+They both laughed.
+
+"I mean it," she insisted. "In my sober senses I am glad the war is
+over. I'd be a monster if I were not glad. But--_what_ is going to
+take its place? Because we must have something, you know. One can't
+endure a perfect void, can one?"
+
+Again they laughed.
+
+"It was such a tremendous thing," she explained. "I did want to be
+part of it before it ended. But of course peace is a tremendous thing,
+too----"
+
+And they both laughed once more.
+
+"Anybody overhearing us," she confided to him, "would think us mere
+beasts. Of course you are glad the war is ended: that's why you
+fought. And I'm glad, too. And I'm going to rent a house in New York
+and find something to occupy this void I speak of. But isn't it nice
+that I should come to you about it?"
+
+"Jolly," he said. "And now at last I'm going to learn your name."
+
+"Oh. Don't you know it?"
+
+"I wanted to ask you, but there seemed to be no proper opportunity----"
+
+"Of course. I remember. There seemed to be no reason."
+
+"I was sorry afterward," he ventured.
+
+That amused her. "You weren't really sorry, were you?"
+
+"I really was. I thought of you----"
+
+"Do you mean to say you remembered me after the ship docked?"
+
+"Yes. But I'm very sure you instantly forgot me."
+
+"I certainly did!" she admitted, still much amused at the idea. "One
+doesn't remember everybody one sees, you know," she went on
+frankly,"--particularly after a horrid voyage and when one's head is
+full of exciting plans. Alas! those wonderful plans of mine!--the
+stuff that dreams are made of. And here I am asking you kindly to find
+me a modest house with a modest rental.... And by the way," she added
+demurely, "my name is Palla Dumont."
+
+"Thank you," he said smilingly. "Do you care to know mine?"
+
+"I know it. When I came in and told the clerk what I wanted, he said I
+should see Mr. Shotwell."
+
+"James Shotwell, Jr.," he said gravely.
+
+"That _is_ amiable. You don't treasure malice, do you? I might merely
+have known you as _Mr._ Shotwell. And you generously reveal all from
+James to Junior."
+
+They were laughing again. Mr. Sharrow noticed them from his
+private office and congratulated himself on having Shotwell in his
+employment.
+
+"When may I see a house?" inquired Palla, settling her black-gloved
+hands in her black fox muff.
+
+"Immediately, if you like."
+
+"How wonderful!"
+
+He took out his note-book, glanced through several pages, asked her
+carelessly what rent she cared to pay, made a note of it, and resumed
+his study of the note-book.
+
+"The East Side?" he inquired, glancing at her with curiosity not
+entirely professional.
+
+"I prefer it."
+
+From his note-book he read to her the descriptions and situations of
+several twenty-foot houses in the zone between Fifth and Third
+Avenues.
+
+"Shall we go to see some of them, Mr. Shotwell? Have you, perhaps,
+time this morning?"
+
+"I'm delighted," he said. Which, far from straining truth, perhaps
+restrained it.
+
+So he got his hat and overcoat, and they went out together into the
+winter sunshine.
+
+Angelo Puma, seated in a taxi across the street, observed them. He
+wore a gardenia in his lapel. He might have followed Palla had she
+emerged alone from the offices of Sharrow & Co.
+
+Shotwell Junior had a jolly morning of it. And, if the routine proved
+a trifle monotonous, Palla, too, appeared to amuse herself.
+
+She inspected various types of houses, expensive and inexpensive,
+modern and out of date, well built and well kept and "jerry-built" and
+dirty.
+
+Prices and rents painfully surprised her, and she gave up any idea of
+renting a furnished house, and so informed Shotwell.
+
+So they restricted their inspection to three-story unfurnished and
+untenanted houses, where the neighbourhood was less pretentious and
+there was a better light in the rear.
+
+But they all were dirty, neglected, out of repair, destitute of decent
+plumbing and electricity.
+
+On the second floor of one of these Palla stood, discouraged,
+perplexed, gazing absently out, across a filthy back yard full of
+seedling ailanthus trees and rubbish, at the rear fire escapes on the
+tenements beyond.
+
+Shotwell, exploring the closely written pages of his note-book, could
+discover nothing desirable within the terms she was willing to make.
+
+"There's one house on our books," he said at last, "which came in only
+yesterday. I haven't had time to look at it. I don't even know where
+the keys are. But if you're not too tired----"
+
+Palla gave him one of her characteristic direct looks:
+
+"I'm not too tired, but I'm starved. I could go after lunch."
+
+"Fine!" he said. "I'm hungry, too! Shall we go to Delmonico's?"
+
+The girl seemed a trifle nonplussed. She had not supposed that
+luncheon with clients was included in a real estate transaction.
+
+She was not embarrassed, nor did the suggestion seem impertinent. But
+she said:
+
+"I had expected to lunch at the hotel."
+
+He reddened a little. Guilt shows its colors.
+
+"Had you rather?" he asked.
+
+"Why, no. I'd rather lunch with you at Delmonico's and talk houses."
+And, a little amused at this young man's transparent guile, she added:
+"I think it would be very agreeable for us to lunch together."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+She came from the dressing-room fresh and flushed as a slightly
+chilled rose, rejoining him in the lobby, and presently they were
+seated in the palm room with a discreet and hidden orchestra playing,
+"Oh! How I Hate To Get Up in the Morning," and rather busy with a
+golden Casaba melon between them.
+
+"Isn't this jolly!" he said, expanding easily, as do all young men in
+the warmth of the informal.
+
+"Very. What an agreeable business yours seems to be, Mr. Shotwell."
+
+"In what way?" he asked innocently.
+
+"Why, part of it is lunching with feminine clients, isn't it?"
+
+His close-set ears burned. She glanced up with mischief brilliant in
+her brown eyes. But he was busy with his melon. And, not looking at
+her:
+
+"Don't you want to know me?" he asked so clumsily that she hesitated
+to snub so defenceless a male.
+
+"I don't know whether I wish to," she replied, smiling slightly. "I
+hadn't aspired to it; I hadn't really considered it. I was thinking
+about renting a house."
+
+He said nothing, but, as the painful colour remained in his face, the
+girl decided to be a little kinder.
+
+"Anyway," she said, "I'm enjoying myself. And I hope you are."
+
+He said he was. But his voice and manner were so subdued that she
+laughed.
+
+"Fancy asking a girl such a question," she said. "You shouldn't ask a
+woman whether she doesn't want to know you. It would be irregular
+enough, under the circumstances, to say that you wanted to know her."
+
+"That's what I meant," he replied, wincing. "Would you consider it?"
+
+She could not disguise her amusement.
+
+"Yes; I'll consider it, Mr. Shotwell. I'll give it my careful
+attention. I owe you something, anyway."
+
+"What?" he asked uncertainly, prepared for further squelching.
+
+"I don't know exactly what. But when a man remembers a woman, and the
+woman forgets the man, isn't something due him?"
+
+"I think there is," he said so naïvely that Palla was unable to
+restrain her gaiety.
+
+"This is a silly conversation," she said, "--as silly as though I had
+accepted the cocktail you so thoughtfully suggested. We're both
+enjoying each other and we know it."
+
+"Really!" he exclaimed, brightening.
+
+His boyish relief--everything that this young man said to her--seemed
+to excite the girl to mirth. Perhaps she had been starved for laughter
+longer than is good for anybody. Besides, her heart was naturally
+responsive--opened easily--was easily engaged.
+
+"Of course I'm inclined to like you," she said, "or I wouldn't be here
+lunching with you and talking nonsense instead of houses----"
+
+"We'll talk houses!"
+
+"No; we'll _look_ at them--later.... Do you know it's a long, long
+time since I have laughed with a really untroubled heart?"
+
+"I'm sorry."
+
+"Yes, it isn't good for a girl. Sadness is a sickness--a physical
+disorganisation that infects the mind. It makes a strange emotion of
+love, too, perverting it to that mysticism we call religion--and
+wasting it.... I suppose you're rather shocked," she said smilingly.
+
+"No.... But have you no religion?"
+
+"Have you?"
+
+"Well--yes."
+
+"Which?"
+
+"Protestant.... Are you Catholic?"
+
+The girl rested her cheek on her hand and dabbed absently at her
+orange ice.
+
+"I was once," she said. "I was very religious--in the accepted sense
+of the term.... It came rather suddenly;--it seemed to be born as part
+of a sudden and close friendship with a girl--began with that
+friendship, I think.... And died with it."
+
+She sat quite silent for a while, then a tremulous smile edged her
+lips:
+
+"I had meant to take the veil," she said. "I did begin my novitiate."
+
+"Here?"
+
+"No, in Russia. There are a few foreign cloistered orders there....
+But I had a tragic awakening...." She bent her head and quoted softly,
+"'For the former things have passed away.'"
+
+The orange ice was melting; she stirred it idly, watching it
+dissolve.
+
+"No," she said, "I had utterly misunderstood the scheme of things.
+Divinity is not a sad, a solemn, a solitary autocrat demanding selfish
+tribute, blind allegiance, inexorable self-abasement. It is not an
+insecure tyrant offering bribery for the cringing, frightened
+servitude demanded."
+
+She looked up smilingly at the man: "Nor, within us, is there any soul
+in the accepted meaning,--no satellite released at death to revolve
+around or merge into some super-divinity. No!
+
+"For I believe,--I _know_--that the body--every one's body--is
+inhabited by a complete god, immortal, retaining its divine entity,
+beholden to no other deity save only itself, and destined to encounter
+in a divine democracy and through endless futures, unnumbered brother
+gods--the countless divinities which have possessed and shall possess
+those tenements of mankind which we call our bodies.... You do not, of
+course, subscribe to such a faith," she added, meeting his gaze.
+
+"Well----" He hesitated. She said:
+
+"Autocracy in heaven is as unthinkable, as unbelievable, and as
+obnoxious to me as is autocracy on earth. There is no such thing as
+divine right, here or elsewhere,--no divine prerogatives for tyranny,
+for punishment, for cruelty."
+
+"How did you happen to embrace such a faith?" he asked, bewildered.
+
+"I was sick of the scheme of things. Suffering, cruelty, death
+outraged my common sense. It is not in me to say, 'Thy will be done,'
+to any autocrat, heavenly or earthly. It is not in me to fawn on the
+hand that strikes me--or that strikes any helpless thing! No! And the
+scheme of things sickened me, and I nearly died of it----"
+
+She clenched her hand where it rested on the table, and he saw her
+face flushed and altered by the fire within. Then she smiled and
+leaned back in her chair.
+
+"In you," she said gaily, "dwells a god. In me a goddess,--a joyous
+one,--a divine thing that laughs,--a complete and free divinity that
+is gay and tender, that is incapable of tyranny, that loves all things
+both, great and small, that exists to serve--freely, not for
+reward--that owes allegiance and obedience only to the divine and
+eternal law within its own godhead. And that law is the law of
+love.... And that is my substitute for the scheme of things. Could you
+subscribe?"
+
+After a silence he quoted: "_Could you and I with Him conspire_----"
+
+She nodded: "'_To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire_----' But
+there is no '_Him_.' It's you and I.... Both divine.... Suppose we
+grasp it and '_shatter it to bits_.' Shall we?"
+
+"'_And then remould it nearer to the heart's desire?_'"
+
+"Remould it nearer to the logic of common sense."
+
+Neither spoke for a few moments. Then she drew a swift, smiling
+breath.
+
+"We're getting on rather rapidly, aren't we?" she said. "Did you
+expect to lunch with such a friendly, human girl? And will you now
+take her to inspect this modest house which you hope may suit her, and
+which, she most devoutly hopes may suit her, too?"
+
+"This has been a perfectly delightful day," he said as they rose.
+
+"Do you want me to corroborate you?"
+
+"Could you?"
+
+"I've had a wonderful time," she said lightly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+John Estridge, out of a job--as were a million odd others now arriving
+from France by every transport--met James Shotwell, Junior, one wintry
+day as the latter was leaving the real estate offices of Sharrow &
+Co.
+
+"The devil," exclaimed Estridge; "I supposed you, at least, were safe
+in the service, Jim! Isn't your regiment in Germany?"
+
+"It is," replied Shotwell wrathfully, shaking hands. "Where do you
+come from, Jack?"
+
+"From hell--via Copenhagen. In milder but misleading metaphor, I come
+from Holy Russia."
+
+"Did the Red Cross fire you?"
+
+"No, but they told me to run along home like a good boy and get my
+degree. I'm not an M.D., you know. And there's a shortage. So I had to
+come."
+
+"Same here; I had to come." And Shotwell, for Estridge's enlightenment,
+held a post-mortem over the premature decease of his promising military
+career.
+
+"Too bad," commented the latter. "It sure was exciting while it
+lasted--our mixing it in the great game. There's pandemonium to pay in
+Russia, now;--I rather hated to leave.... But it was either leave or
+be shot up. The Bolsheviki are impossible.... Are you walking up
+town?"
+
+They fell into step together.
+
+"You'll go back to the P. & S., I suppose," ventured Shotwell.
+
+"Yes. And you?"
+
+"Oh, I'm already nailed down to the old oaken desk. Sharrow's my boss,
+if you remember?"
+
+"It must seem dull," said Estridge sympathetically.
+
+"Rotten dull."
+
+"You don't mean business too, do you?"
+
+"Yes, that's also on the bum.... I did contrive to sell a small house
+the other day--and blew myself to this overcoat."
+
+"Is that so unusual?" asked Estridge, smiling,"--to sell a house in
+town?"
+
+"Yes, it's a miracle in these days. Tell me, Jack, how did you get on
+in Russia?"
+
+"Too many Reds. We couldn't do much. They've got it in for everybody
+except themselves."
+
+"The socialists?"
+
+"Not the social revolutionists. I'm talking about the Reds."
+
+"Didn't they make the revolution?"
+
+"They did not."
+
+"Well, who are the Reds, and what is it they want?"
+
+"They want to set the world on fire. Then they want to murder and
+rob everybody with any education. Then they plan to start things
+from the stone age again. They want loot and blood. That's really
+all they want. Their object is to annihilate civilisation by
+exterminating the civilised. They desire to start all over from
+first principles--without possessing any--and turn the murderous
+survivors of the human massacre into one vast, international pack of
+wolves. And they're beginning to do it in Russia."
+
+"A pleasant programme," remarked Shotwell. "No wonder you beat it,
+Jack. I recently met a woman who had just arrived from Russia. They
+murdered her best friend--one of the little Grand Duchesses. She
+simply can't talk about it."
+
+"That was a beastly business," nodded Estridge. "I happen to know a
+little about it."
+
+"Were _you_ in that district?"
+
+"Well, no,--not when that thing happened. But some little time
+before the Bolsheviki murdered the Imperial family I had occasion to
+escort an American girl to the convent where they were held under
+detention.... An exceedingly pretty girl," he added absently. "She
+was once companion to one of the murdered Imperial children."
+
+Shotwell glanced up quickly: "Her name, by any chance, doesn't happen
+to be Palla Dumont?"
+
+"Why, yes. Do you know her?"
+
+"I sold her that house I was telling you about. Do you know her well,
+Jack?"
+
+Estridge smiled. "Yes and no. Perhaps I know her better than she
+suspects."
+
+Shotwell laughed, recollecting his friend's inclination for analysing
+character and his belief in his ability to do so.
+
+"Same old scientific vivisectionist!" he said. "So you've been
+dissecting Palla Dumont, have you?"
+
+"Certainly. She's a type."
+
+"A charming one," added Shotwell.
+
+"Oh, very."
+
+"But you don't know her well--outside of having mentally vivisected
+her?"
+
+Estridge laughed: "Palla Dumont and I have been through some rather
+hair-raising scrapes together. And I'll admit right now that she
+possesses all kinds of courage--perhaps too many kinds."
+
+"How do you mean?"
+
+"She has the courage of her convictions and her convictions,
+sometimes, don't amount to much."
+
+"Go on and cut her up," said Shotwell, sarcastically.
+
+"That's the only fault I find with Palla Dumont," explained the
+other.
+
+"I thought you said she was a type?"
+
+"She is,--the type of unmarried woman who continually develops too
+much pep for her brain to properly take care of."
+
+"You mean you consider Palla Dumont neurotic?"
+
+"No. Nothing abnormal. Perhaps super-normal--pathologically speaking.
+Bodily health is fine. But over-secretion of ardent energy sometimes
+disturbs one's mental equilibrium. The result, in a crisis, is likely
+to result in extravagant behavior. Martyrs are made of such stuff, for
+example."
+
+"You think her a visionary?"
+
+"Well, her reason and her emotions sometimes become rather badly
+entangled, I fancy."
+
+"Don't everybody's?"
+
+"At intervals. Then the thing to do is to keep perfectly cool till the
+fit is over."
+
+"So you think her impulsive?"
+
+"Well, I should say so!" smiled Estridge. "Of course I mean nicely
+impulsive--even nobly impulsive.... But that won't help her. Impulse
+never helped anybody. It's a spoke in the wheel--a stumbling block--a
+stick to trip anybody.... Particularly a girl.... And Palla Dumont
+mistakes impulse for logic. She honestly thinks that she reasons." He
+smiled to himself: "A disturbingly pretty girl," he murmured, "with a
+tender heart ... which seems to do all her thinking for her.... How
+well do you know her, Jim?"
+
+"Not well. But I'm going to, I hope."
+
+Estridge glanced up interrogatively, suddenly remembering all the
+uncontradicted gossip concerning a tacit understanding between
+Shotwell, Jr., and Elorn Sharrow. It is true that no engagement had
+been announced; but none had been denied, either. And Miss Sharrow had
+inherited her mother's fortune. And Shotwell, Jr., made only a young
+man's living.
+
+"You ought to be rather careful with such a girl," he remarked
+carelessly.
+
+"How, careful?"
+
+"Well, she's rather perilously attractive, isn't she?" insisted
+Estridge smilingly.
+
+"She's extremely interesting."
+
+"She certainly is. She's rather an amazing girl in her way. More
+amazing than perhaps you imagine."
+
+"Amazing?"
+
+"Yes, even astounding."
+
+"For example?"
+
+"I'll give you an example. When the Reds invaded that convent and
+seized the Czarina and her children, Palla Dumont, then a novice of
+six weeks, attempted martyrdom by pretending that she herself was the
+little Grand Duchess Marie. And when the Reds refused to believe her,
+she demanded the privilege of dying beside her little friend. She even
+insulted the Reds, defied them, taunted them until they swore to
+return and cut her throat as soon as they finished with the Imperial
+family. And then this same Palla Dumont, to whom you sold a house in
+New York the other day, flew into an ungovernable passion; tried to
+batter her way into the cellar; shattered half a dozen chapel chairs
+against the oak door of the crypt behind which preparations for the
+assassination were taking place; then, helpless, called on God to
+interfere and put a stop to it. And, when deity, as usual, didn't
+interfere with the scheme of things, this girl tore the white veil
+from her face and the habit from her body and denounced as nonexistent
+any alleged deity that permitted such things to be."
+
+Shotwell gazed at Estridge in blank astonishment.
+
+"Where on earth did you hear all that dope?" he demanded incredulously.
+
+Estridge smiled: "It's all quite true, Jim. And Palla Dumont escaped
+having her slender throat slit open only because a sotnia of
+Kaladines' Cossacks cantered up, discovered what the Reds were up to
+in the cellar, and beat it with Palla and another girl just in the
+nick of time."
+
+"Who handed you this cinema stuff?"
+
+"_The other girl._"
+
+"You believe her?"
+
+"You can judge for yourself. This other girl was a young Swedish
+soldier who had served in the Battalion of Death. It's really cinema
+stuff, as you say. But Russia, to-day, is just one hell after another
+in an endless and bloody drama. Such picturesque incidents,--the
+wildest episodes, the craziest coincidences--are occurring by
+thousands every day of the year in Russia.... And, Jim, it was due to
+one of those daily and crazy coincidences that my sleigh, in which I
+was beating it for Helsingfors, was held up by that same sotnia of the
+Wild Division on a bitter day, near the borders of a pine forest.
+
+"And that's where I encountered Palla Dumont again. And that's where I
+heard--not from her, but from her soldier comrade, Ilse Westgard--the
+story I have just told you."
+
+For a while they continued to walk up and down in silence.
+
+Finally Estridge said: "_There_ was a girl for you!"
+
+"Palla Dumont!" nodded Shotwell, still too astonished to talk.
+
+"No, the other.... An amazing girl.... Nearly six feet; physically
+perfect;--what the human girl ought to be and seldom is;--symmetrical,
+flawless, healthy--a super-girl ... like some young daughter of the
+northern gods!... Ilse Westgard."
+
+"One of those women soldiers, you say?" inquired Shotwell, mildly
+curious.
+
+"Yes. There were all kinds of women in that Death Battalion. We saw
+them,--your friend Palla Dumont and I,--saw them halted and standing
+at ease in a birch wood; saw them marching into fire.... And there were
+all sorts of women, Jim; peasant, bourgeoise and aristocrat;--there
+were dressmakers, telephone operators, servant-girls, students, Red
+Cross nurses, actresses from the Marinsky, Jewesses from the Pale,
+sisters of the Yellow Ticket, Japanese girls, Chinese, Cossack,
+English, Finnish, French.... And they went over the top cheering for
+Russia!... They went over to shame the army which had begun to run from
+the hun.... Pretty fine, wasn't it?"
+
+"Fine!"
+
+"You bet!... After this war--after what women have done the world
+over--I wonder whether there are any asses left who desire to
+restrict woman to a 'sphere'?... I'd like to see Ilse Westgard again,"
+he added absently.
+
+"Was she a peasant girl?"
+
+"No. A daughter of well-to-do people. Quite the better sort, I should
+say. And she was more thoroughly educated than the average girl of our
+own sort.... A brave and cheerful soldier in the Battalion of
+Death.... Ilse Westgard.... Amazing, isn't it?"
+
+After another brief silence Shotwell ventured: "I suppose you'd find
+it agreeable to meet Palla Dumont again, wouldn't you?"
+
+"Why, yes, of course," replied the other pleasantly.
+
+"Then, if you like, she'll ask us to tea some day--after her new house
+is in shape."
+
+"You seem to be very sure about what Palla Dumont is likely to do,"
+said Estridge, smiling.
+
+"Indeed, I'm not!" retorted Shotwell, with emphasis. "Palla Dumont has
+a mind of her own,--although you don't seem to think so,----"
+
+"I think she has a _will_ of her own," interrupted the other, amused.
+
+"Glad you concede her _some_ mental attribute."
+
+"I do indeed! I never intimated that she is weak-willed. She isn't.
+Other and stronger wills don't dominate hers. Perhaps it would be
+better if they did sometimes....
+
+"But no; Palla Dumont arrives headlong at her own red-hot decisions.
+It is not the will of others that influences her; it is their
+indecision, their lack of willpower, their very weakness that seems to
+stimulate and vitally influence such a character as Palla Dumont's--"
+
+"--Such a _character_?" repeated Shotwell. "What sort of character do
+you suppose hers to be, anyway? Between you and your psychological
+and pathological surmises you don't seem to leave her any character at
+all."
+
+"I'm telling you," said Estridge, "that the girl is influenced not by
+the will or desire of others, but by their necessities, their
+distress, their needs.... Or what she believes to be their needs....
+And you may decide for yourself how valuable are the conclusions of an
+impulsive, wilful, fearless, generous girl whose heart regulates her
+thinking apparatus."
+
+"According to you, then, she is practically mindless," remarked
+Shotwell, ironically. "You medically minded gentlemen are wonders!--all
+of you."
+
+"You don't get me. The girl is clever and intelligent when her
+accumulated emotions let her brain alone. When they interfere, her
+logic goes to smash and she does exaggerated things--like trying to
+sacrifice herself for her friend in the convent there--like tearing
+off the white garments of her novitiate and denouncing deity!--like
+embracing an extravagant pantheistic religion of her own manufacture
+and proclaiming that the Law of Love is the only law!
+
+"I've heard the young lady on the subject, Jim. And, medically minded
+or not, I'm medically on to her."
+
+They walked on together in silence for nearly a whole block; then
+Estridge said bluntly:
+
+"She'd be better balanced if she were married and had a few children.
+Such types usually are."
+
+Shotwell made no comment. Presently the other spoke again:
+
+"The Law of Love! What rot! That's sheer hysteria. Follow that law and
+you become a saint, perhaps, perhaps a devil. Love sacred, love
+profane--both, when exaggerated, arise from the same physical
+condition--too much pep for the mind to distribute.
+
+"What happens? Exaggerations. Extravagances. Hallucinations.
+Mysticisms.
+
+"What results? Nuns. Hermits. Yogis. Exhorters. Fanatics. Cranks.
+_Sometimes._ For, from the same chrysalis, Jim, may emerge either a
+vestal, or one of those tragic characters who, swayed by this same
+remarkable Law of Love, may give ... and burn on--slowly--from the
+first lover to the next. And so, into darkness."
+
+He added, smiling: "The only law of love subscribed to by sane people
+is framed by a balanced brain and interpreted by common sense. Those
+who obey any other code go a-glimmering, saint and sinner, novice and
+Magdalene alike.... This is your street, I believe."
+
+They shook hands cordially.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+After dining _en famille_, Shotwell Junior considered the various
+diversions offered to young business men after a day of labour.
+
+There were theatres; there was the Club de Vingt and similar agreeable
+asylums; there was also a telephone to ring, and unpremeditated
+suggestions to make to friends, either masculine or feminine.
+
+Or he could read and improve his mind. Or go to Carnegie Hall with his
+father and mother and listen to music of sorts.... Or--he could call
+up Elorn Sharrow.
+
+He couldn't decide; and his parents presently derided him and departed
+music-ward without him. He read an evening paper, discarded it, poked
+the fire, stood before it, jingled a few coins and keys in his
+pocket, still undecided, still rather disinclined to any exertion,
+even as far as the club.
+
+"I wonder," he thought, "what that girl is doing now. I've a mind to
+call her up."
+
+He seemed to know whom he meant by "that girl." Also, it was evident
+that he did not mean Elorn Sharrow; for it was not her number he
+called and presently got.
+
+"Miss Dumont?"
+
+"Yes? Who is it?"
+
+"It's a mere nobody. It's only your broker----"
+
+"_What!!_"
+
+"Your real-estate broker----"
+
+"Mr. Shotwell! How absurd of you!"
+
+"Why absurd?"
+
+"Because I don't think of you merely as a real-estate broker."
+
+"Then you _do_ sometimes think of me?"
+
+"What power of deduction! What logic! You seem to be in a particularly
+frivolous frame of mind. Are you?"
+
+"No; I'm in a bad one."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I haven't a bally thing to do this evening."
+
+"That's silly!--with the entire town outside.... I'm glad you called
+me up, anyway. I'm tired and bored and exceedingly cross."
+
+"What are you doing, Miss Dumont?"
+
+"Absolutely and idiotically nothing. I'm merely sitting here on the
+only chair in this scantily furnished house, and trying to plan what
+sort of carpets, draperies and furniture to buy. Can you imagine the
+scene?"
+
+"I thought you had some things."
+
+"I haven't anything! Not even a decent mirror. I stand on the
+slippery edge of a bath tub to get a complete view of myself. And then
+it's only by sections."
+
+"That's tragic. Have you a cook?"
+
+"I have. But no dining room table. I eat from a tray on a packing
+case."
+
+"Have you a waitress?"
+
+"Yes, and a maid. They're comfortable. I bought their furniture
+immediately and also the batterie-de-cuisine. It's only I who slink
+about like a perplexed cat, from one empty room to another, in search
+of familiar comforts.... But I bought a sofa to-day.
+
+"It's a wonderful sofa. It's here, now. It's an antique. But I can't
+make up my mind how to upholster it."
+
+"Would you care for a suggestion?"
+
+"Please!"
+
+"Well, I'd have to see it----"
+
+"I thought you'd say that. Really, Mr. Shotwell, I'd like most awfully
+to see you, but this place is too uncomfortable. I told you I'd ask
+you to tea some day."
+
+"Won't you let me come down for a few moments this evening----"
+
+"No!"
+
+"--And pay you a formal little call----"
+
+"No.... Would you really like to?"
+
+"I would."
+
+"You wouldn't after you got here. There's nothing for you to sit on."
+
+"What about the floor?"
+
+"It's dusty."
+
+"What about that antique sofa?"
+
+"It's not upholstered."
+
+"What do I care! May I come?"
+
+"Do you really wish to?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"How soon?"
+
+"As fast as I can get there."
+
+He heard her laughing. Then: "I'll be perfectly delighted to see you,"
+she said. "I was actually thinking of taking to my bed out of sheer
+boredom. Are you coming in a taxi?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+He heard her laughing again.
+
+"Nothing," she answered, "--only I thought that might be the quickest
+way--" Her laughter interrupted her, "--to bring me the evening
+papers. I haven't a thing to read."
+
+"_That's_ why you want me to take a taxi!"
+
+"It is. News is a necessity to me, and I'm famishing.... What other
+reason could there be for a taxi? Did you suppose I was in a hurry to
+see you?"
+
+He listened to her laughter for a moment:
+
+"All right," he said, "I'll take a taxi and bring a book for myself."
+
+"And please don't forget my evening papers or I shall have to
+requisition your book.... Or possibly share it with you on the
+upholstered sofa.... And I read very rapidly and don't like being kept
+waiting for slower people to turn the page.... Mr. Shotwell?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"This is a wonderful floor. Could you bring some roller skates?"
+
+"No," he said, "but I'll bring a music box and we'll dance."
+
+"You're not serious----"
+
+"I am. Wait and see."
+
+"Don't do such a thing. My servants would think me crazy. I'm mortally
+afraid of them, too."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+He found a toy-shop on Third Avenue still open, and purchased a solemn
+little music-box that played ting-a-ling tunes.
+
+Then, in his taxi, he veered over to Fifth Avenue and Forty-second
+Street, where he bought roses and a spray of orchids. Then, adding to
+his purchases a huge box of bon-bons, he set his course for the three
+story and basement house which he had sold to Palla Dumont.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+Shotwell Senior and his wife were dining out that evening.
+
+Shotwell Junior had no plans--or admitted none, even to himself. He
+got into a bath and later into a dinner jacket, in an absent-minded
+way, and finally sauntered into the library wearing a vague scowl.
+
+The weather had turned colder, and there was an open fire there, and a
+convenient armchair and the evening papers.
+
+Perhaps the young gentleman had read them down town, for he shoved
+them aside. Then he dropped an elbow on the table, rested his chin
+against his knuckles, and gazed fiercely at the inoffensive _Evening
+Post_.
+
+Before any open fire any young man ought to be able to make up
+whatever mind he chances to possess. Yet, what to do with a winter
+evening all his own seemed to him a problem unfathomable.
+
+Perhaps his difficulty lay only in selection--there are so many
+agreeable things for a young man to do in Gotham Town on a winter's
+evening.
+
+But, oddly enough, young Shotwell was trying to persuade himself that
+he had no choice of occupation for the evening; that he really didn't
+care. Yet, always two intrusive alternatives continually presented
+themselves. The one was to change his coat for a spike-tail, his black
+tie for a white one, and go to the Metropolitan Opera. The other and
+more attractive alternative was _not_ to go.
+
+Elorn Sharrow would be at the opera. To appear, now and then, in the
+Sharrow family's box was expected of him. He hadn't done it recently.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+He dropped one lean leg over the other and gazed gravely at the fire.
+He was still trying to convince himself that he had no particular plan
+for the evening--that it was quite likely he might go to the opera or
+to the club--or, in fact, almost anywhere his fancy suggested.
+
+In his effort to believe himself the scowl came back, denting his
+eyebrows. Presently he forced a yawn, unsuccessfully.
+
+Yes, he thought he'd better go to the opera, after all. He ought to
+go.... It seemed to be rather expected of him.
+
+Besides, he had nothing else to do--that is, nothing in
+particular--unless, of course----
+
+But _that_ would scarcely do. He'd been _there_ so often recently....
+No, _that_ wouldn't do.... Besides it was becoming almost a habit with
+him. He'd been drifting there so frequently of late!... In fact, he'd
+scarcely been anywhere at all, recently, except--except where he
+certainly was not going that evening. And that settled it!... So he
+might as well go to the opera.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+His mother, in scarf and evening wrap, passing the library door on her
+way down, paused in the hall and looked intently at her only son.
+
+Recently she had been observing him rather closely and with a vague
+uneasiness born of that inexplicable sixth sense inherent in mothers.
+
+Perhaps what her son had faced in France accounted for the change in
+him;--for it was being said that no man could come back from such
+scenes unchanged;--none could ever again be the same. And it was being
+said, too, that old beliefs and ideals had altered; that everything
+familiar was ending;--and that the former things had already passed
+away under the glimmering dawn of a new heaven and a new earth.
+
+Perhaps all this was so--though she doubted it. Perhaps this son she
+had borne in agony might become to her somebody less familiar than the
+baby she had nursed at her own breast.
+
+But so far, to her, he continued to remain the same familiar baby she
+had always known--the same and utterly vital part of her soul and
+body. No sudden fulfilment of an apocalypse had yet wrought any occult
+metamorphosis in this boy of hers.
+
+And if he now seemed changed it was from that simple and familiar
+cause instinctively understood by mothers,--trouble!--the most ancient
+plague of all and the only malady which none escapes.
+
+She was a rather startlingly pretty woman, with the delicate features
+and colour and the snow-white hair of an 18th century belle. She
+stood, now, drawing on her gloves and watching her son out of
+dark-fringed deep blue eyes, until he glanced around uneasily. Then he
+rose at once, looking at her with fire-dazzled eyes.
+
+"Don't rise, dear," she said; "the car is here and your father is
+fussing and fuming in the drawing-room, and I've got to run.... Have
+you any plans for the evening?"
+
+"None, mother."
+
+"You're dining at home?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why don't you go to the opera to-night? It's the Sharrows' night."
+
+He came toward her irresolutely. "Perhaps I shall," he said. And
+instantly she knew he did not intend to go.
+
+"I had tea at the Sharrows'," she said, carelessly, still buttoning
+her gloves. "Elorn told me that she hadn't laid eyes on you for
+ages."
+
+"It's happened so.... I've had a lot of things to do----"
+
+"You and she still agree, don't you, Jim?"
+
+"Why, yes--as usual. We always get on together."
+
+Helen Shotwell's ermine wrap slipped; he caught it and fastened it for
+her, and she took hold of both his hands and drew his arms tightly
+around her pretty shoulders.
+
+"What troubles you, darling?" she asked smilingly.
+
+"Why, nothing, mother----"
+
+"Tell me!"
+
+"Really, there is nothing, dear----"
+
+"Tell me when you are ready, then," she laughed and released him.
+
+"But there isn't anything," he insisted.
+
+"Yes, Jim, there is. Do you suppose I don't know you after all these
+years?"
+
+She considered him with clear, amused eyes: "Don't forget," she added,
+"that I was only seventeen when you arrived, my son; and I have grown
+up with you ever since----"
+
+"For heaven's sake, Helen!--" protested Sharrow Senior plaintively
+from the front hall below. "Can't you gossip with Jim some other
+time?"
+
+"I'm on my way, James," she announced calmly. "Put your overcoat on."
+And, to her son: "Go to the opera. Elorn will cheer you up. Isn't that
+a good idea?"
+
+"That's--certainly--an idea.... I'll think it over.... And, mother, if
+I seem solemn at times, please try to remember how rotten every fellow
+feels about being out of the service----"
+
+Her gay, derisive laughter checked him, warning him that he was not
+imposing on her credulity. She said smilingly:
+
+"You have neglected Elorn Sharrow, and you know it, and it's on your
+conscience--whatever else may be on it, too. And that's partly why you
+feel blue. So keep out of mischief, darling, and stop neglecting
+Elorn--that is, if you ever really expect to marry her----"
+
+"I've told you that I have never asked her; and I never intend to ask
+her until I am making a decent living," he said impatiently.
+
+"Isn't there an understanding between you?"
+
+"Why--I don't think so. There couldn't be. We've never spoken of that
+sort of thing in our lives!"
+
+"I think she expects you to ask her some day. Everybody else does,
+anyway."
+
+"Well, that is the one thing I _won't_ do," he said, "--go about with
+the seat out of my pants and ask an heiress to sew on the patch for
+me----"
+
+"Darling! You _can_ be so common when you try!"
+
+"Well, it amounts to that--doesn't it, mother? I don't care what busy
+gossips say or idle people expect me to do! There's no engagement, no
+understanding between Elorn and me. And I don't care a hang what
+anybody----"
+
+His mother framed his slightly flushed face between her gloved hands
+and inspected him humorously.
+
+"Very well, dear," she said; "but you need not be so emphatically
+excited about it----"
+
+"I'm not excited--but it irritates me to be expected to do anything
+because it's expected of me--" He shrugged his shoulders:
+
+"After all," he added, "if I ever should fall in love with anybody
+it's my own business. And whatever I choose to do about it will be my
+own affair. And I shall keep my own counsel in any event."
+
+His mother stepped forward, letting both her hands fall into his.
+
+"Wouldn't you tell me about it, Jim?"
+
+"I'd tell you before I'd tell anybody else--if it ever became
+serious."
+
+"If _what_ became serious?"
+
+"Well--anything of that sort," he replied. But a bright colour stained
+his features and made him wince under her intent scrutiny.
+
+She was worried, now, though her pretty, humorous smile still
+challenged him with its raillery.
+
+But it was becoming very evident to her that if this boy of hers were
+growing sentimental over any woman the woman was not Elorn Sharrow.
+
+So far she had held her son's confidence. She must do nothing to
+disturb it. Yet, as she looked at him with the amused smile still
+edging her lips, she began for the first time in her life to be
+afraid.
+
+They kissed each other in silence.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the limousine, seated beside her husband, she said presently: "I
+wish Jim would marry Elorn Sharrow."
+
+"He's likely to some day, isn't he?"
+
+"I don't think so."
+
+"Well, there's no hurry," remarked her husband. "He ought not to marry
+anybody until he's thirty, and he's only twenty-four. I'm glad enough
+to have him remain at home with us."
+
+"But that's what worries me; he _doesn't_!"
+
+"Doesn't what?"
+
+"Doesn't remain at home."
+
+Her husband laughed: "Well, I meant it merely in a figurative sense.
+Of course Jim goes out----"
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Why, everywhere, I suppose," said her husband, a little surprised at
+her tone.
+
+She said calmly: "I hear things--pick up bits of gossip--as all women
+do.... And at a tea the other day a man asked me why Jim never goes to
+his clubs any more. So you see he doesn't go to any of his clubs when
+he goes 'out' in the evenings.... And he's been to no dances--judging
+from what is said to me.... And he doesn't go to see Elorn Sharrow any
+more. She told me that herself. So--where does he go?"
+
+"Well, but----"
+
+"Where _does_ he go--every evening?"
+
+"I'm sure I couldn't answer----"
+
+"Every evening!" she repeated absently.
+
+"Good heavens, Helen----"
+
+"And what is on that boy's mind? There's something on it."
+
+"His business, let us hope----"
+
+She shook her head: "I know my son," she remarked.
+
+"So do I. What is particularly troubling you, dear? There's something
+you haven't told me."
+
+"I'm merely wondering who that girl was who lunched with him at
+Delmonico's--_three times_--last week," mused his wife.
+
+"Why--she's probably all right, Helen. A man doesn't take the other
+sort there."
+
+"So I've heard," she said drily.
+
+"Well, then?"
+
+"Nothing.... She's very pretty, I understand.... And wears mourning."
+
+"What of it?" he asked, amused. She smiled at him, but there was a
+trace of annoyance in her voice.
+
+"Don't you think it very natural that I should wonder who any girl is
+who lunches with my son three times in one week?... And is remarkably
+pretty, besides?"
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The girl in question looked remarkably pretty at that very moment,
+where she sat at her desk, the telephone transmitter tilted toward
+her, the receiver at her ear, and her dark eyes full of gayest
+malice.
+
+"Miss Dumont, please?" came a distant and familiar voice over the
+wire. The girl laughed aloud; and he heard her.
+
+"You _said_ you were not going to call me up."
+
+"Is it _you_, Palla?"
+
+"How subtle of you!"
+
+He said anxiously. "Are you doing anything this evening--by any
+unhappy chance----"
+
+"I am."
+
+"Oh, hang it! What _are_ you doing?"
+
+"How impertinent!"
+
+"You know I don't mean it that way----"
+
+"I'm not sure. However, I'll be kind enough to tell you what I'm
+doing. I'm sitting here at my desk, listening to an irritable young
+man----"
+
+"That's wonderful luck!" he exclaimed joyously.
+
+"Wonderful luck for a girl to sit at a desk and listen to an irritable
+young man?"
+
+"If you'll stop talking bally nonsense for a moment----"
+
+"If you bully me, I shall stop talking altogether!"
+
+"For heaven's sake----"
+
+"I hear you, kind sir; you need not shout!"
+
+He said humbly: "Palla, would you let me drop in----"
+
+"Drop into what? Into poetry? Please do!"
+
+"For the love of----"
+
+"Jim! You told me last evening that you expected to be at the opera
+to-night."
+
+"I'm not going."
+
+"--So I didn't expect you to call me!"
+
+"Can't I see you?" he asked.
+
+"I'm sorry----"
+
+"The deuce!"
+
+"I'm expecting some people, Jim. It's your own fault; I didn't expect
+a tête-à-tête with you this evening."
+
+"Is it a party you're giving?"
+
+"Two or three people. But my place is full of flowers and as pretty as
+a garden. Too bad you can't see it."
+
+"Couldn't I come to your garden-party?" he asked humbly.
+
+"You mean just to see my garden for a moment?"
+
+"Yes; let me come around for a moment, anyway--if you're dressed. Are
+you?"
+
+"Certainly I'm dressed. Did you think it was to be a garden-of-Eden
+party?"
+
+Her gay, mischievous laughter came distinctly to him over the wire.
+Then her mood changed abruptly:
+
+"You funny boy," she said, "don't you understand that I want you to
+come?"
+
+"You enchanting girl!" he exclaimed. "Do you really mean it?"
+
+"Of course! And if you come at once we'll have nearly an hour together
+before anybody arrives."
+
+She had that sweet, unguarded way with her at moments, and it always
+sent a faint shock of surprise and delight through him.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Her smiling maid admitted him and took his hat, coat and stick as
+though accustomed to these particular articles.
+
+Palla was alone in the living-room when he was announced, and as soon
+as the maid disappeared she gave him both hands in swift welcome--an
+impulsive, unconsidered greeting entirely new to them both.
+
+"You didn't mind my tormenting you. Did you, Jim? I was so happy that
+you did call me up, after all. Because you know you _did_ tell me
+yesterday that you were going to the opera to-night. But all the
+same, when the 'phone rang, somehow I knew it was you--I knew
+it--somehow----"
+
+She loosened one hand from his and swung him with the other toward the
+piano: "Do you like my flower garden? Isn't the room attractive?"
+
+"Charming," he said. "And you are distractingly pretty to-night!"
+
+"In this dull, black gown? But, _merci_, anyway! See how effective
+your roses are!--the ones you sent yesterday and the day before!
+They're all opening. And I went out and bought a lot more, and all
+that fluffy green camouflage----"
+
+She withdrew her other hand from his without embarrassment and went
+over to rearrange a sheaf of deep red carnations, spreading the
+clustered stems to wider circumference.
+
+"What is this party you're giving, anyway?" he asked, following her
+across the room and leaning beside her on the piano, where she still
+remained very busily engaged with her decorations.
+
+"An impromptu party," she exclaimed. "I was shopping this morning--in
+fact I was buying pots and pans for the cook--when somebody spoke to
+me. And I recognised a university student whom I had known in
+Petrograd after the first revolution--Marya Lanois, her name is----"
+
+She moved aside and began to fuss with a huge bowl of crimson roses,
+loosening the blossoms, freeing the foliage, and talking happily all
+the while:
+
+"Marya Lanois," she repeated, "--an interesting girl. And with her was
+a man I had met--a pianist--Vanya Tchernov. They told me that another
+friend of mine--a girl named Ilse Westgard--is now living in New York.
+They couldn't dine with me, but they're coming to supper. So I also
+called up Ilse Westgard, she's coming, too;--and I also asked your
+friend, Mr. Estridge. So you see, Monsieur, we shall have a little
+music and much valuable conversation, and then I shall give them some
+supper----"
+
+She stepped back from the piano, surveyed her handiwork critically,
+then looked around at him for his opinion.
+
+"Fine," he said. "How jolly your new house is"--glancing about the
+room at the few well chosen pieces of antique furniture, the
+harmonious hangings and comfortably upholstered modern pieces.
+
+"It really is beginning to be livable; isn't it, Jim?" she ventured.
+"Of course there are many things yet to buy----"
+
+They leisurely made the tour of the white-panelled room, looking with
+approval at the delicate Georgian furniture; the mezzotints; the
+damask curtains of that beautiful red which has rose-tints in it, too;
+the charming old French clock and its lovely gilded garniture; the
+deep-toned ash-grey carpet under foot.
+
+Before the mantel, with its wood fire blazing, they paused.
+
+"It's so enchantingly homelike," she exclaimed. "I already love it
+all. When I come in from shopping I just stand here with my hat and
+furs on, and gaze about and adore everything!"
+
+"Do you adore me, too?" he asked, laughing at her warmth. "You see I'm
+becoming one of your fixtures here, also."
+
+In her brown eyes the familiar irresponsible gaiety began to glimmer:
+
+"I do adore you," she said, "but I've no business to."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+She seated herself on the sofa and cast a veiled glance at him,
+enchantingly malicious.
+
+"Do you think you know me well enough to adore me?" she inquired with
+misleading gravity.
+
+"Indeed I do----"
+
+"Am I as easy to know as that? Jim, you humiliate me."
+
+"I didn't say that you are easy to know----"
+
+"You meant it!" she insisted reproachfully. "You think so, too--just
+because I let myself be picked up--by a perfectly strange man----"
+
+"Good heavens, Palla--" he began nervously; but caught the glimmer in
+her lowered eyes--saw her child's mouth tremulous with mirth
+controlled.
+
+"Oh, Jim!" she said, still laughing, "do you think I care how we met?
+How absurd of you to let me torment you. You're altogether too boyish,
+too self-conscious. You're loaded down with all the silly traditions
+which I've thrown away. I don't care how we met. I'm glad we know each
+other."
+
+She opened a silver box on a little table at her elbow, chose a
+cigarette, lighted it, and offered it to him.
+
+"I rather like the taste of them now," she remarked, making room for
+him on the sofa beside her.
+
+When he was seated, she reached up to a jar of flowers on the piano,
+selected a white carnation, broke it short, and then drew the stem
+through his lapel, patting the blossom daintily into a pom-pon.
+
+"Now," she said gaily, "if you'll let me, I'll straighten your tie.
+Shall I?"
+
+He turned toward her; she accomplished that deftly, then glanced
+across at the clock.
+
+"We've only half an hour longer to ourselves," she exclaimed, with
+that unconscious candour which always thrilled him. Then, turning to
+him, she said laughingly: "Does it really matter how two people meet
+when time races with us like that?"
+
+"And do you realise," he said in a low, tense voice, "that since I met
+you every racing minute has been sweeping me headlong toward you?"
+
+She was so totally unprepared for the deeper emotion in his voice and
+bearing--so utterly surprised--that she merely gazed at him.
+
+"Haven't you been aware of it, Palla?" he said, looking her in the
+eyes.
+
+"Jim!" she protested, "you are disconcerting! You never before have
+taken such a tone toward me."
+
+She rose, walked over to the clock, examined it minutely for a few
+moments. Then she turned, cast a swift, perplexed glance at him, and
+came slowly back to resume her place on the sofa.
+
+"Men should be very, very careful what they say to me." As she
+lifted her eyes he saw them beginning to glimmer again with that
+irresponsible humour he knew so well.
+
+"Be careful," she said, her brown gaze gay with warning; "--I'm
+godless and quite lawless, and I'm a very dangerous companion for any
+well-behaved and orthodox young man who ventures to tell me that I'm
+adorable. Why, you might as safely venture to adore Diana of the
+Ephesians! And you know what she did to her admirers."
+
+"She was really Aphrodite, wasn't she?" he said, laughing.
+
+"Aphrodite, Venus, Isis, Lada--and the Ephesian Diana--I'm afraid they
+all were hussies. But I'm a hussy, too, Jim! If you doubt it, ask any
+well brought up girl you know and tell her how we met and how we've
+behaved ever since, and what obnoxious ideas I entertain toward all
+things conventional and orthodox!"
+
+"Palla, are you really serious?--I'm never entirely sure what is under
+your badinage."
+
+"Why, of course I am serious. I don't believe in any of the things
+that you believe in. I've often told you so, though you don't believe
+me----"
+
+"Nonsense!"
+
+"I don't, I tell you. I did once. But I'm awake. No 'threats of hell
+or hopes of any sugary paradise' influence me. Nor does custom and
+convention. Nor do the laws and teachings of our present civilisation
+matter one straw to me. I'd break every law if it suited me."
+
+He laughed and lifted her hand from her lap: "You funny child," he
+said, "you wouldn't steal, for example--would you?"
+
+"I don't desire to."
+
+"Would you commit perjury?"
+
+"No!"
+
+"Murder?"
+
+"I have a law of my own, kind sir. It doesn't happen to permit murder,
+arson, forgery, piracy, smuggling----"
+
+Their irresponsible laughter interrupted her.
+
+"What else wouldn't you do?" he managed to ask.
+
+"I wouldn't do anything mean, deceitful, dishonest, cruel. But it's
+not your antiquated laws--it's my own and original law that governs my
+conduct."
+
+"You always conform to it?"
+
+"I do. But you don't conform to yours. So I'll try to help you
+remember the petty but always sacred conventions of our own accepted
+code----"
+
+And, with unfeigned malice, she began to disengage her hand from
+his--loosened the slim fingers one by one, all the while watching him
+sideways with prim lips pursed and lifted eyebrows.
+
+"Try always to remember," she said, "that, according to your code, any
+demonstration of affection toward a comparative stranger is
+exceedingly bad form."
+
+However, he picked up her hand again, which she had carelessly left
+lying on the sofa near his, and again she freed it, leisurely.
+
+They conversed animatedly, as always, discussing matters of common
+interest, yet faintly in her ears sounded the unfamiliar echo of
+passion.
+
+It haunted her mind, too--an indefinable undertone delicately
+persistent--until at last she sat mute, absent-minded, while he
+continued speaking.
+
+Her stillness--her remote gaze, perhaps--presently silenced him. And
+after a little while she turned her charming head and looked at him
+with that unintentional provocation born of virginal curiosity.
+
+What had moved him so unexpectedly to deeper emotion? Had she? Had
+she, then, that power? And without effort?--For she had been conscious
+of none.... But--if she tried.... Had she the power to move him
+again?
+
+Naïve instinct--the emotionless curiosity of total
+inexperience--everything embryonic and innocently ruthless in her was
+now in the ascendant.
+
+She lifted her eyes and considered him with the speculative candour of
+a child. She wished to hear once more that unfamiliar _something_ in
+his voice--see it in his features----
+
+And she did not know how to evoke it.
+
+"Of what are you thinking, Palla?"
+
+"Of you," she answered candidly, without other intention than the
+truth. And saw, instantly, the indefinable _something_ born again into
+his eyes.
+
+Calm curiosity, faintly amused, possessed her--left him possessed of
+her hand presently.
+
+"Are you attempting to be sentimental?" she asked.
+
+Very leisurely she began once more to disengage her hand--loosening
+the fingers one by one--and watching him all the while with a slight
+smile edging her lips. Then, as his clasp tightened:
+
+"Please," she said, "may I not have my freedom?"
+
+"Do you want it?"
+
+"You never did this before--touched me--unnecessarily."
+
+As he made no answer, she fell silent, her dark eyes vaguely
+interrogative as though questioning herself as well as him concerning
+this unaccustomed contact.
+
+His head had been bent a little. Now he lifted it. Neither was
+smiling.
+
+Suddenly she rose to her feet and stood with her head partly averted.
+He rose, too. Neither spoke. But after a moment she turned and looked
+straight at him, the virginal curiosity clear in her eyes. And he took
+her into his arms.
+
+Her arms had fallen to her side. She endured his lips gravely, then
+turned her head and looked at the roses beside her.
+
+"I was afraid," she said, "that we would do this. Now let me go,
+Jim."
+
+He released her in silence. She walked slowly to the mantel and set
+one slim foot on the fender.
+
+Without looking around at him she said: "Does this spoil me for you,
+Jim?"
+
+"You darling----"
+
+"Tell me frankly. Does it?"
+
+"What on earth do you mean, Palla! Does it spoil _me_ for you?"
+
+"I've been thinking.... No, it doesn't. But I wondered about you."
+
+He came over to where she stood.
+
+"Dear," he said unsteadily, "don't you know I'm very desperately in
+love with you?"
+
+At that she turned her enchanting little head toward him.
+
+"If you are," she said, "there need be nothing desperate about it."
+
+"Do you mean you care enough to marry me, you darling?" he asked
+impetuously. "Will you, Palla?"
+
+"Why, no," she said candidly. "I didn't mean that. I meant that
+I care for you quite as much as you care for me. So you need not
+be desperate. But I really don't think we are in love--I mean
+sufficiently--for anything serious."
+
+"Why don't you think so!" he demanded impatiently.
+
+"Do you wish me to be quite frank?"
+
+"Of course!"
+
+"Very well." She lifted her head and let her clear eyes rest on his.
+"I like you," she said. "I even like--what we did. I like you far
+better than any man I ever knew. But I do not care for you enough to
+give up my freedom of mind and of conduct for your asking. I do not
+care enough for you to subscribe to your religion and your laws. And
+that's the tragic truth."
+
+"But what on earth has all that to do with it? I haven't asked you to
+believe as I believe or to subscribe to any law----"
+
+Her enchanting laughter filled the room: "Yes, you have! You asked me
+to marry you, didn't you?"
+
+"Of course!"
+
+"Well, I can't, Jim, because I don't believe in the law of marriage,
+civil or religious. If I loved you I'd live with you unmarried. But
+I'm afraid to try it. And so are you. Which proves that I'm not really
+in love with you, or you with me----"
+
+The door bell rang.
+
+"But I do care for you," she whispered, bending swiftly toward him.
+Her lips rested lightly on his a moment, then she turned and walked
+out into the centre of the room.
+
+The maid announced: "Mr. Estridge!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+Young Shotwell, still too incredulous to be either hurt or angry,
+stood watching Palla welcoming her guests, who arrived within a few
+minutes of each other.
+
+First came Estridge,--handsome, athletic, standing over six feet, and
+already possessed of that winning and reassuring manner which means
+success for a physician.
+
+"It's nice of you to ask me, Palla," he said. "And is Miss Westgard
+really coming to-night?"
+
+"But here she is now!" exclaimed Palla, as the maid announced her.
+"--Ilse! You astonishing girl! How long have you been in New York?"
+
+And Shotwell beheld the six-foot goddess for the first time--gazed
+with pleasurable awe upon this young super-creature with the sea-blue
+eyes and golden hair and a skin of roses and cream.
+
+"Fancy, Palla!" she said, "I came immediately back from Stockholm, but
+you had sailed on the _Elsinore_, and I was obliged to wait!--Oh!--"
+catching sight of Estridge as he advanced--"I am so very happy to see
+you again!"--giving him her big, exquisitely sculptured hand. "Except
+for Mr. Brisson, we are quite complete in our little company of
+death!" She laughed her healthy, undisturbed defiance of that human
+enemy as she named him, gazed rapturously at Palla, acknowledged
+Shotwell's presentation in her hearty, engaging way, then turned
+laughingly to Estridge:
+
+"The world whirls like a wheel in a squirrel cage which we all
+tread:--only to find ourselves together after travelling many, many
+miles at top speed!... Are you well, John Estridge?"
+
+"Fairly," he laughed, "but nobody except the immortals could ever be
+as well as you, Ilse Westgard!"
+
+She laughed in sheer exuberance of her own physical vigour: "Only that
+old and toothless nemesis of Loki can slay me, John Estridge!" And, to
+Palla: "I had some slight trouble in Stockholm. Fancy!--a little
+shrimp of a man approached me on the street one evening when there
+chanced to be nobody near.
+
+"And the first I knew he was mouthing and grinning and saying to me in
+Russian: 'I know you, hired mercenary of the aristocrats!--I know
+you!--big white battle horse that carried the bloody war-god!'
+
+"I was too astonished, my dear; I merely gazed upon this small and
+agitated toad, who continued to run alongside and grimace and pull
+funny faces at me. He appeared to be furious, and he said some very
+vile things to me.
+
+"I was disgusted and walked faster, and he had to run. And all the
+while he was squealing at me: 'I know you! You keep out of America, do
+you hear? If you sail on that steamer, we follow you and kill you! You
+hear it what I say? We kill! Kill! Kill!----'"
+
+She threw up her superb head and laughed:
+
+"Can you see him--this insect--Palla!--so small and hairy, with crazy
+eyes like little sparks among the furry whiskers!--and running,
+running at heel, underfoot, one side and then the other, and squealing
+'Kill! Kill? Kill'----"
+
+She had made them see the picture and they all laughed.
+
+"But all the same," she added, turning to Estridge, "from that evening
+I became conscious that people were watching me.
+
+"It was the same in Copenhagen and in Christiania--always I felt that
+somebody was watching me."
+
+"Did you have any trouble?" asked Estridge.
+
+"Well--there seemed to be so many unaccountable delays, obstacles
+in securing proper papers, trouble about luggage and steamer
+accommodations--petty annoyances," she added. "And also I am sure
+that letters to me were opened, and others which I should have
+received never arrived."
+
+"You believe it was due to the Reds?" asked Palla. "Have they
+emissaries in Scandinavia?"
+
+"My dear, their agents and spies swarm everywhere over the world!"
+said Ilse calmly.
+
+"Not here," remarked Shotwell, smiling.
+
+"Oh," rejoined Ilse quickly, "I ask your pardon, but America, also, is
+badly infested by these people. As their Black Plague spreads out over
+the entire world, so spread out the Bolsheviki to infect all with the
+red sickness that slays whole nations!"
+
+"We have a few local Reds," he said, unconvinced, "but I had scarcely
+supposed----"
+
+The bell rang: Miss Lanois and Mr. Tchernov were announced, greeted
+warmly by Palla, and presented.
+
+Both spoke the beautiful English of educated Russians; Vanya Tchernov,
+a wonderfully handsome youth, saluted Palla's hand in Continental
+fashion, and met the men with engaging formality.
+
+Shotwell found himself seated beside Marya Lanois, a lithe, warm,
+golden creature with greenish golden eyes that slanted, and the
+strawberry complexion that goes with reddish hair.
+
+"You are happy," she said, "with all your streets full of bright flags
+and your victorious soldiers arriving home by every troopship.
+Ah!--but Russia is the most unhappy of all countries to-day, Mr.
+Shotwell."
+
+"It's terribly sad," he said sympathetically. "We Americans don't seem
+to know whether to send an army to help you, or merely to stand aside
+and let Russia find herself."
+
+"You should send troops!" she said. "Is it not so, Ilse?"
+
+"Sane people should unite," replied the girl, her beautiful face
+becoming serious. "It will arrive at that the world over--the sane
+against the insane."
+
+"And it is only the bourgeoisie that is sane," said Vanya Tchernov,
+in his beautifully modulated voice. "The extremes are both
+abnormal--aristocrats and Bolsheviki alike."
+
+"We social revolutionists," said Marya Lanois, "were called extremists
+yesterday and are called reactionists to-day. But we are the world's
+balance. This war was fought for our ideals; your American soldiers
+marched for them: the hun failed because of them."
+
+"And there remains only one more war," said Ilse Westgard,--"the war
+against those outlaws we call Capital and Labour--two names for two
+robbers that have disturbed the world's peace long enough!"
+
+"Two tyrants," said Marya, "who trample us to war upon each other--who
+outrage us, crush us, cripple us with their ferocious feuds. What are
+the Bolsheviki? 'Those who want more.' Then the name belongs as well
+to the capitalists. They, also, are Bolsheviki--'men who always want
+more!' And these are the two quarrelling Bolsheviki giants who
+trample us--Lord Labour, Lord Capital--the devil of envy against the
+devil of greed!--war to the death! And, to the survivor, the bones!"
+
+Shotwell, a little astonished to hear from the red lips of this warm
+young creature the bitter cynicisms of the proletariat, asked her to
+define more clearly where the Bolsheviki stood, and for what they
+stood.
+
+"Why," she said, lying back on the sofa and adjusting her lithe body
+to a more luxurious position among the pillows, "it amounts to this,
+Mr. Shotwell, that a new doctrine is promulgated in the world--the
+cult of the under-dog.
+
+"And in all dog-fights, if the under-dog ever gets on top, then he,
+also, will try to kill the ci-devant who has now become the
+under-dog." And she laughed at him out of her green eyes that slanted
+so enchantingly.
+
+"You mean that there always will be an under-dog in the battle between
+capital and labour?"
+
+"Surely. Their snarling, biting, and endless battle is a nuisance."
+She smiled again: "We should knock them both on the head."
+
+"You know," explained Ilse, "that when we speak of the two outlaws as
+Capital and Labour, we don't mean legitimate capital and genuine
+labour."
+
+"They never fight," added Tchernov, smiling, "because they are one and
+the same."
+
+"Of course," remarked Marya, "even the united suffer occasionally from
+internal pains."
+
+"The remedy," added Vanya, "is to consult a physician. That
+is--arbitration."
+
+Ilse said: "Force is good! But one uses it legitimately only against
+rabid things." She turned affectionately to Palla and took her hands:
+"Your wonderful Law of Love solves all phenomena except insanity.
+With rabies it can not deal. Only force remains to solve that
+problem."
+
+"And yet," said Palla, "so much insanity can be controlled by kind
+treatment."
+
+Estridge agreed, but remarked that strait-jackets and padded cells
+would always be necessary in the world.
+
+"As for the Bolsheviki," said Marya, turning her warm young face to
+Shotwell with a lissome movement of the shoulders, almost caressing,
+"in the beginning we social revolutionists agreed with them and
+believed in them. Why not? Kerensky was an incapable dreamer--so
+sensitive that if you spoke rudely to him he shrank away wounded to
+the soul.
+
+"That is not a leader! And the Cadets were plotting, and the Cossacks
+loomed like a tempest on the horizon. And then came Korniloff! And the
+end."
+
+"The peace of Brest," explained Vanya, in his gentle voice, "awoke us
+to what the Red Soviets stood for. We saw Christ crucified again. And
+understood."
+
+Marya sat up straight on the sofa, running her dazzling white fingers
+over her hair--hair that seemed tiger-red, and very vaguely scented.
+
+"For thirty pieces of silver," she said, "Judas sold the world. What
+Lenine and Trotsky sold was paid for in yellow metal, and there were
+more pieces."
+
+Ilse said: "Babushka is dying of it. That is enough for me."
+
+Vanya replied: "Where the source is infected, drinkers die at the
+river's mouth. Little Marie Spiridonova perished. Countess Panina
+succumbed. Alexandria Kolontar will die from its poison. And, as these
+died, so shall Ivan and Vera die also, unless that polluted source be
+cleansed."
+
+Marya rested her tawny young head on the cushions again and smiled at
+Shotwell:
+
+"It's confusing even to Russians," she said, "--like a crazy Bakst
+spectacle at the Marinsky. I wonder what you must think of us."
+
+But on her expressive mouth the word "us" might almost have meant
+"me," and he paid her the easy compliment which came naturally to him,
+while she looked at him out of lazy and very lovely eyes as green as
+beryls.
+
+"_Tiche_," she murmured, smiling, "_ce n'est pas moi l'état,
+monsieur_." And laughed while her indolent glance slanted sideways on
+Vanya, and lingered there as though in leisurely but amiable
+appraisal.
+
+The girl was evidently very young, but there seemed to be an
+indefinable something about her that hinted of experience beyond her
+years.
+
+Palla had been looking at her--from Shotwell to her--and Marya's sixth
+sense was already aware of it and asking why.
+
+For between two females of the human species the constant occult
+interplay is like steady lighting. With invisible antennæ they touch
+one another incessantly, delicately exploring inside that grosser aura
+which is all that the male perceives.
+
+And finally Marya looked back at Palla.
+
+"May Mr. Tchernov play for us?" asked Palla, smiling, as though some
+vague authority in the matter were vested in this young girl with the
+tiger-hair.
+
+Her eyes closed indolently, and opened again as though digesting the
+subtlety: then, disdainfully accepting the assumption: "Oh, Vanya,"
+she called out carelessly, "play a little for us."
+
+The handsome youth bowed in his absent, courteous way. There was
+about him a simplicity entirely winning as he seated himself at the
+piano.
+
+But his playing revealed a maturity and nobility of mind scarcely
+expected of such gentleness and youth.
+
+Never had Palla heard Beethoven until that moment.
+
+He did not drift. There was no caprice to offend when he turned with
+courtly logic from one great master to another.
+
+Only when Estridge asked for something "typically Russian" did the
+charming dignity of the sequence break. Vanya laughed and looked at
+Marya Lanois:
+
+"That means you must sing," he said.
+
+She sang, resting where she was among the silken cushions;--the song,
+one of those epics of ancient Moscow, lauded Ivan IV. and the taking
+of Kazan.
+
+The music was bizarre; the girl's voice bewitching; and though the
+song was of the _Beliny_, it had been made into brief couplets, and it
+ended very quickly.
+
+Laughing at the applause, she sang a song of the _Skomorokhi_; then a
+cradle song, infinitely tender and strange, built upon the Chinese
+scale; and another--a Cossack song--built, also, upon the pentatonic
+scale.
+
+Discussions intruded then; the diversion ended the music.
+
+Palla presently rose, spoke to Vanya and Estridge, and came over to
+where Jim Shotwell sat beside Marya.
+
+Interrupted, they both looked up, and Jim rose as Estridge also
+presented himself to Marya.
+
+Palla said: "If you will take me out, Jim, we can show everybody the
+way." And to Marya: "Just a little supper, you know--but the dining
+room is below."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Her pretty drawing-room was only partly furnished--an expensive but
+genuine set of old Aubusson being her limit for the time.
+
+But beyond, in the rear, the little glass doors opened on a charming
+dining-room, the old Georgian mahogany of which was faded to a golden
+hue. Curtains, too, were golden shot with palest mauve; and two
+Imperial Chinese panels of ancient silk, miraculously embroidered and
+set with rainbow Ho-ho birds, were the only hangings on the walls. And
+they seemed to illuminate the room like sunshine.
+
+Shotwell, who knew nothing about such things but envisaged them with
+reverence, seated Palla and presently took his place beside her.
+
+His neighbour on his left was Marya, again--an arrangement which Palla
+might have altered had it occurred to her upstairs.
+
+Estridge, very animated, and apparently happy, recalled to Palla their
+last dinner together, and their dance.
+
+Palla laughed: "You said I drank too much champagne, John Estridge! Do
+you remember?"
+
+"You bet I do. You had a cunning little bunn, Palla----"
+
+"I did not! I merely asked you and Mr. Brisson what it felt like to be
+intoxicated."
+
+"You did your best to be a sport," he insisted, "but you almost passed
+away over your first cigarette!"
+
+"Darling!" cried Ilse, "don't let them tease you!"
+
+Palla, rather pink, laughingly denied any aspirations toward sportdom;
+and she presently ventured a glance at Shotwell, to see how he took
+all this.
+
+But already Marya had engaged him in half smiling, low-voiced
+conversation; and Palla looked at her golden-green eyes and warm, rich
+colouring, cooled by a skin of snow. Tiger-golden, the _rousse_
+ensemble; the supple movement of limb and body fascinated her; but
+most of all the lovely, slanting eyes with their glint of beryl amid
+melting gold.
+
+Estridge spoke to Marya; as the girl turned slightly, Palla said to
+Shotwell:
+
+"Do you find them interesting--my guests?"
+
+He turned instantly to her, but it seemed to her as though there were
+a slight haze in his eyes--a fixedness--which cleared, however, as he
+spoke.
+
+"They are delightful--all of them," he said. "Your blond goddess
+yonder is rather overpowering, but beautiful to gaze upon."
+
+"And Vanya?"
+
+"Charming; astonishing."
+
+"Lovable," she said.
+
+"He seems so."
+
+"And--Marya?"
+
+"Rather bewildering," he replied. "Fascinating, I should say. Is she
+very learned?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"She's been in the universities."
+
+"Yes.... I don't know how learned she is."
+
+"She is very young," he remarked.
+
+It was on the tip of Palla's tongue to say something; and she remained
+silent--lest this man misinterpret her motive--and, perhaps, lest her
+own conscience misinterpret it, too.
+
+Ilse said it to Estridge, however, frankly insouciant:
+
+"You know Marya and Vanya are married--that is, they live together."
+
+And Shotwell heard her.
+
+"Is that true?" he said in a low voice to Palla.
+
+"Why, yes."
+
+He remained silent so long that she added: "The tie is not looser than
+the old-fashioned one. More rigid, perhaps, because they are on their
+honour."
+
+"And if they tire of each other?"
+
+"You, also, have divorce," said the girl, smiling.
+
+"Do you?"
+
+"It is beastly to live together where love does not exist. People who
+believe as they do--as I do--merely separate."
+
+"And contract another alliance if they wish?"
+
+"Do not your divorcees remarry if they wish?"
+
+"What becomes of the children?" he demanded sullenly.
+
+"What becomes of them when your courts divorce their parents?"
+
+"I see. It's all a parody on lawful regularity."
+
+"I'm sorry you speak of it that way----"
+
+The girl's face flushed and she extended her hand toward her wine
+glass.
+
+"I didn't intend to hurt you, Palla," he said.
+
+She drew a quick breath, looked up, smiled: "You didn't mean to," she
+said. Then into her brown eyes came the delicious glimmer:
+
+"May I whisper to you, Jim? Is it too rude?"
+
+He inclined his head and felt the thrill of her breath:
+
+"Shall we drink one glass together--to each other alone?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"To a dear comradeship, and close!... And not too desperate!" she
+added, as her glance flashed into hidden laughter.
+
+They drank, not daring to look toward each other. And Palla's careless
+gaze, slowly sweeping the circle, finally met Marya's--as she knew it
+must. Both smiled, touching each other at once with invisible
+antennæ--always searching, exploring under the glimmering aura what no
+male ever discovered or comprehended.
+
+There was, in the living room above, a little more music--a song or
+two before the guests departed.
+
+Marya, a little apart, turned to Shotwell:
+
+"You find our Russian folk-song amusing?"
+
+"Wonderful!"
+
+"If, by any chance, you should remember that I am at home on
+Thursdays, there is a song I think that might interest you." She let
+her eyes rest on him with a curious stillness in their depths:
+
+"The song is called _Lada_," she said in a voice so low that he just
+heard her. The next moment she was taking leave of Palla; kissed her.
+Vanya enveloped her in her wrap.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Estridge called up a taxi; and presently went away with Ilse.
+
+Very slowly Palla came back to the centre of the room, where Shotwell
+stood. The scent of flowers was in his nostrils, his throat; the girl
+herself seemed saturated with their perfume as he took her into his
+arms.
+
+"So you didn't like my friends, Jim," she ventured.
+
+"Yes, I did."
+
+"I was afraid they might have shocked you."
+
+He said drily: "It isn't a case of being shocked. It's more like being
+bored."
+
+"Oh. My friends bore you?"
+
+"Their morals do.... Is Ilse that sort, too?"
+
+"That sort?"
+
+"You know what I mean."
+
+"I suppose she is."
+
+"Not inclined to bother herself with the formalities of marriage?"
+
+"I suppose not."
+
+"It's a mischievous, ridiculous, immoral business!" he said hotly.
+"Why, to look at you--at Ilse--at Miss Lanois----"
+
+"We don't look like very immoral people, do we?" she said, laughingly.
+
+The light raillery in her laughter angered him, and he released her
+and began to pace the room nervously.
+
+"See here, Palla," he said roughly, "suppose I accept you at your own
+valuation!"
+
+"I value myself very highly, Jim."
+
+"So do I. That's why I ask you to marry me."
+
+"And I tell you I don't believe in marriage," she rejoined coolly.
+
+"A magistrate can marry us----"
+
+"It makes no difference. A ceremony, civil or religious, is entirely
+out of the question."
+
+"You mean," he said, incensed, "that you refuse to be married by any
+law at all?"
+
+"My own law is sufficient."
+
+"Well--well, then," he stammered; "--what--what sort of procedure----"
+
+"None."
+
+"You're crazy," he said; "_you_ wouldn't do that!"
+
+"If I were in love with you I'd not be afraid."
+
+Her calm candour infuriated him:
+
+"Do you imagine that you and I could ever get away with a situation
+like that!" he blazed out.
+
+"Why do you become so irritable and excited, Jim? We're not going to
+try----"
+
+"Damnation! I should think not!" he retorted, so violently that her
+mouth quivered. But she kept her head averted until the swift emotion
+was under control.
+
+Then she said in a low voice: "If you really think me immoral, Jim, I
+can understand your manner toward me. Otherwise----"
+
+"Palla, dear! Forgive me! I'm just worried sick----"
+
+"You funny boy," she said with her quick, frank smile, "I didn't mean
+to worry you. Listen! It's all quite simple. I care for you very much
+indeed. I don't mind your--caressing--me--sometimes. But I'm not in
+love. I just care a lot for you.... But not nearly enough to love
+you."
+
+"Palla, you're hopeless!"
+
+"Why? Because I am so respectful toward love? Of course I am. A girl
+who believes as I do can't afford to make a mistake."
+
+"Exactly," he said eagerly, "but under the law, if a mistake is made
+every woman has her remedy----"
+
+"Her _remedy_! What do you mean? You can't pass one of those roses
+through the flame of that fire and still have your rose, can you?"
+
+He was silent.
+
+"And that's what happens under _your_ laws, as well as outside of
+them. No! I don't love you. Under your law I'd be afraid to marry you.
+Under mine I'm deathly afraid.... Because--I know--that where love is
+there can be no fear."
+
+"Is that your answer, Palla?"
+
+"Yes, Jim."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+He had called her up the following morning from the office, and had
+told her that he thought he had better not see her for a while.
+
+And she had answered with soft concern that he must do what he thought
+best without considering her.
+
+What other answer he expected is uncertain; but her gentle acquiescence
+in his decision irritated him and he ended the conversation in a tone
+of boyish resentment.
+
+To occupy his mind there was, that day, not only the usual office
+routine, but some extra business most annoying to Sharrow. For Angelo
+Puma had turned up again, as shiny and bland as ever, flashing his
+superb smile over clerk and stenographer impartially.
+
+So Sharrow shunted him to Mr. Brooke, that sort of property being his
+specialty; and Brooke called in Shotwell.
+
+"Go up town with that preposterous wop and settle this business one
+way or another, once for all," he whispered. "A crook named Skidder
+owns the property; but we can't do anything with him. The office is
+heartily sick of both Skidder and Puma; and Sharrow desires to be rid
+of them."
+
+Then, very cordially, he introduced Puma to young Shotwell; and they
+took Puma's handsome car and went up town to see what could be done
+with the slippery owner of the property in question, who was now
+permanently located in New York.
+
+On the way, Puma, smelling oppressively aromatic and looking
+conspicuously glossy as to hair, hat, and boots, also became
+effusively voluble. For he had instantly recognised Shotwell as
+the young man with whom that disturbingly pretty girl had been in
+consultation in Sharrow's offices; and his mind was now occupied
+with a new possibility as well as with the property which he so
+persistently desired to acquire.
+
+"With me," he said in his animated, exotic way, and all creased with
+smiles, "my cinema business is not business alone! No! It is Art! It
+is the art hunger that ever urges me onward, not the desire for
+commercial gain. For me, beauty is ever first; the box-office last!
+You understand, Mr. Shotwell? With me, art is supreme! Yes. And
+afterward my crust of bread."
+
+"Well, then," said Jim, "I can't see why you don't pay this man
+Skidder what he asks for the property."
+
+"I tell you why. I make it clear to you. For argument--Skidder he has
+ever the air of one who does not care to sell. It is an attitude! I
+know! But he has that air. Well! I say to him, 'Mr. Skidder, I offer
+you--we say for argument, one dollar! Yes?' Well, he do not say yes or
+no. He do not say, 'I take a dollar and also one quarter. Or a dollar
+and a half. Or two dollars.' No. He squint and answer: 'I am not
+anxious to sell!' My God! What can one say? What can one do?"
+
+"Perhaps," suggested Jim, "he really doesn't want to sell."
+
+"Ah! That is not so. No. He is sly, Mr. Skidder, like there never has
+been in my experience a man more sly. What is it he desires? I ask. I
+do not know. But all the time he inquire about my business if it pays,
+and is there much money in it. Also, I hear, by channels, that he
+makes everywhere inquiries if the film business shall pay."
+
+"Maybe he wants to try it himself."
+
+"Also, that has occurred to me. But to him I say nothing. No. He is
+too sly. Me, I am all art and all heart. Me, I am frank like there
+never was a man in my business! But Skidder, he squint at me. My God,
+those eye! And I do not know what is in his thought."
+
+"Well, Mr. Puma, what do you wish me to do? As I understand it, you
+are our client, and if I buy for you this Skidder property I shall
+look to you, of course, for my commission. Is that what you
+understand?"
+
+"My God! Why should he not pay that commission if you are sufficiently
+obliging to buy from him his property?"
+
+"It isn't done that way," explained Jim drily.
+
+"You suppose you can buy me this property? Yes?"
+
+"I don't know. Of course, I can buy anything for you if you'll pay
+enough."
+
+"My God! I do not enjoy commercial business. No. I enjoy art. I enjoy
+qualities of the heart. I----" He looked at Jim out of his magnificent
+black eyes, touched his full lips with a perfumed handkerchief.
+
+"Yes, sir," he said, flashing a brilliant smile, "I am all heart. But
+my heart is for art alone! I dedicate it to the film, to the moving
+picture, to beauty! It is my constant preoccupation. It is my only
+thought. Art, beauty, the picture, the world made happier, better, for
+the beauty which I offer in my pictures. It is my only thought. It is
+my life."
+
+Jim politely suppressed a yawn and said that a life devoted purely to
+art was a laudable sacrifice.
+
+"As example!" explained Puma, all animation and childlike frankness;
+"I pay my artists what they ask. What is money when it is a question
+of art? I must have quality; I must have beauty--" He shrugged: "I
+must pay. Yes?"
+
+"One usually pays for pulchritude."
+
+"Ah! As example! I watch always on the streets as I pass by. I see a
+face. It has beauty. It has quality. I follow. I speak. I am frank
+like there never was a man. I say, 'Mademoiselle, you shall not be
+offended. No. Art has no frontiers. It is my art, not I who address
+you. I am Angelo Puma. The Ultra-Film Company is mine. In you I
+perceive possibilities. This is my card. If it interests you to have a
+test, come! Who knows? It may be your life's destiny. The projection
+room should tell. Adieu!'"
+
+"Is that the way you pick stars?" asked Jim curiously.
+
+"Stars? Bah! I care nothing for stars. No. I should go bankrupt. Why?
+Beauty alone is my star. Upon it I drape the mantle of Art!"
+
+He kissed his fat finger-tips and gazed triumphantly at Jim.
+
+"You see? Out of the crowd of passersby I pick the perfect and
+unconscious rosebud. In my temple it opens into perfect bloom. And Art
+is born! And I am content. You comprehend?"
+
+Jim said that he thought he did.
+
+"As example," exclaimed Puma vivaciously, "while in conversation once
+with Mr. Sharrow, I beheld entering your office a young lady in
+mourning. Hah! Instantly I was all art!" Again he kissed his gloved
+fingers. "A face for a picture! A form for the screen! I perceive. I
+am convinced.... You recall the event, perhaps, Mr. Shotwell?"
+
+"No."
+
+"A young lady in mourning, seated beside your desk? I believe she was
+buying from you a house."
+
+"Oh."
+
+"Her name--Miss Dumont--I believe."
+
+Jim glanced at him. "Miss Dumont is not likely to do anything of that
+sort," he said.
+
+"And why?"
+
+"You mean go into the movies?" He laughed. "She wouldn't bother."
+
+"But--my God! It is Art! What you call movies, and, within, this young
+lady may hide genius. And genius belongs to Art. And Art belongs to
+the world!"
+
+The unthinkable idea of Palla on the screen was peculiarly distasteful
+to him.
+
+"Miss Dumont has no inclination for the movies," he said.
+
+"Perhaps, Mr. Shotwell," purred Puma, "if your amiable influence could
+induce the young lady to have a test made----"
+
+"There isn't a chance of it," said Jim bluntly. Their limousine
+stopped just then. They got out before one of those new apartment
+houses on the upper West Side.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mr. Skidder, it appeared, was in and would receive them.
+
+A negro servant opened the door and ushered them into a parlour where
+Mr. Elmer Skidder, sprawling over the débris of breakfast, laid aside
+newspaper and coffee cup and got up to receive them in bath robe and
+slippers.
+
+And when they were all seated: "Now, Mr. Skidder," said Jim, with his
+engaging frankness, "the simplest way is the quickest. My client, Mr.
+Puma, wants to purchase your property; and he is, I understand,
+prepared to pay considerably more than it is worth. We all have a very
+fair idea of its actual value. Our appraiser, yours, and other
+appraisers from other companies and corporations seem, for a wonder,
+to agree in their appraisal of this particular property.
+
+"Now, how much more than it is worth do you expect us to offer you?"
+
+Skidder had never before been dealt with in just this way. He squinted
+at Jim, trying to appraise him. But within his business experience in
+a country town no similar young man had he encountered.
+
+"Well," he said, "I ain't asking you to buy, am I?"
+
+"We understand that," rejoined Jim, good humouredly; "_we_ are asking
+_you_ to sell."
+
+"You seem to want it pretty bad."
+
+"We do," said the young fellow, laughing.
+
+"All right. Make your offer."
+
+Jim named the sum.
+
+"No, sir!" snapped Skidder, picking up his newspaper.
+
+"Then," remarked Jim, looking: frankly at Puma, "that definitely lets
+us out." And, to Skidder: "Many thanks for permitting us to interrupt
+your breakfast. No need to bother you again, Mr. Skidder." And he
+offered his hand in smiling finality.
+
+"Look here," said Skidder, "the property is worth all I ask."
+
+"If it's worth that to you," said Jim pleasantly, "you should keep
+it." And he turned away toward the door, wondering why Puma did not
+follow.
+
+"Are you two gentlemen in a rush?" demanded Skidder.
+
+"I have other business, of course," said Jim.
+
+"Sit down. Hell! Will you have a drink?"
+
+When they were again seated, Skidder squinted sideways at Angelo
+Puma.
+
+"Want a partner?" he inquired.
+
+"Please?" replied Puma, as though mystified.
+
+"Want more capital to put into your fillum concern?" demanded
+Skidder.
+
+Puma, innocently perplexed, asked mutely for an explanation out of his
+magnificent dark eyes.
+
+"I got money," asserted Skidder.
+
+Puma's dazzling smile congratulated him upon the accumulation of a
+fabulous fortune.
+
+"I had you looked up," continued Skidder. "It listened good. And--I
+got money, too. And I got that property in my vest pocket. See. And
+there's a certain busted fillum corporation can be bought for a
+postage stamp--all 'ncorporated 'n everything. You get me?"
+
+No; Mr. Puma, who was all art and heart, could not comprehend what Mr.
+Skidder was driving at.
+
+"This here busted fillum company is called the _Super-Picture
+Fillums_," said Skidder. "What's the matter with you and me buying it?
+Don't you ever do a little tradin'?"
+
+Jim rose, utterly disgusted, but immensely amused at himself, and
+realising, now, how entirely right Sharrow had been in desiring to be
+rid of this man Skidder, and of Puma and the property in question.
+
+He said, still smiling, but rather grimly: "I see, now, that this is
+no place for a broker who lives by his commissions." And he bade them
+adieu with perfect good humour.
+
+"Have a seegar?" inquired Skidder blandly.
+
+"Why do you go, sir?" asked Puma innocently. No doubt, being all heart
+and art, he did not comprehend that brokers can not exist on cigars
+alone.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+His commission had gone glimmering. Sharrow, evidently foreseeing
+something of that sort, had sent him out with Puma to meet Skidder and
+rid the office of the dubious affair.
+
+This Jim understood, and yet he was not particularly pleased to be
+exploited by this bland pair who had come suddenly to an understanding
+under his very nose--the understanding of two petty, dickering,
+crossroad traders, which coolly excluded any possibility both of his
+services and of his commission.
+
+"No; only a kike lawyer is required now," he said to himself, as he
+crossed the street and entered Central Park. "I've been properly
+trimmed by a perfumed wop and a squinting yap," he thought with
+intense amusement. "But we're well clear of them for good."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The park was wintry and unattractive. Few pedestrians were abroad, but
+motors sparkled along distant drives in the sunshine.
+
+Presently his way ran parallel to one of these drives. And he had been
+walking only a little while when a limousine veered in, slowing down
+abreast of him, and he saw a white-gloved hand tapping the pane.
+
+He felt himself turning red as he went up, hat in hand, to open the
+door and speak to the girl inside.
+
+"What on earth are you doing?" she demanded, laughingly, "--walking
+all by your wild lone in the park on a wintry day!"
+
+He explained. She made room for him and he got in.
+
+"We rather hoped you'd be at the opera last night," she said, but
+without any reproach in her voice.
+
+"I meant to go, Elorn--but something came up to prevent it," he added,
+flushing again. "Were they singing anything new?"
+
+"Yes, but you missed nothing," she reassured him lightly. "Where on
+earth have you kept yourself these last weeks? One sees you no more
+among the haunts of men."
+
+He said, in the deplorable argot of the hour: "Oh, I'm off all that
+social stuff."
+
+"But I'm not social stuff, am I?"
+
+"No. I've meant to call you up. Something always seems to happen--I
+don't know, Elorn, but ever since I came back from France I haven't
+been up to seeing people."
+
+She glanced at him curiously.
+
+He sat gazing out of the window, where there was nothing to see except
+leafless trees and faded grass and starlings and dingy sparrows.
+
+The girl was more worth his attention--one of those New York examples,
+built on lean, rangy, thoroughbred lines--long limbed, small of hand
+and foot and head, with cinder-blond hair, greyish eyes, a sweet but
+too generous mouth, and several noticeable freckles.
+
+Minute grooming and a sure taste gave her that ultra-smart appearance
+which does everything for a type that is less attractive in a dinner
+gown, and still less in negligée. And which, after marriage, usually
+lets a straight strand of hair sprawl across one ear.
+
+But now, coiffeur, milliner, modiste, and her own maiden cleverness
+kept her immaculate--the true Gotham model found nowhere else.
+
+They chatted of parties already past, where he had failed to
+materialise, and of parties to come, where she hoped he would appear.
+And he said he would.
+
+They chatted about their friends and the gossip concerning them.
+
+Traffic on Fifth Avenue was rather worse than usual. The competent
+police did their best, but motors and omnibuses, packed solidly, moved
+only by short spurts before being checked again.
+
+"It's after one o'clock," she said, glancing at her tiny platinum
+wrist-watch. "Here's Delmonico's, Jim. Shall we lunch together?"
+
+He experienced a second's odd hesitation, then: "Certainly," he said.
+And she signalled the chauffeur.
+
+The place was beginning to be crowded, but there was a table on the
+Fifth Avenue side.
+
+As they crossed the crowded room toward it, women looked up at Elorn
+Sharrow, instantly aware that they saw perfection in hat, gown and
+fur, and a face and figure not to be mistaken for any imitation of the
+Gotham type.
+
+She wore silver fox--just a stole and muff. Every feminine eye
+realised their worth.
+
+When they were seated:
+
+"I want," she said gaily, "some consommé and a salad. You, of course,
+require the usual nourishment of the carnivora."
+
+But it seemed not. However, he ordered a high-ball, feeling curiously
+depressed. Then he addressed himself to making the hour agreeable,
+conscious, probably, that reparation was overdue.
+
+Friends from youthful dancing-class days, these two had plenty to
+gossip about; and gradually he found himself drifting back into the
+lively, refreshing, piquant intimacy of yesterday. And realised that
+it was very welcome.
+
+For, about this girl, always a clean breeze seemed to be blowing; and
+the atmosphere invariably braced him up.
+
+And she was always responsive, whether or not agreeing with his views;
+and he was usually conscious of being at his best with her. Which
+means much to any man.
+
+So she dissected her pear-salad, and he enjoyed his whitebait, and
+they chatted away on the old footing, quite oblivious of people around
+them.
+
+Elorn was having a very happy time of it. People thought her
+captivating now--freckles, mouth and all--and every man there envied
+the fortunate young fellow who was receiving such undivided attention
+from a girl like this.
+
+But whether in Elorn's heart there really existed all the gaiety that
+laughed at him out of her grey eyes, is a question. Because it seemed
+to her that, at moments, a recurrent shadow fell across his face. And
+there were, now and then, seconds suggesting preoccupation on his
+part, when it seemed to her that his gaze grew remote and his smile a
+trifle absent-minded.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+She was drawing on her gloves; he had scribbled his signature across
+the back of the check. Then, as he lifted his head to look for their
+waiter, he found himself staring into the brown eyes of Palla Dumont.
+
+The heavy flush burnt his face--burnt into it, so it seemed to him.
+
+She was only two tables distant. When he bowed, her smile was the
+slightest; her nod coolly self-possessed. She was wearing orchids.
+There seemed to be a girl with her whom he did not know.
+
+Why the sudden encounter should have upset him so--why the quiet glance
+Elorn bestowed upon Palla should have made him more uncomfortable
+still, he could not understand.
+
+He lighted a cigarette.
+
+"A wonderfully pretty girl," said Elorn serenely. "I mean the girl you
+bowed to."
+
+"Yes, she is very charming."
+
+"Who is she, Jim?"
+
+"I met her on the steamer coming back. She is a Miss Dumont."
+
+Elorn's smile was a careless dismissal of further interest. But in her
+heart perplexity and curiosity contended with concern. For she had
+seen Jim's face. And had wondered.
+
+He laid away his half-consumed cigarette. She was quite ready to go.
+She rose, and he laid the stole around her shoulders. She picked up
+her muff.
+
+As she passed through the narrow aisle, she permitted herself a casual
+side-glance at this girl in black; and Palla looked up at her, kept
+her quietly in range of her brown eyes to the limit of breeding, then
+her glance dropped as Jim passed; and he heard her speaking serenely
+to the girl beside her.
+
+At the revolving doors, Elorn said: "Shall I drop you at the office,
+Jim?"
+
+"Thanks--if you don't mind."
+
+In the car he talked continually, not very entertainingly, but there
+was more vivacity about him than there had been.
+
+"Are you doing anything to-night?" he inquired.
+
+She was, of course. Yet, she felt oddly relieved that he had asked
+her.... But the memory of the strange expression in his face persisted
+in her mind.
+
+Who was this girl with whom he had crossed the ocean? And why should
+he lose his self-possession on unexpectedly encountering her?
+
+Had there been anything about Palla--the faintest hint of inferiority
+of any sort--Elorn Sharrow could have dismissed the episode with
+proud, if troubled, philosophy. For many among her girl friends had
+cub brothers. And the girl had learned that men are men--sometimes
+even the nicest--although she could not understand it.
+
+But this brown-eyed girl in black was evidently her own sort--Jim's
+sort. And that preoccupied her; and she lent only an inattentive ear
+to the animated monologue of the man beside her.
+
+Before the offices of Sharrow & Co. her car stopped.
+
+"I'm sorry, Jim," she said, "that I'm so busy this week. But we ought
+to meet at many places, unless you continue to play the recluse. Don't
+you really go anywhere any more?"
+
+"No. But I'm going," he said bluntly.
+
+"Please do. And call me up sometimes. Take a sporting chance whenever
+you're free. We ought to get in an hour together now and then. You're
+coming to my dance of course, are you not?"
+
+"Of course I am."
+
+The girl smiled in her sweet, generous way and gave him her hand
+again.
+
+And he went into the office feeling rather miserable and beginning to
+realise why.
+
+For in spite of what he had said to Palla about the wisdom of
+absenting himself, the mere sight of her had instantly set him afire.
+
+And now he wanted to see her--needed to see her. A day was too long to
+pass without seeing her. An evening without her--and another--and
+others, appalled him.
+
+And all the afternoon he thought of her, his mind scarcely on his
+business at all.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+His parents were dining at home. He was very gay that evening--very
+amusing in describing his misadventures with Messrs. Puma and Skidder.
+But his mother appeared to be more interested in the description of
+his encounter with Elorn.
+
+"She's such a dear," she said. "If you go to the Speedwells' dinner on
+Thursday you'll see her again. You haven't declined, I hope; have you,
+Jim?"
+
+It appeared that he had.
+
+"If you drop out of things this way nobody will bother to ask you
+anywhere after a while. Don't you know that, dear?" she said. "This
+town forgets overnight."
+
+"I suppose so, mother. I'll keep up."
+
+His father remarked that it was part of his business to know the sort
+of people who bought houses.
+
+Jim agreed with him. "I'll surely kick in again," he promised
+cheerfully.... "I think I'll go to the club this evening."
+
+His mother smiled. It was a healthy sign. Also, thank goodness, there
+were no girls in black at the club.
+
+At the club he resolutely passed the telephone booths and even got as
+far as the cloak room before he hesitated.
+
+Then, very slowly, he retraced his steps; went into the nearest booth,
+and called a number that seemed burnt into his brain. Palla answered.
+
+"Are you doing anything, dear?" he asked--his usual salutation.
+
+"Oh. It's you!" she said calmly.
+
+"It is. Who else calls you dear? May I come around for a little
+while?"
+
+"Have you forgotten what you----"
+
+"No! May I come?"
+
+"Not if you speak to me so curtly, Jim."
+
+"I'm sorry."
+
+She deliberated so long that her silence irritated him.
+
+"If you don't want me," he said, "please say so."
+
+"I certainly don't want you if you are likely to be ill-tempered,
+Jim."
+
+"I'm not ill-tempered.... I'll tell you what's the trouble if I may
+come. May I?"
+
+"Is anything troubling you?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"I'm so sorry!"
+
+"Am I to come?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+She herself admitted him. He laid his hat and coat on a chair in the
+hall and followed her upstairs to the living-room.
+
+When she had seated herself she looked up at him interrogatively,
+awaiting his pleasure. He stood a moment with his back to the fire,
+his hands twisting nervously behind him. Then:
+
+"My trouble," he explained naïvely, "is that I am restless and unhappy
+when I remain away from you."
+
+The girl laughed. "But, Jim, you seemed to be having a perfectly good
+time at Delmonico's this noon."
+
+He reddened and gave her a disconcerted look.
+
+"I don't see," she added, "why any man shouldn't have a good time
+with such an attractive girl. May I ask who she is?"
+
+"Elorn Sharrow," he replied bluntly.
+
+Palla's glance had sometimes wandered over social columns in the
+papers and periodicals, and she was not ignorant concerning the
+identity and local importance of Miss Sharrow.
+
+She looked up curiously at Jim. He was so very good to look at!
+Better, even, to know. And Miss Sharrow was his kind. They had seemed
+to belong together. And it came to Palla, hazily, and for the first
+time, that she herself seemed to belong nowhere in particular in the
+scheme of things.
+
+But that was quite all right. She had now established for herself a
+habitation. She had some friends--would undoubtedly make others. She
+had her interests, her peace of mind, and her independence. And behind
+her she had the dear and tragic past--a passionate memory of a dead
+girl; a terrible remembrance of a dead God.
+
+The heart of the world alone could make up to her these losses. For
+now she was already preparing to seek it in her own way, under her own
+Law of Love.
+
+"Jim," she said almost timidly, "I have not intended to make you
+unhappy. Don't you understand that?"
+
+He seated himself: she lighted a cigarette for him.
+
+"I suppose you can't help doing it," he said glumly.
+
+"I really can't, it seems. I don't love you. I wish I did."
+
+"Do you mean that?"
+
+"Of course I do.... I wish I were in love with you."
+
+After a moment she said: "I told you how much I care for you. But--if
+you think it is easier for you--not to see me----"
+
+"I can't seem to stay away."
+
+"I'm glad you can't--for my sake; but I'm troubled on your account. I
+do so adore to be with you! But--but if----"
+
+"Hang it all!" he exclaimed, forcing a wry smile. "I act like an
+unbaked fool! You've gone to my head, Palla, and I behave like a
+drunken kid.... I'll buck up. I've got to. I'm not the blithering,
+balmy, moon-eyed, melancholy ass you think me----"
+
+Her quick laughter rang clear, and his echoed it, rather uncertainly.
+
+"You poor dear," she said, "you're nearest my heart of anybody. I told
+you so. It's only that one thing I don't dare do."
+
+He nodded.
+
+"Can't you really understand that I'm afraid?"
+
+"Afraid!" he repeated. "I should think you might be, considering your
+astonishing point of view. I should think you'd be properly scared to
+death!"
+
+"I am. No girl, afraid, should ever take such a chance. Love and Fear
+cannot exist together. The one always slays the other."
+
+He looked at her curiously, remembering what Estridge had told him
+about her--how, on that terrible day in the convent chapel, this
+girl's love had truly slain the fear within her as she faced the Red
+assassins and offered to lay down her life for her friend. Than which,
+it is said, there is no greater love....
+
+"Of what are you thinking?" she asked, watching his expression.
+
+"Of you--you strange, generous, fearless, wilful girl!" Then he
+squared his shoulders and shook them as though freeing himself of
+something oppressive.
+
+"What you _may_ need is a spanking!" he suggested coolly.
+
+"Good heavens, Jim!----"
+
+"But I'm afraid you're not likely to get it. And what is going to
+happen to you--and to me--I don't know--I don't know, Palla."
+
+"May I prophesy?"
+
+"Go to it, Miriam."
+
+"Behold, then: I shall never care for any man more than I care now
+for you; I shall never care more for you than I do now.... And
+if you are sweet-tempered and sensible, we shall be very happy
+with each other.... Even after you marry.... Unless your wife
+misunderstands----"
+
+"My wife!" he repeated derisively.
+
+"Miss Sharrow, for instance."
+
+He turned a dull red; the girl's heart missed a beat, then hurried a
+little before it calmed again under her cool recognition and instant
+disdain of the first twinge of jealousy she could remember since
+childhood.
+
+The absurdity of it, too! After all, it was this man's destiny to
+marry. And, if it chanced to be that girl----
+
+"You know," he said in a detached, musing way, "it is well for you to
+remember that I shall never marry unless I marry you.... Life is long.
+There are other women.... I may forget you--at intervals.... But I
+shall never marry except with you, Palla."
+
+Her smile forced the gravity from her lips and eyes:
+
+"If you behave like a veiled prophet you'll end by scaring me," she
+said.
+
+But he merely gathered her into his arms and kissed her--laid back her
+head and looked down into her face and kissed her lips, without haste,
+as though she belonged to him.
+
+Her head rested quite motionless on his shoulder. Perhaps she was
+still too taken aback to do anything about the matter. Her heart had
+hurried a little--not much--stimulated, possibly, by the rather
+agreeable curiosity which invaded her--charmingly expressive, now, in
+her wide brown eyes.
+
+"So that's the way of it," he concluded, still looking down at her.
+"There are other women in the world. And life is long. But I marry you
+or nobody. And it's my opinion that I shall not die unmarried."
+
+She smiled defiantly.
+
+"You don't seem to think much of my opinions," she said.
+
+"Are you more friendly to mine?"
+
+"Certain opinions of yours," he retorted, "originated in the diseased
+bean of some crazy Russian--never in your mind! So of course I hold
+them in contempt."
+
+She saw his face darken, watched it a moment, then impulsively drew
+his head down against hers.
+
+"I do care for your opinions," she said, her cheek, delicately warm,
+beside his. "So, even if you can not comprehend mine, be generous to
+them. I'm sincere. I try to be honest. If you differ from me, do it
+kindly, not contemptuously. For there is no such thing as 'noble
+contempt!' There is respectability in anger and nobility in tolerance.
+But none in disdain, for they are contradictions."
+
+"I tell you," he said, "I despise and hate this loose socialistic
+philosophy that makes a bonfire of everything the world believes in!"
+
+"Don't hate other creeds; merely conform to your own, Jim. It will
+keep you very, very busy. And give others a chance to live up to their
+beliefs."
+
+He felt the smile on her lips and cheek:
+
+"I can't live up to my belief if I marry you," she said. "So let us
+care for each other peacefully--accepting each other as we are. Life
+is long, as you say.... And there are other women.... And ultimately
+you will marry one of them. But until then----"
+
+He felt her lips very lightly against his--cool young lips, still and
+fragrant and sweet.
+
+After a moment she asked him to release her; and she rose and walked
+across the room to the mirror.
+
+Still busy with her hair, she turned partly toward him:
+
+"Apropos of nothing," she said, "a man was exceedingly impudent to me
+on the street this evening. A Russian, too. I was so annoyed!"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"It happened just as I started to ascend the steps.... There was a man
+there, loitering. I supposed he meant to beg. So I felt for my purse,
+but he jumped back and began to curse me roundly for an aristocrat and
+a social parasite!"
+
+"What did he say?"
+
+"I was so amazed--quite stupefied. And all the while he was swearing
+at me in Russian and in English, and he warned me to keep away from
+Marya and Vanya and Ilse and mind my own damned business. And he said,
+also, that if I didn't there were people in New York who knew how to
+deal with any friend of the Russian aristocracy."
+
+She patted a curly strand of hair into place, and came toward him in
+her leisurely, lissome way.
+
+"Fancy the impertinence of that wretched Red! And I understand that
+both Vanya and Marya have received horribly insulting letters. And
+Ilse, also. Isn't it most annoying?"
+
+She seated herself at the piano and absently began the Adagio of the
+famous sonata.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+There was still, for Palla, much shopping to do. The drawing room she
+decided to leave, for the present, caring as she did only for a few
+genuine and beautiful pieces to furnish the pretty little French grey
+room.
+
+The purchase of these ought to be deferred, but she could look about,
+and she did, wandering into antique shops of every class along Fifth
+and Madison Avenues and the inviting cross streets.
+
+But her chiefest quest was still for pots and pans and china; for
+napery, bed linen, and hangings; also for her own and more intimate
+personal attire.
+
+To her the city was enchanting and not at all as she remembered it
+before she had gone abroad.
+
+New York, under its canopy of tossing flags and ablaze with brilliant
+posters, swarmed with unfamiliar people. Every other pedestrian seemed
+to be a soldier; every other vehicle contained a uniform.
+
+There were innumerable varieties of military dress in the thronged
+streets; there was the universal note of khaki and olive drab,
+terminating in leather vizored barrack cap or jaunty overseas service
+cap, and in spiral puttees, leather ones, or spurred boots.
+
+Silver wings of aviators glimmered on athletic chests; chevrons, wound
+stripes, service stripes, an endless variety of insignia.
+
+Here the grey-green and oxidised metal of the marines predominated;
+there, the conspicuous sage-green and gold of naval aviators. On
+campaign hats were every hue of hat cord; the rich gilt and blue of
+naval officers and the blue and white of their jackies were everywhere
+to be encountered.
+
+And then everywhere, also, the brighter hue and exotic cut of foreign
+uniforms was apparent--splashes of gayer tints amid khaki and sober
+civilian garb--the beautiful _garance_ and horizon-blue of French
+officers; the familiar "brass hat" of the British; the grey-blue and
+maroon of Italians. And there were stranger uniforms in varieties
+inexhaustible--the schapska-shaped head-gear of Polish officers, the
+beret of Czecho-Slovaks. And everywhere, too, the gay and well-known
+red pom-pon bobbed on the caps of French blue-jackets, and British
+marines stalked in pairs, looking every inch the soldier with their
+swagger sticks and their vizorless forage-caps.
+
+Always, it seemed to Palla, there was military music to be heard above
+the roar of traffic--sometimes the drums and bugles of foreign
+detachments, arrived in aid of "drives" and loans of various sorts.
+
+Ambulances painted grey and bright blue, and driven by smartly
+uniformed young women, were everywhere.
+
+And to women's uniforms there seemed no end, ranging all the way from
+the sober blue of the army nurse and the pretty white of the Red
+Cross, to bizarre but smart effects carried smartly by well set up
+girls representing scores of service corps, some invaluable, some of
+doubtful utility.
+
+Eagle huts, canteens, soldiers' rest houses, Red Cross quarters,
+clubs, temporary barracks, peppered the city. Everywhere the service
+flags were visible, also, telling their proud stories in five-pointed
+symbols--sometimes tragic, where gold stars glittered.
+
+Never had New York seemed to contain so many people; never had the
+overflow so congested avenue and street, circle and square, and the
+wretchedly inadequate and dirty street-car and subway service.
+
+And into the heart of it all went Palla, engulfed in the great tides
+of Fifth Avenue, drifting into quieter back-waters to east and west,
+and sometimes caught and tossed about in the glittering maelstrom of
+Broadway when she ventured into the theatre district.
+
+Opera, comedy, musical show and cinema interested her; restaurant and
+cabaret she had evaded, so far, but what most excited and fascinated
+her was the people themselves--these eager, restless moving millions
+swarming through the city day and night, always in motion under blue
+skies or falling rain, perpetually in quest of what the world
+eternally offered, eternally concealed--that indefinite, glimmering
+thing called "heart's desire."
+
+To discover, to comprehend, to help, to guide their myriad aspirations
+in the interminable and headlong hunt for happiness, was, to Palla,
+the most vital problem in the world.
+
+For her there existed only one solution of this problem: the Law of
+Love.
+
+And in this world-wide Hunt for Happiness, where scrambling millions
+followed the trail of Heart's Desire, she saw the mad huntsman, Folly,
+leading, and Black Care, the whipper-in; and, at the bitter end, only
+the bones of the world's woe; and a Horseman seated on his Pale
+Horse.
+
+But the problem that still remained was how to swerve the headlong
+hunt to the true trail toward the only goal where the world's quarry,
+happiness, lies asleep.
+
+How to make service the Universal Heart's Desire? How to transfigure
+self-love into Love?
+
+To preach her faith from the street corners--to cry it aloud in the
+wilderness where no ear heeded--violence, aggression, the campaign
+militant, had never appealed to the girl.
+
+Like her nation, only when cornered did she blaze out and strike. But
+to harangue, threaten, demand of the world that it accept the Law of
+Service and of Love, seemed to her a mockery of the faith she had
+embraced, which, unless irrevocably in liaison with freedom, was no
+faith at all.
+
+So, for Palla, the solution lay in loyalty to the faith she professed;
+in living it; in swaying ignorance by example; in overcoming
+incredulity by service, scepticism by love.
+
+Love and Service? Why, all around her among these teeming millions
+were examples--volunteers in khaki, their sisters in the garments of
+mercy! Why must the world stop there? This was the right scent. Why
+should the hunt swerve for the devil's herring drawn across the
+trail?
+
+One for all; all for one! She had read it on one of the war-posters.
+Somebody had taken the splendid Guardsman's creed and had made it the
+slogan for this war against darkness.
+
+And that was her creed--the true faith--the Law of Love. Then, was it
+good only in war? Why not make it the nation's creed? Why not emblazon
+it on the wall of every city on earth?--one for all; all for one;
+Love, Service, Freedom!
+
+Before such a faith, autocracy and tyranny die. Under such a law
+every evil withers, every question is unravelled. There are no more
+problems of poverty and riches, none of greed and oppression.
+
+The tyranny of convention, of observance, of taboo, of folkways, ends.
+And into the brain of all living beings will be born the perfect
+comprehension of their own indestructible divinity.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Part of this she ventured to say to Ilse Westgard one day, when they
+had met for luncheon in a modest tea-room on Forty-third Street.
+
+But Ilse, always inclined toward militancy, did not entirely agree
+with Palla.
+
+"To embody in one's daily life the principles of one's living faith is
+scarcely sufficient," she said. "Good is a force, not an inert
+condition. So is evil. And we should not sit still while evil moves."
+
+"Example is not inertia," protested Palla.
+
+"Example, alone, is sterile, I think," said the ex-girl-soldier of the
+Battalion of Death, buttering a crescent. She ate it with the
+delightful appetite of flawless health, and poured out more
+chocolate.
+
+"For instance, dear," she went on, "the forces of evil--of degeneration,
+ignorance, envy, ferocity, are gathering like a tornado in Russia.
+Virtuous example, sucking its thumbs and minding its own business, will
+be torn to fragments when the storm breaks."
+
+"The Bolsheviki?"
+
+"The Reds. The Terrorists, I mean. You know as well as I do what they
+really are--merely looters skulking through the smoke of a world in
+flames--buzzards on the carcass of a civilisation dead. But, Palla,
+they do not sit still and suck their thumbs and say, 'I am a
+Terrorist. Behold me and be converted.' No, indeed! They are moving,
+always in motion, preoccupied by their hellish designs."
+
+"In Russia, yes," admitted Palla.
+
+"Everywhere, dearest. Here, also."
+
+"I believe there are scarcely any in America," insisted Palla.
+
+"The country crawls with them," retorted Ilse. "They work like moles,
+but already if you look about you can see the earth stirring above
+their tunnels. They are here, everywhere, active, scheming, plotting,
+whispering treason, stirring discontent, inciting envy, teaching
+treason.
+
+"They are the Russians--Christians and Jews--who have filtered in here
+to do the nation mischief. They are the Germans who blew up factories,
+set fires, scuttled ships. They are foreigners who came here poisoned
+with envy; who have acquired nothing; whose greed and ferocity are
+whetted and ready for a universal conflagration by which they alone
+could profit.
+
+"They are the labour leaders who break faith and incite to violence;
+they are the I. W. W.; they are the Black Hand, the Camorra; they are
+the penniless who would slay and rob; the landless who would kill and
+seize; the ignorant, nursing suspicion; the shiftless, brooding crimes
+to bring them riches quickly.
+
+"And, Palla, your Law of Love and Service is good. But not for
+these."
+
+"What law for them, then?"
+
+"Education. Maybe with machine guns."
+
+Palla shook her head. "Is that the way to educate defectives?"
+
+"When they come at you _en masse_, yes!"
+
+Palla laughed. "Dear," she said, "there is no nation-wide Terrorist
+plot. These mental defectives are not in mass anywhere in America."
+
+"They are in dangerous groups everywhere. And every group is devoting
+its cunning to turning the working masses into a vast mob of the Black
+Hundred! They did it in Russia. They are working for it all over the
+world. You do not believe it?"
+
+"No, I don't, Ilse."
+
+"Very well. You shall come with me this evening. Are you busy?"
+
+The thought of Jim glimmered in her mind. He might feel aggrieved. But
+he ought to begin to realise that he couldn't be with her every
+evening.
+
+"No, I haven't any plans, Ilse," she said, "no definite engagement, I
+mean. Will you dine at home with me?"
+
+"Early, then. Because there is a meeting which you and I shall attend.
+It is an education."
+
+"An anarchist meeting?"
+
+"Yes, Reds. I think we should go--perhaps take part----"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Why not? I shall not listen to lies and remain silent!" said Ilse,
+laughing. "The Revolution was good. But the Bolsheviki are nothing but
+greedy thieves and murderers. You and I know that. If anybody teaches
+people the contrary, I certainly shall have something to say."
+
+Palla desired to purchase silk for sofa pillows, having acquired a
+chaise-longue for her bedroom.
+
+So she and Ilse went out into the sunshine and multi-coloured crowd;
+and all the afternoon they shopped very blissfully--which meant, also,
+lingering before store windows, drifting into picture-galleries,
+taking tea at Sherry's, and finally setting out for home through a
+beflagged avenue jammed with traffic.
+
+Dusk fell early but the drooping, orange-tinted globes which had
+replaced the white ones on the Fifth Avenue lamps were not yet
+lighted; and there still remained a touch of sunset in the sky when
+they left the bus.
+
+At the corner of Palla's street, there seemed to be an unusual
+congestion, and now, above the noise of traffic, they caught the sound
+of a band; and turned at the curb to see, supposing it to be a
+military music.
+
+The band was a full one, not military, wearing a slatternly sort of
+uniform but playing well enough as they came up through the thickening
+dusk, marching close to the eastern curb of the avenue.
+
+They were playing _The Marseillaise_. Four abreast, behind them,
+marched a dingy column of men and women, mostly of foreign aspect and
+squatty build, carrying a flag which seemed to be entirely red.
+
+Palla, perplexed, incredulous, yet almost instantly suspecting the
+truth, stared at the rusty ranks, at the knots of red ribbon on every
+breast.
+
+Other people were staring, too, as the unexpected procession came
+shuffling along--late shoppers, business men returning home,
+soldiers--all paused to gaze at this sullen visaged battalion clumping
+up the avenue.
+
+"Surely," said Palla to Ilse, "these people can't be Reds!"
+
+"Surely they are!" returned the tall, fair girl calmly. Her face had
+become flushed, and she stepped to the edge of the curb, her blue,
+wrathful eyes darkening like sapphires.
+
+A soldier came up beside her. Others, sailors and soldiers, stopped
+to look. There was a red flag passing. Suddenly Ilse stepped from the
+sidewalk, wrenched the flag from the burly Jew who carried it, and,
+with the same movement, shattered the staff across her knee.
+
+Men and women in the ranks closed in on her; a shrill roar rose from
+them, but the soldiers and sailors, cheering and laughing, broke into
+the enraged ranks, tearing off red rosettes, cuffing and kicking the
+infuriated Terrorists, seizing every seditious banner, flag, emblem
+and placard in sight.
+
+Female Reds, shrieking with rage, clawed, kicked and bit at soldier,
+sailor and civilian. A gaunt man, with a greasy bunch of hair under a
+bowler, waved dirty hands above the mêlée and shouted that he had the
+Mayor's permission to parade.
+
+Everywhere automobiles were stopping, crowds of people hurrying up,
+policemen running. The electric lights snapped alight, revealed a mob
+struggling there in the yellowish glare.
+
+Ilse had calmly stepped to the sidewalk, the fragments of flag and
+staff in her white-gloved hands; and, as she saw the irresponsible
+soldiers and blue-jackets wading lustily into the Reds--saw the lively
+riot which her own action had started--an irresistible desire to laugh
+seized her.
+
+Clear and gay above the yelling of Bolsheviki and the "Yip--yip!" of
+the soldiers, peeled her infectious laughter. But Palla, more gentle,
+stood with dark eyes dilated, fearful of real bloodshed in the furious
+scene raging in the avenue before her.
+
+A little shrimp of a Terrorist, a huge red rosette streaming from his
+buttonhole, suddenly ran at Ilse and seized the broken staff and the
+rags of the red flag. And Palla, alarmed, caught him by the
+coat-collar and dragged him screeching and cursing away from her
+friend, rebuking him in a firm but excited voice.
+
+Ilse came over, shouldering her superb figure through the crowd;
+looked at the human shrimp a moment; then her laughter pealed anew.
+
+"That's the man who abused me in Denmark!" she said. "Oh, Palla,
+_look_ at him! Do you really believe you could educate a thing like
+that!"
+
+The man had wriggled free, and now he turned a flat, whiskered visage
+on Palla, menaced her with both soiled fists, inarticulate in his
+fury.
+
+But police were everywhere, now, sweeping this miniature riot from the
+avenue, hustling the Reds uptown, checking the skylarking soldiery,
+sending amused or indignant citizens about their business.
+
+A burly policeman said to Ilse with a grin: "I'll take what's left of
+that red flag, Miss;" and the girl handed it to him still laughing.
+
+Soldiers wearing overseas caps cheered her and Palla. Everybody on the
+turbulent sidewalk was now laughing.
+
+"D'yeh see that blond nab the red flag outer that big kike's fists?"
+shouted one soldier to his sweating bunkie. "Some skirt!"
+
+"God love the Bolsheviki she grabs by the slack o' the pants!" cried a
+blue-jacket who had lost his cap. A roar followed.
+
+"Only one flag in this little old town!" yelled a citizen nursing a
+cut cheek with reddened handkerchief.
+
+"G'wan, now!" grumbled a policeman, trying to look severe; "it's all
+over; they's nothing to see. Av ye got homes----"
+
+"Yip! Where do we go from here?" demanded a marine.
+
+"Home!" repeated the policeman; "--that's the answer. G'wan, now,
+peaceable--lave these ladies pass!----"
+
+Ilse and Palla, still walled in by a grinning, admiring soldiery, took
+advantage of the opening and fled, followed by cheers as far as
+Palla's door.
+
+"Good heavens, Ilse," she exclaimed in fresh dismay, as she began to
+realise the rather violent rôles they both had played, "--is that your
+idea of education for the masses?"
+
+A servant answered the bell and they entered the house. And presently,
+seated on the chaise-longue in Palla's bedroom, Ilse Westgard
+alternately gazed upon her ruined white gloves and leaned against the
+cane back, weak with laughter.
+
+"How funny! How degrading! But how funny!" she kept repeating. "That
+large and enraged Jew with the red flag!--the wretched little
+Christian shrimp you carried wriggling away by the collar! Oh, Palla!
+Palla! Never shall I forget the expression on your face--like a bored
+housewife, who, between thumb and forefinger, carries a dead mouse by
+the tail----"
+
+"He was trying to kick you, my dear," explained Palla, beginning to
+remove the hairpins from her hair.
+
+Ilse touched her eyes with her handkerchief.
+
+"They might have thrown bombs," she said. "It's all very well to
+laugh, darling, but sometimes such affairs are not funny."
+
+Palla, seated at her dresser, shook down a mass of thick, bright-brown
+hair, and picked up her comb.
+
+"I am wondering," she said, turning partly toward Ilse, "what Jim
+Shotwell would think of me."
+
+"Fighting on the street!"--her laughter rang out uncontrolled. And
+Palla, too, was laughing rather uncertainly, for, as her recollection
+of the affair became more vivid, her doubts concerning the entire
+procedure increased.
+
+"Of course," she said, "that red flag was outrageous, and you were
+quite right in destroying it. One could hardly buttonhole such a
+procession and try to educate it."
+
+Ilse said: "One can usually educate a wild animal, but never a rabid
+one. You'll see, to-night."
+
+"Where are we going, dear?"
+
+"We are going to a place just west of Seventh Avenue, called the Red
+Flag Club."
+
+"Is it a club?"
+
+"No. The Reds hire it several times a week and try to fill it with
+people. There is the menace to this city and to the nation, Palla--for
+these cunning fomenters of disorder deluge the poorer quarters of the
+town with their literature. That's where they get their audiences. And
+that is where are being born the seeds of murder and destruction."
+
+Palla, combing out her hair, gazed absently into the mirror.
+
+"Why should not we do the same thing?" she asked.
+
+"Form a club, rent a room, and talk to people?"
+
+"Yes; why not?" asked Palla.
+
+"That is exactly why I wish you to come with me to-night--to realise
+how we should combat these criminal and insane agents of all that is
+most terrible in Europe.
+
+"And you are right, Palla; that is the way to fight them. That is the
+way to neutralise the poison they are spreading. That is the way to
+educate the masses to that sane socialism in which we both believe. It
+can be done by education. It can be done by matching them with club
+for club, meeting for meeting, speech for speech. And when, in some
+local instances, it can not be done that way, then, if there be
+disorder, force!"
+
+"It can be done entirely by education," said Palla. "But remember!--Marx
+gave the forces of disorder their slogan--'Unite!' Only a rigid
+organisation of sane civilisation can meet that menace."
+
+"You are very right, darling, and a club to combat the Bolsheviki
+already exists. Vanya and Marya already have joined; there are workmen
+and working women, college professors and college graduates among its
+members. Some, no doubt, will be among the audience at the Red Flag
+Club to-night.
+
+"I shall join this club. I think you, also, will wish to enroll. It is
+called only 'Number One.' Other clubs are to be organised and
+numbered.
+
+"And now you see that, in America, the fight against organised
+rascality and exploited insanity has really begun."
+
+Palla, her hair under discipline once more, donned a fresh but severe
+black gown. Ilse unpinned her hat, made a vigorous toilet, then
+lighted a cigarette and sauntered into the living room where the
+telephone was ringing persistently.
+
+"Please answer," said Palla, fastening her gown before the pier
+glass.
+
+Presently Ilse called her: "It's Mr. Shotwell, dear."
+
+Palla came into the room and picked up the receiver:
+
+"Yes? Oh, good evening, Jim! Yes.... Yes, I am going out with Ilse....
+Why, no, I had no engagement with you, Jim! I'm sorry, but I didn't
+understand--No; I had no idea that you expected to see me--wait a
+moment, please!"--she put one hand over the transmitter, turned to
+Ilse with flushed cheeks and a shyly interrogative smile: "Shall I
+ask him to dine with us and go with us?"
+
+"If you choose," called Ilse, faintly amused.
+
+Then Palla called him: "--Jim! Come to dinner at once. And wear your
+business clothes.... What?... Yes, your every day clothes.... What?...
+Why, because I ask you, Jim. Isn't that a reason?... Thank you....
+Yes, come immediately.... Good-bye, de----"
+
+She coloured crimson, hung up the receiver, and picked up the evening
+paper, not daring to glance at Ilse.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+When Shotwell arrived, dinner had already been announced, and Palla
+and Ilse Westgard were in the unfurnished drawing-room, the former on
+a step-ladder, the latter holding that collapsible machine with one
+hand and Palla's ankle with the other.
+
+Palla waved a tape-measure in airy salute: "I'm trying to find out how
+many yards it takes for my curtains," she explained. But she climbed
+down and gave him her hand; and they went immediately into the
+dining-room.
+
+"What's all this nonsense about the Red Flag Club?" he inquired, when
+they were seated. "Do you and Ilse really propose going to that dirty
+anarchist joint?"
+
+"How do you know it's dirty?" demanded Palla, "--or do you mean it's
+only morally dingy?"
+
+Both she and Ilse appeared to be in unusually lively spirits, and they
+poked fun at him when he objected to their attending the meeting in
+question.
+
+"Very well," he said, "but there may be a free fight. There was a row
+on Fifth Avenue this evening, where some of those rats were parading
+with red flags."
+
+Palla laughed and cast a demure glance at Ilse.
+
+"What is there to laugh at?" demanded Jim. "There was a small riot on
+Fifth Avenue! I met several men at the club who witnessed it."
+
+The sea-blue eyes of Ilse were full of mischief. He was aware of
+Palla's subtle exhilaration, too.
+
+"Why hunt for a free fight?" he asked.
+
+"Why avoid one if it's free?" retorted Ilse, gaily.
+
+They all laughed.
+
+"Is that your idea of liberty?" he asked Palla.
+
+"What is all human progress but a free fight?" she retorted. "Of
+course," she added, "Ilse means an intellectual battle. If they
+misbehave otherwise, I shall flee."
+
+"I don't see why you want to go to hear a lot of Reds talk bosh," he
+remarked. "It isn't like you, Palla."
+
+"It _is_ like me. You see you don't really know me, Jim," she added
+with smiling malice.
+
+"The main thing," said Ilse, "is for one to be one's self. Palla and I
+are social revolutionists. Revolutionists revolt. A revolt is a row.
+There can be no row unless people fight."
+
+He smiled at their irresponsible gaiety, a little puzzled by it and a
+little uneasy.
+
+"All right," he said, as coffee was served; "but it's just as well
+that I'm going with you."
+
+The ex-girl-soldier gave him an amused glance, lighted a cigarette,
+glanced at her wrist-watch, then rose lightly to her graceful,
+athletic height, saying that they ought to start.
+
+So they went away to pin on their hats, and Jim called a taxi.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The hall was well filled when they arrived. There was a rostrum, on
+which two wooden benches faced a table and a chair in the centre. On
+the table stood a pitcher of drinking water, a soiled glass, and a jug
+full of red carnations.
+
+A dozen men and women occupied the two benches. At the table a man
+sat writing. He held a lighted cigar in one hand; a red silk
+handkerchief trailed from his coat pocket.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+As Ilse and Palla seated themselves on an empty bench and Shotwell
+found a place beside them, somebody on the next bench beyond leaned
+over and bade them good evening in a low voice.
+
+"Mr. Brisson!" exclaimed Palla, giving him her hand in unfeigned
+pleasure.
+
+Brisson shook hands, also, with Ilse, cordially, and then was
+introduced to Jim.
+
+"What are you doing here?" he inquired humorously of Palla. "And, by
+the way,"--dropping his voice--"these Reds don't exactly love me, so
+don't use my name."
+
+Palla nodded and whispered to Jim: "He secured all that damning
+evidence at the Smolny for our Government."
+
+Brisson and Ilse were engaged in low-voiced conversation: Palla
+ventured to look about her.
+
+The character of the gathering was foreign. There were few American
+features among the faces, but those few were immeasurably superior
+in type--here and there the intellectual, spectacled visage of
+some educated visionary, lured into the red tide and left there
+drifting;--here and there some pale girl, carelessly dressed, seated
+with folded hands, and intense gaze fixed on space.
+
+But the majority of these people, men and women, were foreign in
+aspect--round, bushy heads with no backs to them were everywhere;
+muddy skins, unhealthy skins, loose mouths, shifty eyes!--everywhere
+around her Palla saw the stigma of degeneracy.
+
+She said in a low voice to Jim: "These poor things need to be properly
+housed and fed before they're taught. Education doesn't interest empty
+stomachs. And when they're given only poison to stop the pangs--what
+does civilisation expect?"
+
+He said: "They're a lot of bums. The only education they require is
+with a night-stick."
+
+"That's cruel, Jim."
+
+"It's law."
+
+"One of your laws which does not appeal to me," she remarked, turning
+to Brisson, who was leaning over to speak to her.
+
+"There are half a dozen plain-clothes men in the audience," he said.
+"There are Government detectives here, too. I rather expect they'll
+stop the proceedings before the programme calls for it."
+
+Jim turned to look back. A file of policemen entered and carelessly
+took up posts in the rear of the hall. Hundreds of flat-backed heads
+turned, too; hundreds of faces darkened; a low muttering arose from
+the benches.
+
+Then the man at the table on the rostrum got up abruptly, and pulled
+out his red handkerchief as though to wipe his face.
+
+At the sudden flourish of the red fabric, a burst of applause came
+from the benches. Orator and audience were _en rapport_; the former
+continued to wave the handkerchief, under pretence of swabbing his
+features, but the intention was so evident and the applause so
+enlightening that a police officer came part way down the aisle and
+held up a gilded sleeve.
+
+"Hey!" he called in a bored voice, "Cut that out! See!"
+
+"That man on the platform is Max Sondheim," whispered Brisson. "He'll
+skate on thin ice before he's through."
+
+Sondheim had already begun to speak, ignoring the interruption from
+the police:
+
+"The Mayor has got cold feet," he said with a sneer. "He gave us a
+permit to parade, but when the soldiers attacked us his police clubbed
+us. That's the kind of government we got."
+
+"Shame!" cried a white-faced girl in the audience.
+
+"Shame?" repeated Sondheim ironically. "What's shame to a cop? They
+got theirs all the same----"
+
+"That's enough!" shouted the police captain sharply. "Any more of that
+and I'll run you in!"
+
+Sondheim's red-rimmed eyes measured the officer in silence for a
+moment.
+
+"I have the privilege," he said to his audience, "of introducing to
+you our comrade, Professor Le Vey."
+
+"Le Vey," whispered Brisson in Palla's ear. "He's a crack-brained
+chemist, and they ought to nab him."
+
+The professor rose from one of the benches on the rostrum and came
+forward--a tall, black-bearded man, deathly pale, whose protruding,
+bluish eyes seemed almost stupid in their fixity.
+
+"Words are by-products," he said, "and of minor importance. Deeds
+educate. T. N. T., also, is a byproduct, and of no use in conversation
+unless employed as an argument--" A roar of applause drowned his
+voice: he gazed at the audience out of his stupid pop-eyes.
+
+"Tyranny has kicked you into the gutter," he went on. "Capital makes
+laws to keep you there and hires police and soldiers to enforce those
+laws. This is called civilisation. Is there anything for you to do
+except to pick yourselves out of the gutter and destroy what kicked
+you into it and what keeps you there?"
+
+"No!" roared the audience.
+
+"Only a clean sweep will do it," said Le Vey. "If you have a single
+germ of plague in the world, it will multiply. If you leave a single
+trace of what is called civilisation in the world, it will hatch out
+more tyrants, more capitalists, more laws. So there is only one
+remedy. Destruction. Total annihilation. Nothing less can purify this
+rotten hell they call the world!"
+
+Amid storms of applause he unrolled a manuscript and read without
+emphasis:
+
+"Therefore, the Workers of the World, in council assembled, hereby
+proclaim at midnight to-night, throughout the entire world:
+
+"1. That all debts, public and private, are cancelled.
+
+"2. That all leases, contracts, indentures and similar instruments,
+products of capitalism, are null and void.
+
+"3. All statutes, ordinances and other enactments of capitalist
+government are repealed.
+
+"4. All public offices are declared vacant.
+
+"5. The military and naval organisations will immediately dissolve
+and reorganise themselves upon a democratic basis for speedy
+mobilisation.
+
+"6. All working classes and political prisoners will be immediately
+freed and all indictments quashed.
+
+"7. All vacant and unused land shall immediately revert to the people
+and remain common property until suitable regulations for its
+disposition can be made.
+
+"8. All telephones, telegraphs, cables, railroads, steamship lines and
+other means of communication and transportation shall be immediately
+taken over by the workers and treated henceforth as the property of
+the people.
+
+"9. As speedily as possible the workers in the various industries will
+proceed to take over these industries and organise them in the spirit
+of the new epoch now beginning.
+
+"10. The flag of the new society shall be plain red, marking our unity
+and brotherhood with similar republics in Russia, Germany, Austria and
+elsewhere----"
+
+"That'll be about all from you, Professor," interrupted the police
+captain, strolling down to the platform. "Come on, now. Kiss your
+friends good-night!"
+
+A sullen roar rose from the audience; Le Vey lifted one hand:
+
+"I told you how to argue," he said in his emotionless voice. "Anybody
+can talk with their mouths." And he turned on his heel and went back
+to his seat on the bench.
+
+Sondheim stood up:
+
+"Comrade Bromberg!" he shouted.
+
+A small, shabby man arose from a bench and shambled forward. His hair
+grew so low that it left him practically no forehead. Whiskers blotted
+out the remainder of his features except two small and very bright
+eyes that snapped and sparkled, imbedded in the hairy ensemble.
+
+"Comrades," he growled, "it has come to a moment when the only law
+worth obeying is the law of force!----"
+
+"You bet!" remarked the police captain, genially, and, turning his
+back, he walked away up the aisle toward the rear of the hall, while
+all around him from the audience came a savage muttering.
+
+Bromberg's growling voice grew harsher and deeper as he resumed: "I
+tell you that there is only one law left for proletariat and tyrant
+alike! It is the law of force!"
+
+As the audience applauded fiercely, a man near them stood up and
+shouted for a hearing.
+
+"Comrade Bromberg is right!" he cried, waving his arms excitedly.
+"There is only one real law in the world! The fit survive! The unfit
+die! The strong take what they desire! The weak perish. That is the
+law of life! That is the----"
+
+An amazing interruption checked him--a clear, crystalline peal of
+laughter; and the astounded audience saw a tall, fresh, yellow-haired
+girl standing up midway down the hall. It was Ilse Westgard, unable to
+endure such nonsense, and quite regardless of Brisson's detaining hand
+and Shotwell's startled remonstrance.
+
+"What that man says is absurd!" she cried, her fresh young voice still
+gay with laughter. "He looks like a Prussian, and if he is he ought to
+know where the law of force has landed his nation."
+
+In the ominous silence around her, Ilse turned and gaily surveyed the
+audience.
+
+"The law of force is the law of robbers," she said. "That is why this
+war has been fought--to educate robbers. And if there remain any
+robbers they'll have to be educated. Don't let anybody tell you that
+the law of force is the law of life!----"
+
+"Who are you?" interrupted Bromberg hoarsely.
+
+"An ex-soldier of the Death Battalion, comrade," said Ilse cheerfully.
+"I used a rifle in behalf of the law of education. Sometimes bayonets
+educate, sometimes machine guns. But the sensible way is to have a
+meeting, and everybody drink tea and smoke cigarettes and discuss
+their troubles without reserve, and then take a vote as to what is
+best for everybody concerned."
+
+And she seated herself with a smile just as the inevitable uproar
+began.
+
+All around her now men and women were shouting at her; inflamed faces
+ringed her; gesticulating fists waved in the air.
+
+"What are you--a spy for Kerensky?" yelled a man in Russian.
+
+"The bourgeoisie has its agents here!" bawled a red-haired Jew. "I
+offer a solemn protest----"
+
+"Agent provocateur!" cried many voices. "Pay no attention to her! Go
+on with the debate!"
+
+An I. W. W.--a thin, mean-faced American--half arose and pointed an
+unwashed finger at Ilse.
+
+"A Government spy," he said distinctly. "Keep your eye on her,
+comrades. There seems to be a bunch of them there----"
+
+"Sit down and shut up!" said Shotwell, sharply. "Do you want to start
+a riot?"
+
+"You bet I'll start something!" retorted the man, showing his teeth
+like a rat. "What the hell did you come here for----"
+
+"Silence!" bawled Bromberg, hoarsely, from the platform. "That woman
+is recognised and known. Pay no attention to her, but listen to me. I
+tell you that your law is the law of hatred!----"
+
+Palla attempted to rise. Jim tried to restrain her: she pushed his arm
+aside, but he managed to retain his grasp on her arm.
+
+"Are you crazy?" he whispered.
+
+"That man lies!" she said excitedly. "Don't you hear him preaching
+hatred?"
+
+"Well, it's not your business----"
+
+"It _is_! That man is lying to these ignorant people! He's telling
+them a vile untruth! Let me go, Jim----"
+
+"Better keep cool," whispered Brisson, leaning over. "We're all in
+dutch already."
+
+Palla said to him excitedly: "I'm afraid to stand up and speak, but
+I'm going to! I'd be a coward to sit here and let that man deceive
+these poor people----"
+
+"Listen to Bromberg!" motioned Ilse, her blue eyes frosty and her
+cheeks deeply flushed.
+
+The orator had come down into the aisle. Every venomous word he was
+uttering now he directed straight at the quartette.
+
+"Russia is showing us the way," he said in his growling voice. "Russia
+makes no distinctions but takes them all by the throat and wrings
+their necks--aristocrats, bourgeoisie, cadets, officers, land owners,
+intellectuals--all the vermin, all the parasites! And that is the law,
+I tell you! The unfit perish! The strong inherit the earth!----"
+
+Palla sprang to her feet: "Liar!" she said hotly. "Did not Christ
+Himself tell us that the meek shall inherit the earth!"
+
+"Christ?" thundered Bromberg. "Have you come here to insult us with
+legends and fairy-tales about a god?"
+
+"Who mentioned God?" retorted Palla in a clear voice. "Unless we
+ourselves are gods there is none! But Christ did live! And He was as
+much a god as we are. And no more. But He was wiser! And what He told
+us is the truth! And I shall not sit silent while any man or woman
+teaches robbery and murder. That's what you mean when you say that the
+law of the stronger is the only law! If it is, then the poor and
+ignorant are where they belong----"
+
+"They won't be when they learn the law of life!" roared Bromberg.
+
+"There is only one law of life!" cried Palla, turning to look around
+her at the agitated audience. "The only law in the world worth
+obedience is the Law of Love and of Service! No other laws amount to
+anything. Under that law every problem you agitate here is already
+solved. There is no injustice that cannot be righted under it! There
+is no aspiration that cannot be realised!"
+
+She turned on Bromberg, her hazel eyes very bright, her face surging
+with colour.
+
+"You came here to pervert the exhortation of Karl Marx, and unite
+under the banner of envy and greed every unhappy heart!
+
+"Very well. Others also can unite to combat you. A league of evil is
+not the only league that can be formed under this roof. Nor are the
+soldiers and police the only or the better weapons to use against you.
+What you agitators and mischief makers are really afraid of is that
+somebody may really educate your audiences. And that's exactly what
+such people as I intend to do!"
+
+A score or more of people had crowded around her while she was
+speaking. Shotwell and Brisson, too, had risen and stepped to her
+side. And the entire audience was on its feet, craning hundreds of
+necks and striving to hear and see.
+
+Somewhere in the crowd a shrill American voice cried: "Throw them guys
+out! They got Wall Street cash in their pockets!"
+
+Sondheim levelled a finger at Brisson:
+
+"Look out for that man!" he said. "He published those lies about
+Lenine and Trotsky, and he's here from Washington to lie about us in
+the newspapers!"
+
+The I. W. W. lurched out of his seat and shoved against Shotwell.
+
+"Get the hell out o' here," he snarled; "--go on! Beat it! And take
+your lady-friends, too."
+
+Brisson said: "No use talking to them. You'd better take the ladies
+out while the going is good."
+
+But as they moved there was an angry murmur: the I. W. W. gave Palla a
+violent shove that sent her reeling, and Shotwell knocked him
+unconscious across a bench.
+
+Instantly the hall was in an uproar: there was a savage rush for
+Brisson, but he stopped it with levelled automatic.
+
+"Get the ladies out!" he said coolly to Shotwell, forcing a path
+forward at his pistol's point.
+
+Plain clothes men were active, too, pushing the excited Bolsheviki
+this way and that and clearing a lane for Palla and Ilse.
+
+Then, as they reached the rear of the hall, there came a wild howl
+from the audience, and Shotwell, looking back, saw Sondheim unfurl a
+big red flag.
+
+Instantly the police started for the rostrum. The din became deafening
+as he threw one arm around Palla and forced her out into the street,
+where Ilse and Brisson immediately joined them.
+
+Then, as they looked around for a taxi, a little shrimp of a man came
+out on the steps of the hall and spat on the sidewalk and cursed them
+in Russian.
+
+And, as Palla, recognising him, turned around, he shook his fists at
+her and at Ilse, promising that they should be attended to when the
+proper moment arrived.
+
+Then he spat again, laughed a rather ghastly and distorted laugh, and
+backed into the doorway behind him.
+
+They walked east--there being no taxi in sight. Ilse and Brisson led;
+Palla followed beside Jim.
+
+"Well," said the latter, his voice not yet under complete control,
+"don't you think you'd better keep away from such places in the
+future?"
+
+She was still very much excited: "It's abominable," she exclaimed,
+"that this country should permit such lies to be spread among the
+people and do nothing to counteract this campaign of falsehood! What
+is going to happen, Jim, unless educated people combine to educate the
+ignorant?"
+
+"How?" he asked contemptuously.
+
+"By example, first of all. By the purity and general decency of their
+own lives. I tell you, Jim, that the unscrupulous greed of the
+educated is as dangerous and vile as the murderous envy of the
+Bolsheviki. We've got to reform ourselves before we can educate
+others. And unless we begin by conforming to the Law of Love and
+Service, some day the Law of Hate and Violence will cut our throats
+for us."
+
+"Palla," he said, "I never dreamed that you'd do such a thing as you
+did to-night."
+
+"I was afraid," she said with a nervous tightening of her arm under
+his, "but I was still more afraid of being a coward."
+
+"You didn't have to answer that crazy anarchist!"
+
+"Somebody had to. He lied to those poor creatures. I--I couldn't stand
+it!--" Her voice broke a little. "And if there is truly a god in me,
+as I believe, then I should show Christ's courage ... lacking His
+wisdom," she added so low that he scarcely heard her.
+
+Ilse, walking ahead with Brisson, looked back over her shoulder at
+Palla laughing.
+
+"Didn't I tell you that there are some creatures you can't educate?
+What do you think of your object lesson, darling?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+On a foggy afternoon, toward midwinter, John Estridge strolled into
+the new Overseas Club, which, still being in process of incubation,
+occupied temporary quarters on Madison Avenue.
+
+Officers fresh from abroad and still in uniform predominated; tunics
+were gay with service and wound chevrons, citation cords, stars,
+crosses, strips of striped ribbon.
+
+There was every sort of head-gear to be seen there, too, from the
+jaunty overseas _bonnet de police_, piped in various colours, to the
+corded campaign hat and leather-visored barrack-cap.
+
+Few cavalry officers were in evidence, but there were plenty of spurs
+glittering everywhere--to keep their owners' heels from slipping off
+the desks, as the pleasantry of the moment had it.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Estridge went directly to a telephone booth, and presently got his
+connection.
+
+"It's John Estridge, as usual," he said in a bantering tone. "How are
+you, Ilse?"
+
+"John! I'm so glad you called me! Thank you so much for the roses!
+They're exquisite!--matchless!----"
+
+"Not at all!"
+
+"What?"
+
+"If you think they're matchless, just hold one up beside your cheek
+and take a slant at your mirror."
+
+"I thought you were not going to say such things to me!"
+
+"I thought I wasn't."
+
+"Are you alone?" She laughed happily. "Where are you, Jack?"
+
+"At the Overseas Club. I stopped on my way from the hospital."
+
+"Y--es."
+
+A considerable pause, and then Ilse laughed again----a confused, happy
+laugh.
+
+"Did you think you'd--come over?" she inquired.
+
+"Shall I?"
+
+"What do _you_ think about it, Jack?"
+
+"I suppose," he said in a humourous voice, "you're afraid of that
+tendency which you say I'm beginning to exhibit."
+
+"The tendency to drift?"
+
+"Yes;--toward those perilous rocks you warned me of."
+
+"They _are_ perilous!" she insisted.
+
+"You ought to know," he rejoined; "you're sitting on top of 'em like a
+bally Lorelei!"
+
+"If that's your opinion, hadn't you better steer for the open sea,
+John?"
+
+"Certainly I'd better. But you look so sweet up there, with your
+classical golden hair, that I think I'll risk the rocks."
+
+"Please don't! There's a deadly whirlpool under them. I'm looking down
+at it now."
+
+"What do you see at the bottom, Ilse? Human bones?"
+
+"I can't see the bottom. It's all surface, like a shining mirror."
+
+"I'll come over and take a look at it with you."
+
+"I think you'll only see our own faces reflected.... I think you'd
+better not come."
+
+"I'll be there in about half an hour," he said gaily.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+He sauntered out and on into the body of the club, exchanging with
+friends a few words here, a smiling handclasp there; and presently he
+seated himself near a window.
+
+For a while he rested his chin on his clenched hand, staring into
+space, until a waiter arrived with his order.
+
+He signed the check, drained his glass, and leaned forward again with
+both elbows on his knees, twirling his silver-headed stick between
+nervous hands.
+
+"After all," he said under his breath, "it's too late, now.... I'm
+going to see this thing through."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+As he rose to go he caught sight of Jim Shotwell, seated alone by
+another window and attempting to read an evening paper by the foggy
+light from outside. He walked over to him, fastening his overcoat on
+the way. Jim laid aside his paper and gave him a dull glance.
+
+"How are things with you?" inquired Estridge, carelessly.
+
+"All right. Are you walking up town?"
+
+"No."
+
+Jim's sombre eyes rested on the discarded paper, but he did not pick
+it up. "It's rotten weather," he said listlessly.
+
+"Have you seen Palla lately?" inquired Estridge, looking down at him
+with a certain curiosity.
+
+"No, not lately."
+
+"She's a very busy girl, I hear."
+
+"So I hear."
+
+Estridge seated himself on the arm of a leather chair and began to
+pull on his gloves. He said:
+
+"I understand Palla is doing Red Cross and canteen work, besides
+organising her celebrated club;--what is it she calls it?--Combat Club
+No. 1?"
+
+"I believe so."
+
+"And you haven't seen her lately?"
+
+Shotwell glanced at the fog and shrugged his shoulders: "She's rather
+busy--as you say. No, I haven't seen her. Besides, I'm rather out of
+my element among the people one runs into at her house. So I simply
+don't go any more."
+
+"Palla's parties are always amusing," ventured Estridge.
+
+"Very," said the other, "but her guests keep you guessing."
+
+Estridge smiled: "Because they don't conform to the established scheme
+of things?"
+
+"Perhaps. The scheme of things, as it is, suits me."
+
+"But it's interesting to hear other people's views."
+
+"I'm fed up on queer views--and on queer people," said Jim, with
+sudden and irritable emphasis. "Why, hang it all, Jack, when a fellow
+goes out among apparently well bred, decent people he takes it for
+granted that ordinary, matter of course social conventions prevail.
+But nobody can guess what notions are seething in the bean of any girl
+you talk to at Palla's house!"
+
+Estridge laughed: "What do you care, Jim?"
+
+"Well, I wouldn't care if they all didn't seem so exactly like one's
+own sort. Why, to look at them, talk to them, you'd never suppose them
+queer! The young girl you take in to dinner usually looks as though
+butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. And the chances are that she's all
+for socialism, self-determination, trial marriages and free love!
+
+"Hell's bells! I'm no prude. I like to overstep conventions, too. But
+this wholesale wrecking of the social structure would be ruinous for a
+girl like Palla."
+
+"But Palla doesn't believe in free love."
+
+"She hears it talked about by cracked illuminati."
+
+"Rain on a duck's back, Jim!"
+
+"Rain drowns young ducks."
+
+"You mean all this spouting will end in a deluge?"
+
+"I do. And then look for dead ducks."
+
+"You're not very respectful toward modernism," remarked Estridge,
+smiling.
+
+Then Jim broke loose:
+
+"Modernism? You yourself said that all these crazy social notions--crazy
+notions in art, literature, music--arise from some sort of physical
+degeneration, or from the perversion or checking of normal physical
+functions."
+
+"Usually they do----"
+
+"Well," continued Shotwell, "it's mostly due to perversion, in my
+opinion. Women have had too much of a hell of a run for their money
+during this war. They've broken down all the fences and they're loose
+and running all over the world.
+
+"If they'd only kept their fool heads! But no. Every germ in the wind
+lodged in their silly brains! Biff. They want sex equality and a pair
+of riding breeches! Bang! They kick over the cradle and wreck the
+pantry.
+
+"Wifehood? Played out! Motherhood? In the discards! Domestic
+partnership?--each sex to its own sphere? Ha-ha! That was all very
+well yesterday. But woman as a human incubator and brooder is an
+obsolete machine. Why the devil should free and untramelled womanhood
+hatch out young?
+
+"If they choose to, casually, all right. But it's purely a matter for
+self-determination. If a girl cares to take off her Sam Brown belt and
+her puttees long enough to nurse a baby, it's a matter that concerns
+her, not humanity at large. Because the social revolution has settled
+all such details as personal independence and the same standard for
+both sexes. So, _a bas_ Madame Grundy! _A la lanterne_ with the old
+régime! No--hang it all, I'm through!"
+
+"Don't you like Palla any more?" inquired Estridge, still laughing.
+
+Jim gave him a singular look: "Yes.... Do you like Ilse Westgard?"
+
+Estridge said coolly: "I am accepting her as she is. I like her that
+much."
+
+"Oh. Is that very much?" sneered the other.
+
+"Enough to marry her if she'd have me," replied Estridge pleasantly.
+
+"And she won't do that, I suppose?"
+
+"Not so far."
+
+Jim eyed him sullenly: "Well, I don't accept Palla as she is--or
+thinks she is."
+
+"She's sincere."
+
+"I understand that. But no girl can get away with such notions. Where
+is it all going to land her? What will she be?"
+
+Estridge quoted: "'It hath not yet appeared what we shall be.'"
+
+Shotwell rose impatiently, and picked up his overcoat: "All I know is
+that when two healthy people care for each other it's their
+business--their _business_, I repeat--to get together legally and do
+the decent thing by the human race."
+
+"Breed?"
+
+"Certainly! Breed legally the finest, healthiest, best of specimens;--and
+as many as they can feed and clothe! For if they don't--if we don't--I
+mean our own sort--the land will be crawling with the robust get of
+all these millions of foreigners, who already have nearly submerged us in
+America; and whose spawn will, one day, smother us to death.
+
+"Hang it all, aren't they breeding like vermin now? All yellow dogs
+do--all the unfit produce big litters. That's the only thing they ever
+do--accumulate progeny.
+
+"And what are we doing?--our sort, I mean? I'll tell you! Our sisters
+are having such a good time that they won't marry, if they can avoid
+it, until they're too mature to get the best results in children. Our
+wives, if they condescend to have any offspring at all, limit the
+output to one. Because more than one _might_ damage their beauty.
+Hell! If the educated classes are going to practise race suicide and
+the Bolsheviki are going to breed like lice, you can figure out the
+answer for yourself."
+
+They walked to the foggy street together. Shotwell said bitterly:
+
+"I do care for Palla. I like Ilse. All the women one encounters at
+Palla's parties are gay, accomplished, clever, piquant. The men also
+are more or less amusing. The conversation is never dull. Everybody
+seems to be well bred, sincere, friendly and agreeable. But there's
+something lacking. One feels it even before one is enlightened
+concerning the ultra-modernism of these admittedly interesting people.
+And I'll tell you what it is. Actually, deep in their souls, they
+don't believe in themselves.
+
+"Take Palla. She says there is no God--no divinity except in herself.
+And I tell you she may think she believes it, but she doesn't.
+
+"And her school-girl creed--Love and Service! Fine. Only there's a
+prior law--self-preservation; and another--race preservation! By God,
+how are you going to love and serve if girls stop having babies?
+
+"And as for this silly condemnation of the marriage ceremony, merely
+because some sanctified Uncle Foozle once inserted the word 'obey' in
+it--just because, under the marriage laws, tyranny and cruelty have
+been practised--what callow rot!
+
+"Laws can be changed; divorce made simple and non-scandalous as it
+should be; all rights safeguarded for the woman; and still have
+something legal and recognised by one of those necessary conventions
+which make civilisation possible.
+
+"But this irresponsible idea of procedure through mere inclination--this
+sauntering through life under no law to safeguard and govern, except
+the law of personal preference--that's anarchy! That code spells
+demoralisation, degeneracy and disaster!... And the whole damned
+thing to begin again--a slow development of the human race, once more,
+out of the chaos of utter barbarism."
+
+Estridge, standing there on the sidewalk in the fog, smiled:
+
+"You're very eloquent, Jim. Why don't you say all this to Palla?"
+
+"I did. I told her, too, that the root of the whole thing was
+selfishness. And it is. It's a refusal to play the game according to
+rule. There are only two sexes and one of 'em is fashioned to bear
+young, and the other is fashioned to hustle for mother and kid. You
+can't alter that, whether it's fair or not. It's the game as we found
+it. The rules were already provided for playing it. The legal father
+and mother are supposed to look out for their own legal progeny. And
+any alteration of this rule, with a view to irresponsible mating and
+turning the offspring over to the community to take care of, would
+create an unhuman race, unconscious of the highest form of love--the
+love for parents.
+
+"A fine lot we'd be as an incubated race!"
+
+Estridge laughed: "I've got to go," he said, "And, if you care for
+Palla as you say you do, you oughtn't to leave her entirely alone with
+her circle of modernist friends. Stick around! It may make you mad,
+but if she likes you, at least she won't commit an indiscretion with
+anybody else."
+
+"I wish I could find my own sort as amusing," said Jim, naïvely. "I've
+been going about recently--dances, dinners, theatres--but I can't seem
+to keep my mind off Palla."
+
+Estridge said: "If you'd give your sense of humour half a chance you'd
+be all right. You take yourself too solemnly. You let Palla scare you.
+That's not the way. The thing to do is to have a jolly time with her,
+with them all. Accept her as she thinks she is. There's no damage done
+yet. Time enough to throw fits if she takes the bit and bolts----"
+
+He extended his hand, cordially but impatiently:
+
+"You remember I once said that girl ought to be married and have
+children? If you do the marrying part she's likely to do the rest very
+handsomely. And it will be the making of her."
+
+Jim held on to his hand:
+
+"Tell me what to do, Jack. She isn't in love with me. And she wouldn't
+submit to a legal ceremony if she were. You invoke my sense of humour.
+I'm willing to give it an airing, only I can't see anything funny in
+this business."
+
+"It _is_ funny! Palla's funny, but doesn't know it. You're funny!
+They're all funny--unintentionally. But their motives are tragically
+immaculate. So stick around and have a good time with Palla until
+there's really something to scare you."
+
+"And then?"
+
+"How the devil do I know? It's up to you, of course, what you do about
+it."
+
+He laughed and strode away through the fog.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+It had seemed to Jim a long time since he had seen Palla. It wasn't
+very long. And in all that interminable time he had not once called
+her up on the telephone--had not even written her a single line. Nor
+had she written to him.
+
+He had gone about his social business in his own circle, much to his
+mother's content. He had seen quite a good deal of Elorn Sharrow; was
+comfortably back on the old, agreeable footing; tried desperately to
+enjoy it; pretended that he did.
+
+But the days were long in the office; the evenings longer, wherever he
+happened to be; and the nights, alas! were becoming interminable, now,
+because he slept badly, and the grey winter daylight found him
+unrefreshed.
+
+Which, recently, had given him a slightly battered appearance,
+commented on jestingly by young rakes and old sports at the Patroon's
+Club, and also observed by his mother with gentle concern.
+
+"Don't overdo it, Jim," she cautioned him, meaning dances that ended
+with breakfasts and that sort of thing. But her real concern was
+vaguer than that--deeper, perhaps. And sometimes she remembered the
+girl in black.
+
+Lately, however, that anxiety had been almost entirely allayed. And
+her comparative peace of mind had come about in an unexpected manner.
+
+For, one morning, entering the local Red Cross quarters, where for
+several hours she was accustomed to sew, she encountered Mrs.
+Speedwell and her lively daughter, Connie--her gossiping informants
+concerning her son's appearance at Delmonico's with the mysterious
+girl in black.
+
+"Well, what do you suppose, Helen?" said Mrs. Speedwell, mischievously.
+"Jim's pretty mystery in black is here!"
+
+"Here?" repeated Mrs. Shotwell, flushing and looking around her at the
+rows of prophylactic ladies, all sewing madly side by side.
+
+"Yes, and she's prettier even than I thought her in Delmonico's,"
+remarked Connie. "Her name is Palla Dumont, and she's a friend of
+Leila Vance."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+During the morning, Mrs. Shotwell found it convenient to speak to
+Leila Vance; and they exchanged a pleasant word or two--merely the
+amiable civilities of two women who recognise each other socially as
+well as personally.
+
+And it happened in that way, a few days later, that Helen Shotwell met
+this pretty friend of Leila Vance--Palla Dumont--the girl in black.
+
+And Palla had looked up from her work with her engaging smile, saying:
+"I know your son, Mrs. Shotwell. Is he quite well? I haven't seen him
+for such a long time."
+
+And instantly the invisible antennæ of these two women became busy
+exploring, probing, searching, and recognising in each other all that
+remains forever incomprehensible to man.
+
+For Palla somehow understood that Jim had never spoken of her to his
+mother; and yet that his mother had heard of her friendship with her
+son.
+
+And Helen knew that Palla was quietly aware of this, and that the
+girl's equanimity remained undisturbed.
+
+Only people quite sure of themselves preserved serenity under the
+merciless exploration of the invisible feminine antennæ. And it was
+evident that the girl in black had nothing to conceal from her in
+regard to her only son--whatever that same son might think he ought to
+make an effort to conceal from his mother.
+
+To herself Helen thought: "Jim has had his wings singed, and has fled
+the candle."
+
+To Palla she said: "Mrs. Vance tells me such interesting stories of
+your experiences in Russia. Really, it's like a charming romance--your
+friendship for the poor little Grand Duchess."
+
+"A tragic one," said Palla in a voice so even that Helen presently
+lifted her eyes from her sewing to read in her expression something
+more than the mere words that this young girl had uttered. And saw a
+still, pale face, sensitive and very lovely; and the needle flying
+over a bandage no whiter than the hand that held it.
+
+"It was a great shock to you--her death," said Helen.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And--you were there at the time! How dreadful!"
+
+Palla lifted her brown eyes: "I can't talk about it yet," she said so
+simply that Helen's sixth sense, always alert for information from the
+busy, invisible antennæ, suddenly became convinced that there were no
+more hidden depths to explore--no motives to suspect, no pretense to
+expose.
+
+Day after day she chose to seat herself between Palla and Leila Vance;
+and the girl began to fascinate her.
+
+There was no effort to please on Palla's part, other than that natural
+one born of sweet-tempered consideration for everybody. There seemed
+to be no pretence, no pose.
+
+Such untroubled frankness, such unconscious candour were rather
+difficult to believe in, yet Helen was now convinced that in Palla
+these phenomena were quite genuine. And she began to understand more
+clearly, as the week wore on, why her son might have had a hard time
+of it with Palla Dumont before he returned to more familiar pastures,
+where camouflage and not candour was the rule in the gay and endless
+game of blind-man's buff.
+
+"This girl," thought Helen Shotwell to herself, "could easily have
+taken Jim away from Elorn Sharrow had she chosen to do so. There is no
+doubt about her charm and her goodness. She certainly is a most
+unusual girl."
+
+But she did not say this to her only son. She did not even tell him
+that she had met his girl in black. And Palla had not informed him;
+she knew that; because the girl herself had told her that she had not
+seen Jim for "a long, long time." It really was not nearly as long as
+Palla seemed to consider it.
+
+Helen lunched with Leila Vance one day. The former spoke pleasantly of
+Palla.
+
+"She's such a darling," said Mrs. Vance, "but the child worries me."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well, she's absorbed some ultra-modern Russian notions--socialistic
+ones--rather shockingly radical. Can you imagine it in a girl who
+began her novitiate as a Carmelite nun?"
+
+Helen said: "She does not seem to have a tendency toward extremes."
+
+"She has. That awful affair in Russia seemed to shock her from one
+extreme to another. It's a long way from the cloister to the radical
+rostrum."
+
+"She spoke of this new Combat Club."
+
+"She organised it," said Leila. "They have a hall where they invite
+public discussion of social questions three nights a week. The other
+three nights, a rival and very red club rents the hall and howls for
+anarchy and blood."
+
+"Isn't it strange?" said Helen. "One can not imagine such a girl
+devoting herself to radical propaganda."
+
+"Too radical," said Leila. "I'm keeping an uneasy eye on that very
+wilful and wrong-headed child. Why, my dear, she has the most
+fastidious, the sweetest, the most chaste mind, and yet the things she
+calmly discusses would make your hair curl."
+
+"For example?" inquired Helen, astonished.
+
+"Well, for example, they've all concluded that it's time to strip poor
+old civilisation of her tinsel customs, thread-worn conventions,
+polite legends, and pleasant falsehoods.
+
+"All laws are silly. Everybody is to do as they please, conforming
+only to the universal law of Love and Service. Do you see where that
+would lead some of those pretty hot-heads?"
+
+"Good heavens, I should think so!"
+
+"Of course. But they can't seem to understand that the unscrupulous
+are certain to exploit them--that the most honest motives--the
+purest--invite that certain disaster consequent on social irregularities.
+
+"Palla, so far, is all hot-headed enthusiast--hot-hearted theorist.
+But I remember that she did take the white veil once. And, as I tell
+you, I shall try to keep her within range of my uneasy vision.
+Because," she added, "she's really a perfect darling."
+
+"She is a most attractive girl," said Helen slowly; "but I think she'd
+be more attractive still if she were happily married."
+
+"And had children."
+
+Their eyes met, unsmilingly, yet in silent accord.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Their respective cars awaited them at the Ritz and took them in
+different directions. But all the afternoon Helen Shotwell's mind was
+occupied with what she now knew of Palla Dumont. And she realised that
+she wished the girl were back in Russia in spite of all her charm and
+fascination--yes, on account of it.
+
+Because this lovely, burning asteroid might easily cross the narrow
+orbit through which her own social world spun peacefully in its
+orderly progress amid that metropolitan galaxy called Society.
+
+Leila Vance was part of that galaxy. So was her own and only son.
+Wandering meteors that burnt so prettily might yet do damage.
+
+For Helen, having known this girl, found it not any too easy to
+believe that her son could have relinquished her completely in so
+disturbingly brief a time.
+
+Had she been a young man she knew that she would not have done so.
+And, knowing it, she was troubled.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile, her only son was troubled, too, as he walked slowly
+homeward through the winter fog.
+
+And by the time he was climbing his front steps he had concluded to
+accept this girl as she was--or thought she was--to pull no more long
+faces or sour faces, but to go back to her, resolutely determined to
+enjoy her friendship and her friends too; and give his long
+incarcerated sense of humour an airing, even if he suffered acutely
+while it revelled.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+Palla's activities seemed to exhilarate her physically and mentally.
+Body and brain were now fully occupied; and, if the profit to her soul
+were dubious, nevertheless the restless spirit of the girl now had an
+outlet; and at home and in the Combat Club she planned and discussed
+and investigated the world's woes to her ardent heart's content.
+
+Physically, too, Red Cross and canteen work gave her much needed
+occupation; and she went everywhere on foot, never using bus, tram or
+taxicab. The result was, in spite of late and sometimes festive hours,
+that Palla had become something more than an unusually pretty girl,
+for there was much of real beauty in her full and charming face and in
+her enchantingly rounded yet lithe and lissome figure.
+
+About the girl, also, there seemed to be a new freshness like
+fragrance--a virginal sweetness--that indefinable perfume of something
+young and vigorous that is already in bud.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+That morning she went over to the dingy row of buildings to sign the
+lease of the hall for three evenings a week, as quarters for Combat
+Club No. 1.
+
+The stuffy place where the Red Flag Club had met the night before was
+still reeking with stale smoke and the effluvia of the unwashed; but
+the windows were open and a negro was sweeping up a litter of defunct
+cigars.
+
+"Yaas'm, Mr. Puma's office is next do'," he replied to Palla's
+inquiry; "--Sooperfillum Co'poration. Yaas'm."
+
+Next door had been a stable and auction ring, and odours characteristic
+still remained, although now the ring had been partitioned, boarded over
+and floored, and Mr. Hewitt's glass rods full of blinding light were
+suspended above the studio ceilings of the Super-Picture Corporation.
+
+Palla entered the brick archway. An office on the right bore the name
+of Angelo Puma; and that large, richly coloured gentleman hastily got
+out of his desk chair and flashed a pair of magnificent as well as
+astonished eyes upon Palla as she opened the door and walked in.
+
+When she had seated herself and stated her business, Puma, with a
+single gesture, swept from the office several men and a stenographer,
+and turned to Palla.
+
+"Is it you, then, who are this Combat Club which would rent from me
+the hall next door!" he exclaimed, showing every faultless tooth in
+his head.
+
+Palla smiled: "I am empowered by the club to sign a lease."
+
+"That is sufficient!" exclaimed Puma, with a superb gesture. "So! It
+is signed! Your desire is enough. The matter is accomplished when you
+express the wish!"
+
+Palla blushed a little but smilingly affixed her signature to the
+papers elaborately presented by Angelo Puma.
+
+"A lease?" he remarked, with a flourish of his large, sanguine, and
+jewelled hand. "A detail merely for your security, Miss Dumont. For
+me, I require only the expression of your slightest wish. That, to
+me, is a command more binding than the seal of the notary!"
+
+And he flashed his dazzling smile on Palla, who was tucking her copy
+of the agreement into her muff.
+
+"Thank you so much, Mr. Puma," she said, almost inclined to laugh at
+his extravagances. And she laid down a certified check to cover the
+first month's rental.
+
+Mr. Puma bowed; his large, heavily lashed black eyes were very
+brilliant; his mouth much too red under the silky black moustache.
+
+"For me," he said impulsively, "art alone matters. What is money? What
+is rent? What are all the annoying details of commerce? Interruptions
+to the soul-flow! Checks to the fountain jet of inspiration! Art only
+is important. Have you ever seen a cinema studio, Miss Dumont?"
+
+Palla never had.
+
+"Would it interest you, perhaps?"
+
+"Thank you--some time----"
+
+"It is but a step! They are working. A peep will take but a moment--if
+you please--a thousand excuses that I proceed to show you the
+way!----"
+
+She stepped through a door. From a narrow anteroom she saw the
+set-scene in a ghastly light, where men in soiled shirt-sleeves
+dragged batteries of electric lights about, each underbred face as
+livid as the visage of a corpse too long unburied.
+
+There were women there, too, looking a little more human in their
+makeups under the horrible bluish glare. Camera men were busy; a
+cadaverous and profane director, with his shabby coat-collar turned
+up, was talking loudly in a Broadway voice and jargon to a bewildered
+girl wearing a ball gown.
+
+As Puma led Palla through the corridor from partition to partition,
+disclosing each set with its own scene and people--the whole studio
+full of blatant noise and ghastly faces or painted ones, Palla thought
+she had never before beheld such a concentration of every type of
+commonness in her entire existence. Faces, shapes, voices, language,
+all were essentially the properties of congenital vulgarity. The
+language, too, had to be sharply rebuked by Puma once or twice amid
+the wrangling of director, camera man and petty subordinates.
+
+"So intense are the emotions evoked by a fanatic devotion to art," he
+explained to Palla, "that, at moments, the old, direct and vigorous
+Anglo-Saxon tongue is heard here, unashamed. What will you? It is art!
+It is the fervour that forgets itself in blind devotion--in rapturous
+self-dedication to the god of Truth and Beauty!"
+
+As she turned away, she heard from a neighbouring partition the hoarse
+expostulations of one of Art's blind acolytes: "Say, f'r Christ's
+sake, Delmour, what the hell's loose in your bean! Yeh done it wrong
+an' yeh know damn well yeh done it wrong----"
+
+Puma opened another door: "One of our projection rooms, Miss Dumont.
+If it is your pleasure to see a few reels run off----"
+
+"Thank you, but I really must go----"
+
+The office door stood open and she went out that way. Mr. Puma
+confronted her, moistly brilliant of eye:
+
+"For me, Miss Dumont, I am frank like there never was a child in arms!
+Yes. I am all art; all heart. For me, beauty is God!--" he kissed his
+fat fingers and wafted the caress toward the dirty ceiling.
+
+"Please excuse," he said with his powerful smile, "but have you ever,
+perhaps, thought, Miss Dumont, of the screen as a career?"
+
+"I?" asked Palla, surprised and amused. "No, Mr. Puma, I haven't."
+
+"A test! Possibly, in you, latent, sleeps the exquisite apotheosis of
+Art incarnate! Who can tell? You have youth, beauty, a mind! Yes. Who
+knows if, also, happily, genius slumbers within? Yes?"
+
+"I'm very sure it doesn't," replied Palla, laughing.
+
+"Ah! Who can be sure of anything--even of heaven!" cried Puma.
+
+"Very true," said Palla, trying to speak seriously, "But the career of
+a moving picture actress does not attract me."
+
+"The emoluments are enormous!"
+
+"Thank you, no----"
+
+"A test! We try! It would be amusing for you to see yourself upon the
+screen as you are, Miss Dumont? As you _are_--young, beautiful,
+vivacious----"
+
+He still blocked her way, so she said, laying her gloved hand on the
+knob:
+
+"Thank you very much. Some day, perhaps. But I really must go----"
+
+He immediately bowed, opened the glass door, and went with her to the
+brick arch.
+
+"I do not think you know," he said, "that I have entered partnership
+with a friend of yours?"
+
+"A friend of mine?"
+
+"Mr. Elmer Skidder."
+
+"Oh," she exclaimed, smilingly, "I hope the partnership will be a
+fortunate one. Will you kindly inform Mr. Skidder of my congratulations
+and best wishes for his prosperity? And you may say that I shall be
+glad to hear from him about his new enterprise."
+
+To Mr. Puma's elaborate leave-taking she vouchsafed a quick, amused
+nod, then hurried away eastward to keep her appointment at the
+Canteen.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+About five o'clock she experienced a healthy inclination for tea and
+wavered between the Plaza and home. Ilse and Marya were with her, but
+an indefinable something caused her to hesitate, and finally to let
+them go to the Plaza without her.
+
+What might be the reason of this sudden whim for an unpremeditated cup
+of tea at home she scarcely took the trouble to analyse. Yet, she was
+becoming conscious of a subtle and increasing exhilaration as she
+approached her house and mounted the steps.
+
+Suddenly, as she fitted the latch-key, her heart leaped and she knew
+why she had come home.
+
+For a moment her fast pulse almost suffocated her. Was she mad to
+return here on the wildest chance that Jim might have come--might be
+inside, waiting? And what in the world made her suppose so?--for she
+had neither seen him nor heard from him in many days.
+
+"I'm certainly a little crazy," she thought as she opened the door. At
+the same moment her eyes fell on his overcoat and hat and stick.
+
+Her skirt was rather tight, but her limbs were supple and her feet
+light, and she ran upstairs to the living room.
+
+As he rose from an armchair she flung her arms out with a joyous
+little cry and wrapped them tightly around his neck, muff, reticule
+and all.
+
+"You darling," he was saying over and over in a happy but rather
+stupid voice, and crushing her narrow hands between his; "--you
+adorable child, you wonderful girl----"
+
+"Oh, I'm so glad, Jim! Shall we have tea?... You dear fellow! I'm so
+very happy that you came! Wait a moment--" she leaned wide from him
+and touched an electric bell. "Now you'll have to behave properly,"
+she said with delightful malice.
+
+He released her; she spoke to the maid and then went over with him to
+the sofa, flinging muff, stole and purse on a chair.
+
+"Pure premonition," she explained, stripping the gloves from her
+hands. "Ilse and Marya were all for the Plaza, but something sent me
+homeward! Isn't it really very strange, Jim? Why, I almost had an
+inclination to run when I turned into our street--not even knowing
+why, of course----"
+
+"You're so sweet and generous!" he blurted out. "Why don't you raise
+hell with me?"
+
+"You know," she said demurely, "I don't raise hell, dear."
+
+"But I've behaved so rottenly----"
+
+"It really wasn't friendly to neglect me so entirely."
+
+He looked down--laid one hand on hers in silence.
+
+"I understand, Jim," she said sweetly. "Is it all right now?"
+
+"It's all right.... Of course I haven't changed."
+
+"Oh."
+
+"But it's all right."
+
+"Really?"
+
+"Yes.... What is there for me to do but to accept things as they
+are?"
+
+"You mean, 'accept _me_ as I am!' Oh, Jim, it's so dear of you. And
+you know well enough that I care for no other man as I do for
+you----"
+
+The waitress with the tea-tray cut short that sort of conversation.
+Palla's appetite was a healthy one. She unpinned her hat and flung it
+on the piano. Then she nestled down sideways on the sofa, one leg
+tucked under the other knee, her hair in enough disorder to worry any
+other girl--and began to tuck away tea and cakes. Sometimes, in
+animated conversation, she gesticulated with a buttered bun--once she
+waved her cup to emphasise her point:
+
+"The main idea, of course, is to teach the eternal law of Love and
+Service," she explained. "But, Jim, I have become recently, and in a
+measure, militant."
+
+"You're going to love the unwashed with a club?"
+
+"You very impudent boy! We're going to combat this new and terrible
+menace--this sinister flood that threatens the world--the crimson tide
+of anarchy!"
+
+"Good work, darling! I enlist for a machine gun uni----"
+
+"Listen! The battle is to be entirely verbal. Our Combat Club No. 1,
+the first to be established--is open to anybody and everybody. All are
+at liberty to enter into the discussions. We who believe in the Law of
+Love and Service shall have our say every evening that the club is
+open----"
+
+"The Reds may come and take a crack at you."
+
+"The Reds are welcome. We wish to face them across the rostrum, not
+across a barricade!"
+
+"Well, you dear girl, I can't see how any Red is going to resist you.
+And if any does, I'll knock his bally block off----"
+
+"Oh, Jim, you're so vernacularly inclined! And you're very flippant,
+too----"
+
+"I'm not really," he said in a lower voice. "Whatever you care about
+could not fail to appeal to me."
+
+She gave him a quick, sweet glance, then searched the tea-tray to
+reward him.
+
+As she gave him another triangle of cinnamon toast, she remembered
+something else. It was on the tip of her tongue, now; and she checked
+herself.
+
+_He_ had not spoken of it. Had his mother mentioned meeting her at the
+Red Cross? If not--was it merely a natural forgetfulness on his
+mother's part? Was her silence significant?
+
+Nibbling pensively at her cinnamon toast, Palla pondered this. But the
+girl's mind worked too directly for concealment to come easy.
+
+"I'm wondering," she said, "whether your mother mentioned our meeting
+at the Red Cross." And she knew immediately by his expression that he
+heard it for the first time.
+
+"I was introduced at our headquarters by Leila Vance," said Palla, in
+her even voice; "and your mother and she are acquaintances. That is
+how it happened, Jim."
+
+He was still somewhat flushed but he forced a smile: "Did you find my
+mother agreeable, Palla?"
+
+"Yes. And she is so beautiful with her young face and pretty white
+hair. She always sits between Leila and me while we sew."
+
+"Did you say you knew me?"
+
+"Yes, of course."
+
+"Of course," he repeated, reddening again.
+
+No man ever has successfully divined any motive which any woman
+desires to conceal.
+
+Why his mother had not spoken of Palla to him he did not know. He was
+aware, of course, that nobody within the circle into which he had been
+born would tolerate Palla's social convictions. Had she casually and
+candidly revealed a few of them to his mother in the course of the
+morning's conversation over their sewing?
+
+He gave Palla a quick look, encountered her slightly amused eyes, and
+turned redder than ever.
+
+"You dear boy," she said, smiling, "I don't think your very charming
+mother would be interested in knowing me. The informality of
+ultra-modern people could not appeal to her generation."
+
+"Did you--talk to her about----"
+
+"No. But it might happen. You know, Jim, I have nothing to conceal."
+
+The old troubled look had come back into his face. She noticed it and
+led the conversation to lighter themes.
+
+"We danced last night after dinner," she said. "There were some
+amusing people here for dinner. Then we went to see such a charming
+play--_Tea for Three_--and then we had supper at the Biltmore and
+danced.... Will you dine with me to-morrow?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Do you think you'd enjoy it?--a lot of people who entertain the same
+shocking beliefs that I do?"
+
+"All right!" he said with emphasis. "I'm through playing the rôle of
+death's-head at the feast. I told you that I'm going to take you as
+you are and enjoy you and our friends--and quit making an ass of
+myself----"
+
+"Dear, you never did!"
+
+"Oh, yes, I did. And maybe I'm a predestined ass. But every ass has a
+pair of heels and I'm going to flourish mine very gaily from now on!"
+
+She protested laughingly at his self-characterisation, and bent toward
+him a little, caressing his sleeve in appeal, or shaking it in
+protest as he denounced himself and promised to take the world more
+gaily in the future.
+
+"You'll see," he remarked, rising to take his leave: "I may even call
+the bluff of some of your fluffy ultra-modern friends and try a few
+trial marriages with each of 'em----"
+
+"Oh, Jim, you're absolutely horrid! As if my friends believed in such
+disgusting ideas!"
+
+"They do--some of 'em."
+
+"They don't!"
+
+"Well, then, I do!" he announced so gravely that she had to look at
+him closely in the rather dim lamplight to see whether he was
+jesting.
+
+She walked to the top of the staircase with him; let him take her into
+his arms; submitted to his kiss. Always a little confused by his
+demonstrations, nevertheless her hand retained his for a second
+longer, as though shyly reluctant to let him go.
+
+"I am so glad you came," she said. "Don't neglect me any more."
+
+And so he went his way.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+His mother discovered him in the library, dressed for dinner.
+Something, as he rose--his manner of looking at her, perhaps--warned
+her that they were not perfectly _en rapport_. Then the subtle,
+invisible antennæ, exploring caressingly what is so palpable in the
+heart of man, told her that once more she was to deal with the girl in
+black.
+
+When his mother was seated, he said: "I didn't know you had met Palla
+Dumont, mother."
+
+Helen hesitated: "Mrs. Vance's friend? Oh, yes; she comes to the Red
+Cross with Leila Vance."
+
+"Do you like her?"
+
+In her son's eyes she was aware of that subtle and unconscious appeal
+which all mothers of boys are, some day, fated to see and understand.
+
+Sometimes the appeal is disguised, sometimes it is so subtle that only
+mothers are able to perceive it.
+
+But what to do about it is the perennial problem. For between lack of
+sympathy and response there are many nuances; and opposition is always
+to be avoided.
+
+Helen said, pleasantly, that the girl appeared to be amiable and
+interesting.
+
+"I know her merely in that way," she continued. "We sit there sewing
+slings, pads, compresses, and bandages, and we gossip at random with
+our neighbours."
+
+"I like her very much," said Jim.
+
+"She does seem to be an attractive girl," said his mother carelessly....
+"Are you going to Yama Farms for the week end?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Oh, I'm sorry. The Speedwells' party is likely to be such a jolly
+affair, and I hear there's lots of snow up there."
+
+"I haven't met Mrs. Vance," said her son. "Is she nice?"
+
+"Leila Vance? Why, of course."
+
+"Who is she?"
+
+"She married an embassy attaché, Captain Vance. He was in the old
+army--killed at Mons four years ago."
+
+"She and Palla are intimate?"
+
+"I believe they are good friends," remarked his mother, deciding not
+to attempt to turn the current of conversation for the moment.
+
+"Mother?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"I am quite sure I never met a girl I like as well."
+
+Helen laughed: "That is a trifle extravagant, isn't it?"
+
+"No.... I asked her to marry me."
+
+Helen's heart stood still, then a bright flush stained her face.
+
+"She refused me," said the boy.
+
+His mother said very quietly: "Of course this is news to us, Jim."
+
+"Yes, I didn't tell you. I couldn't, somehow. But I've told you now."
+
+"Dearest," she said, dropping her hand over his, "don't think me
+unsympathetic if I say that it really is better that she refused
+you."
+
+"I understand, mother."
+
+"I hope you do."
+
+"Oh, yes. But I don't think you do. Because I am still in love with
+her."
+
+"You poor dear!"
+
+"It's rotten luck, isn't it?"
+
+"Time heals--" She checked herself, turned and kissed him.
+
+"After all," she said, "a soldier learns how to take things."
+
+And presently: "I do wish you'd go up to Yama Farms."
+
+"That," he said, "would be the obvious thing to do. Anything to keep
+going and keep your mind ticking away until you're safely wound up
+again.... But I'm not going, dear."
+
+Helen looked at him in silence, not wondering what he might be going
+to do with his week-end instead, because she already guessed.
+
+Before she said anything more his father came in; and a moment later
+dinner was announced.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jim slept soundly for the first night in a long time. His mother
+scarcely closed her eyes at all.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+There had been a row at the Red Flag Club--a matter of differing
+opinions between members--nothing sufficient to attract the police,
+but enough to break several heads, benches and windows. And it was
+evident that some gentleman's damaged nose had bled all over the
+linoleum in the lobby.
+
+Elmer Skidder, arriving at the studio next morning in his brand new
+limousine, heard about the shindy and went into the club to inspect
+the wreckage. Then, mad all through, he started out to find Puma. But
+a Sister Art had got the best of Angelo Puma in a questionable cabaret
+the night before, and he had not yet arrived at the studio of the
+Super-Picture Corporation.
+
+Skidder, thrifty by every instinct, and now smarting under his wrongs
+at the hands--and feet--of the Red Flag Club, went away in his
+gorgeous limousine to find Sondheim, who paid the rental and who lived
+in the Bronx.
+
+It was a long way; every mile and every gallon of gasoline made
+Skidder madder; and when at length he arrived at the brand new,
+jerry-built apartment house inhabited by Max Sondheim, he had
+concluded that the Red Flag Club was an undesirable tenant and that it
+must be summarily kicked out.
+
+Sondheim was still in bed, but a short-haired and pallid young woman,
+with assorted spots on her complexion, bade Skidder enter, and opened
+the chamber door for him.
+
+The bedroom, which smelled of sour fish, was very cold, very dirty,
+and very blue with cigar smoke. The remains of a delicatessen
+breakfast stood on a table near the only window, which was tightly
+shut, and under the sill of which a radiator emitted explosive
+symptoms of steam to come.
+
+Sondheim sprawled under the bed-covers, smoking; two other men sat on
+the edge of the bed--Karl Kastner and Nathan Bromberg. Both were
+smoking porcelain pipes. Three slopping quarts of beer decorated the
+wash stand.
+
+Skidder, who had halted in the doorway as the full aroma of the place
+smote him, now entered at the curt suggestion of Sondheim, but refused
+a chair.
+
+"Say, Sondheim," he began, "I been to the club this morning, and I've
+seen what you've done to the place."
+
+"Well?" demanded Sondheim, in a growling voice, "what haf we done?"
+
+"Oh, nothing;--smashed the furniture f'r instance. That's all. But it
+don't go with me. See?"
+
+Kastner got up and gave him a sinister, near-sighted look: "If ve done
+damach ve pay," he remarked.
+
+"Sure you'll pay!" blustered Skidder. "And that's all right, too. But
+no more for yours truly. I'm through. Here's where your bunch quits
+the hall for keeps. Get me?"
+
+"Please?" inquired Kastner, turning a brick red.
+
+"I say I'm through!" blustered Skidder. "You gotta get other quarters.
+It don't pay us to keep on buying benches and mending windows, even if
+you cough up for 'em. It don't pay us to rent the hall to your club
+and get all this here notoriety, what with your red flags and the
+_po_-lice hanging around and nosin' into everything----"
+
+"Ach wass!" snapped Kastner, "of vat are you speaking? Iss it for you
+to concern yourself mit our club und vat iss it ve do?"
+
+"Say, who d'yeh think you're talkin' to?" retorted Skidder, his eyes
+snapping furiously. "Grab this from me, old scout?--I'm half owner of
+that hall and I'm telling you to get out! Is that plain?"
+
+"So?" Kastner sneered at him and nudged Sondheim, who immediately sat
+up in bed and levelled an unwashed hand at Skidder.
+
+"You think you fire us?" he shouted, his eyes inflamed and his dirty
+fingers crisping to a talon. "You go home and tell Puma what you say
+to us. Then you learn something maybe, what you don't know already!"
+
+"I'll learn _you_ something!" retorted Skidder. "Just wait till I show
+Puma the wreckage----"
+
+"Let him look at it and be damned!" roared Bromberg. "Go home and show
+it to him! And see if he talks about firing us!"
+
+"Say," demanded Skidder, astonished, "do you fellows think you got any
+drag with Angy Puma?"
+
+"Go back and ask him!" growled Bromberg. "And don't try to come around
+here and get fresh again. Listen! You go buy what benches you say we
+broke and send the bill to me, and keep your mouth shut and mind your
+fool business!"
+
+"I'll mind my own and yours too!" screamed Skidder, seized by an
+ungovernable access of fury. "Say, you poor nut!--you sick mink!--you
+stale hunk of cheese!--if you come down my way again I'll kick your
+shirttail for you! Get that?" And he slammed the door and strode out
+in a flaming rage.
+
+But when, still furiously excited, he arrived once more at the
+office,--and when Puma, who had just entered, had listened in sullen
+consternation to his story, he received another amazing and most
+unpleasant shock. For Puma told him flatly that the tenancy of the Red
+Flag Club suited him; that no lease could be broken, except by mutual
+consent of partners; and that he, Skidder, had had no business to go
+to Sondheim with any such threat of eviction unless he had first
+consulted his partner's wishes.
+
+"Well, what--what--" stammered Skidder--"what the hell drag have those
+guys got with you?"
+
+"Why is it you talk foolish?" retorted Puma sharply. "Drag? Did
+Sondheim say----"
+
+"No! _I_ say it. I ask you what have those crazy nuts got on you that
+you stand for all this rumpus?"
+
+Puma's lustrous eyes, battered but still magnificent, fixed themselves
+on Skidder.
+
+"Go out," he said briefly to his stenographer. Then, when the girl had
+gone, and the glass door closed behind her, he turned heavily and
+gazed at Skidder some more. And, after a few moments' silence: "Go
+on," he said. "What did Sondheim say about me?"
+
+Skidder's small, shifty eyes were blinking furiously and his
+essentially suspicious mind was also operating at full speed. When he
+had calculated what to say he took the chance, and said:
+
+"Sondheim gave me to understand that he's got such a hell of a pull
+with you that I can't kick him out of my property. What do you know
+about that, Angelo?"
+
+"Go on," said Puma impatiently, "what else did he say about me?"
+
+"Ain't I telling you?"
+
+"Tell more."
+
+Skidder had no more to tell, so he manufactured more.
+
+"Well," he continued craftily, "I didn't exactly get what that kike
+said." But his grin and his manner gave his words the lie, as he
+intended they should. "Something about your being in dutch--" He
+checked himself as Puma's black eyes lighted with a momentary glare.
+
+"What? He tells you I am in with Germans!"
+
+"Naw;--in dutch!"
+
+Puma's sanguinary skin reddened; his puffy fingers fished for a cigar
+in the pocket of his fancy waistcoat; he found one and lighted it, not
+looking at his partner. Then he picked up the morning paper.
+
+Skidder shrugged; stood up, pretending to yawn; started to open the
+door.
+
+"Elmer?"
+
+"Yeh? What y'want?"
+
+"I want to know exactly what Max Sondheim said to you about me."
+
+"Well, you better go ask Sondheim."
+
+"No. I ask you--my friend--my associate in business----"
+
+"A fine associate!--when I can't kick in when I want to kick out a
+bunch of nuts that's wrecking the hall, just because they got a drag
+with you----"
+
+"Listen. I am frank like there never was a----"
+
+"Sure. Go on!"
+
+"I say it! Yes! I am frank like hell. From my friend and partner I
+conceal nothing----"
+
+"Not even the books," grinned Skidder.
+
+"Elmer. You pain me. I who am all heart! Elmer, I ask it of you if you
+will so kindly tell me what it is that Sondheim has said to you about
+this 'drag.'"
+
+"He said," replied the other viciously, "that he had you cinched. He
+said you'd hand me the ha-ha when I saw you. And you've done it."
+
+"Pardon. I did not say to you a ha-ha, Elmer. I was surprised when you
+have told me how you have gone to Sondheim so roughly, without one
+word to me----"
+
+"You was soused to the gills last night. I didn't know when you'd show
+up at the studio----"
+
+"It was not just to me that you go to Sondheim in this so surprising
+manner, without informing me." He looked at his cigar; the wrapper was
+broken and he licked the place with a fat tongue. "Elmer?"
+
+"That's me," replied the other, who had been slyly watching him. "Spit
+it out, Angy. What's on your mind?"
+
+"I tell you, Elmer!"
+
+Puma's face became suddenly wreathed in guileless smiles: "Me, I am
+frank like there never--but no matter," he added; "listen attentively
+to what I shall say to you secretly, that I also desire to be rid of
+this Red Flag Club."
+
+"Well, then----"
+
+"A moment! I am embarrass. Yes. You ask why? I shall tell you. It is
+this. Formerly I have reside in Mexico. My business has been in Mexico
+City. I have there a little cinema theatre. In 1913 I arrive in New
+York. You ask me why I came? And I am frank like--" his full smile
+burst on Skidder--"like a heaven angel! But it is God's truth I came
+here to make of the cinema a monument to Art."
+
+"And make your little pile too, eh, Angy?"
+
+"As you please. But this I affirm to you, Elmer; of politics I am
+innocent like there never was a cherubim! Yes! And yet your Government
+has question me. Why? you ask so naturally. My God! I know no one in
+New York. I arrive. I repair to a recommended hotel. I make
+acquaintance--unhappily--with people who are under a suspicion of
+German sympathy!"
+
+"What the devil did you do that for?" demanded Skidder.
+
+Puma spread his jewelled fingers helplessly.
+
+"How am I to know? I encounter people. I seek capital for my art. Me,
+I am all heart: I suspect nobody. I say: 'Gentlemen, my art is my
+life. Without it I cease to exist. I desire capital; I desire
+sympathy; I desire intelligent recognition and practical aid.' Yes. In
+time some gentlemen evince confidence. I am offered funds. I produce,
+with joy, my first picture. Ha! The success is extravagant!
+But--alas!"
+
+"What tripped you?"
+
+"Alas," repeated Puma, "your Government arrests some gentlemen who
+have lend to me much funds. Why? Imagine my grief, my mortification!
+They are suspect of German propaganda! Oh, my God!"
+
+"How is it they didn't pinch _you_?" asked Skidder coldly, and
+beginning to feel very uneasy.
+
+"Me? No! They investigate. They discover only Art!"
+
+Skidder squinted at him nervously. If he had heard anything of that
+sort in connection with Puma he never would have flirted with him
+financially.
+
+"Well, then, what's this drag they got with you?--Sondheim and the
+other nuts?"
+
+"I tell you. Letters quite innocent but polite they have in
+possession----"
+
+"Blackmail, by heck!"
+
+"I must be considerate of Sondheim."
+
+"Or he'll squeal on you. Is that it?"
+
+Puma's black eyes were flaring up again; the heavy colour stained his
+face.
+
+"Me, I am----"
+
+"All right. Sondheim's got something on you, then. Has he?"
+
+"It is nothing. Yet, it has embarrass me----"
+
+"That ratty kike! I get you, Angy. You were played. Or maybe you did
+some playing too. Aw! wait!"--as Puma protested--"I'm getting you, by
+gobs. Sure. And you're rich, now, and business is pretty good, and you
+wish Sondheim would let you alone."
+
+"Yes, surely."
+
+"How much hush-cash d'yeh pay him?"
+
+"I?"
+
+"Yaas, you! Come on, now, Angy. What does he stick you up for per
+month?"
+
+Puma's face became empurpled: "He is a scoundrel," he said thickly.
+"Me--I wish to God and Jesus Christ I saw the last of him!" He got up,
+and his step was lithe as a leopard's as he paced the room, ranging
+the four walls as though caged. And, for the first time, then Skidder
+realised that this velvet-eyed, velvet-footed man might possibly be
+rather dangerous--dangerous to antagonise, dangerous to be associated
+with in business.
+
+"Say," he blurted out, "what else did you let me in for when I put my
+money into your business? Think I'm going to be held up by any game
+like that? Think I'm going to stand for any shake-down from that
+gang? Watch me."
+
+Puma stopped and looked at him stealthily: "What is it you would do,
+Elmer?"
+
+But Skidder offered no suggestion. He remained, however, extremely
+uneasy. For it was plain enough that Puma had been involved in
+dealings sufficiently suspicious to warrant Government surveillance.
+
+All Skidder's money and real estate were now invested in Super-Pictures.
+No wonder he was anxious. No wonder Puma, also, seemed worried.
+
+For, whatever he might have done in the past of a shady nature, now he
+had become prosperous and financially respectable and, if let alone,
+would doubtless continue to make a great deal of money for Skidder as
+well as for himself. And Skidder, profoundly troubled, wondered
+whether his partner had ever been guiltily involved in German
+propaganda, and had escaped Government detection only to fall a
+victim, in his dawning prosperity, to blackmailing associates of
+earlier days.
+
+"That mutt Sondheim looks like a bad one to me, and the other
+guy--Kastner," he observed gloomily.
+
+"It is better that we should not offend them."
+
+"Just as you say, brother."
+
+"I say it. Yes. We shall be wise to turn to them a pleasing face."
+
+"Sure. The best thing to do for a while is to stall along," nodded
+Skidder, "--but always be ready for a chance to hand it to them.
+That's safest; wait till we get the goods on them. Then slam it to 'em
+plenty!"
+
+"If they annoy me too much," purred Puma, displaying every dazzling
+tooth, "it may not be so agreeable for them. I am bad man to
+crowd.... Meanwhile----"
+
+"Sure; we'll stall along, Angy!"
+
+They opened the glass door and went out into the studio. And Puma
+began again on his favourite theme, the acquiring of Broadway property
+and the erection of a cinema theatre. And Skidder, with his limited
+imagination of a cross-roads storekeeper, listened cautiously, yet
+always conscious of agreeable thrills whenever the subject was
+mentioned.
+
+And, although he knew that capital was shy and that conditions were
+not favourable, his thoughts always reverted to a man he might be
+willing to go into such a scheme with--the president of the Shadow
+Hill Trust Company, Alonzo Pawling.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+At that very moment, too, it chanced that Mr. Pawling's business had
+brought him to New York--in fact, his business was partly with Palla
+Dumont, and they were now lunching together at the Ritz.
+
+Alonzo Pawling stood well over six feet. He still had all his
+hair--which was dyed black--and also an inky pair of old-fashioned
+side whiskers. For the beauty of his remaining features less could be
+said, because his eyes were a melancholy and faded blue, his nose very
+large and red, and his small, loose mouth seemed inclined to sag, as
+though saturated with moisture.
+
+Many years a widower he had, when convenient opportunity presented
+itself, never failed to offer marriage to Palla Dumont. And when, as
+always, she refused him in her frank, amused fashion, they returned
+without embarrassment to their amiable footing of many years--she as
+child of his old friend and neighbour, Judge Dumont, he as her
+financial adviser, and banker.
+
+As usual, Mr. Pawling had offered Palla his large, knotty hand in
+wedlock that morning. And now that this inevitable preliminary was
+safely over, they were approaching the end of a business luncheon on
+entirely amiable terms with each other.
+
+Financial questions had been argued, investments decided upon, news of
+the town discussed, and Palla was now telling him about Elmer Skidder
+and his new and apparently prosperous venture into moving pictures.
+
+"He came to see me last evening," she said, smiling at the recollection,
+"and he arrived in a handsome limousine with an extra man on the
+front--oh, very gorgeous, Mr. Pawling!--and we had tea and he told me
+how prosperous he had become in the moving picture business."
+
+"I guess," said Mr. Pawling, "that there's a lot of money in moving
+pictures. But nobody ever seems to get any of it except the officials
+of the corporation and their favourite stars."
+
+"It seems to be an exceedingly unattractive business," said Palla,
+recollecting her unpleasant impressions at the Super-Picture studios.
+
+"The right end of it," said Mr. Pawling, "is to own a big theatre."
+
+She smiled: "You wouldn't advise me to make such an investment, would
+you?"
+
+Mr. Pawling's watery eyes rested on her reflectively and he sucked in
+his lower lips as though trying to extract the omnipresent moisture.
+
+"I dunno," he said absently.
+
+"Mr. Skidder told me that he would double his invested capital in a
+year," she said.
+
+"I guess he was bragging."
+
+"Perhaps," she rejoined, laughing, "but I should not care to make such
+an investment."
+
+"Did he ask you?"
+
+"No. But it seemed to me that he hinted at something of that nature.
+And I was not at all interested because I am contented with my little
+investments and my income as it is. I don't really need much money."
+
+Mr. Pawling's pendulous lip, released, sagged wetly and his jet-black
+eyebrows were lifted in a surprised arch.
+
+"You're the first person I ever heard say they had enough money," he
+remarked.
+
+"But I have!" she insisted gaily.
+
+Mr. Pawling's sad horse-face regarded her with faded surprise. He
+passed for a rich man in Shadow Hill.
+
+"Where is Elmer's place of business?" he inquired finally, producing a
+worn note-book and a gold pencil. And he wrote down the address.
+
+There was in all the world only one thing that seriously worried Mr.
+Pawling, and that was this worn note-book. Almost every day of his
+life he concluded to burn it. He lived in a vague and daily fear that
+it might be found on him if he died suddenly. Such things could
+happen--automobile or railroad accidents--any one of numberless
+mischances.
+
+And still he carried it, and had carried it for years--always in a
+sort of terror while the recent Mrs. Pawling was still alive--and in
+dull but perpetual anxiety ever since.
+
+There were in it pages devoted to figures. There were, also, memoranda
+of stock transactions. There were many addresses, too, mostly
+feminine.
+
+Now he replaced it in the breast pocket of his frock-coat, and took
+out a large wallet strapped with a rubber band.
+
+While he was paying the check, Palla drew on her gloves; and, at the
+Madison Avenue door, stood chatting with him a moment longer before
+leaving for the canteen.
+
+Then, smilingly declining his taxi and offering her slender hand in
+adieu, she went westward on foot as usual. And Mr. Pawling's
+directions to the chauffeur were whispered ones as though he did not
+care to have the world at large share in his knowledge of his own
+occult destination.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Palla's duty at the canteen lasted until six o'clock that afternoon,
+and she hurried on her way home because people were dining there at
+seven-thirty.
+
+With the happy recollection that Jim, also, was dining with her, she
+ran lightly up the steps and into the house; examined the flowers
+which stood in jars of water in the pantry, called for vases, arranged
+a centre-piece for the table, and carried other clusters of blossoms
+into the little drawing-room, and others still upstairs.
+
+Then she returned to criticise the table and arrange the name-cards.
+And, this accomplished, she ran upstairs again to her own room, where
+her maid was waiting.
+
+Two or three times in a year--not oftener--Palla yielded to a rare
+inclination which assailed her only when unusually excited and happy.
+That inclination was to whistle.
+
+She whistled, now, while preparing for the bath; whistled like a
+blackbird as she stood before the pier-glass before the maid hooked
+her into a filmy, rosy evening gown--her first touch of colour since
+assuming mourning.
+
+The bell rang, and the waitress brought an elaborate florist's box.
+There were pink orchids in it and Jim's card;--perfection.
+
+How could he have known! She wondered rapturously, realising all the
+while that they'd have gone quite as well with her usual black.
+
+Would he come early? She had forgotten to ask it. Would he? For, in
+that event--and considering his inclination to take her into his
+arms--she decided to leave off the orchids until the more strenuous
+rites of friendship had been accomplished.
+
+She was carrying the orchids and the long pin attached, in her left
+hand, when the sound of the doorbell filled her with abrupt and
+delightful premonitions. She ventured a glance over the banisters,
+then returned hastily to the living room, where he discovered her and
+did exactly what she had feared.
+
+Her left hand, full of orchids, rested on his shoulder; her cool,
+fresh lips rested on his. Then she retreated, inviting inspection of
+the rosy dinner gown; and fastened her orchids while he was admiring
+it.
+
+Her guests began to arrive before either was quite ready, so engrossed
+were they in happy gossip. And Palla looked up in blank surprise that
+almost amounted to vexation when the bell announced that their
+tête-à-tête was ended.
+
+Shotwell had met the majority of Palla's dinner guests. Seated on her
+right, he received from his hostess information concerning some of
+those he did not know.
+
+"That rather talkative boy with red hair is Larry Rideout," she said
+in a low voice. "He edits a weekly called _The Coming Race_. The Post
+Office authorities have refused to pass it through the mails. It's
+rather advanced, you know."
+
+"Who is the girl on his right--the one with the chalky map?"
+
+"Questa Terrett. Don't you think her pallor is fascinating?"
+
+"No. What particular stunt does she perform?"
+
+"Don't be flippant. She writes."
+
+"Ads?"
+
+"Jim! She writes poems. Haven't you seen any of them?"
+
+"I don't think so."
+
+"They're rather modern poems. The lines don't rhyme and there's no
+metrical form," explained Palla.
+
+"Are they any good?"
+
+"They're a little difficult to understand. She leaves out so many
+verbs and nouns----"
+
+"I know. It's a part of her disease----"
+
+"Jim, please be careful. She is taken seriously----"
+
+"Taken seriously ill? There, dear, I won't guy your guests. What an
+absolutely deathly face she has!"
+
+"She is considered beautiful."
+
+"She has the profile of an Egyptian. She's as dead-white as an
+Egyptian leper----"
+
+"Hush!"
+
+"Hush it is, sweetness! Who's the good-looking chap over by Ilse?"
+
+"Stanley Wardner."
+
+"And his star trick?"
+
+"He's a secessionist sculptor."
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"He is one of the ultra-modern men who has seceded from the Society
+of American Sculptors to form, with a few others, a new group."
+
+"Is he any good?"
+
+"Well, Jim, I don't know," she said candidly. "I don't think I am
+quite in sympathy with his work."
+
+"What sort is it?"
+
+"If I understand him, he is what is termed, I believe, a concentrationist.
+For instance, in a nude figure which he is exhibiting in his studio, it's
+all a rough block of marble except, in the middle of the upper part,
+there is a nose."
+
+"A nose!"
+
+"Really, it is beautifully sculptured," insisted Palla.
+
+"But--good heavens!--isn't there any other anatomical feature to that
+block of marble?"
+
+"I explained that he is a concentrationist. His school believes in
+concentrating on a single feature only, and in rendering that feature
+as minutely and perfectly as possible."
+
+Jim said: "He looks as sane as a broker, too. You never can tell, can
+you, sweetness?"
+
+He glanced at several other people whose features were not familiar,
+but Palla's explanations of her friends had slightly discouraged him
+and he made no further inquiries.
+
+Vanya Tchernov was there, dreamy and sweet-mannered; Estridge sat by
+Ilse, looking a trifle careworn, as though hospital work were taking
+it out of him. Marya Lanois was there, too, with her slightly slanting
+green eyes and her tiger-red hair--attracting from him a curious sort
+of stealthy admiration, inexplicable to him because he knew he was so
+entirely in love with Palla.
+
+A woman of forty sat on his right--he promptly forgot her name each
+time he heard it--who ate fastidiously and chose birth-control as the
+subject for conversation. And he dodged it in vain, for her
+conversation had become a monologue, and he sat fiddling with his
+food, very red, while the silky voice, so agreeable in pitch and
+intonation, slid smoothly on.
+
+Afterward Palla explained that she was a celebrated sociologist, but
+Jim remained shy of her.
+
+Other people came in after dinner. Vanya seated himself at the piano
+and played from one of his unpublished scores. Ilse sang two
+Scandinavian songs in her fresh, wholesome, melodious voice--the song
+called _Ygdrasil_, and the _Song of Thokk_. Wardner had brought a
+violin, and he and Vanya accompanied Marya's Asiatic songs, but with
+some difficulty on the sculptor's part, as modern instruments are
+scarcely adapted to the sort of Russian music she chose to sing.
+
+Marya had a way, when singing, which appeared almost insolent. Seated,
+or carelessly erect, her supple figure fell into lines of indolently
+provocative grace; and the warm, golden notes welling from her throat
+seemed to be flung broadcast and indifferently to her listeners, as
+alms are often flung, without interest, toward abstract poverty and
+not to the poor breathing thing at one's elbow.
+
+She sang, in her preoccupied way, one of her savage, pentatonic songs,
+more Mongol than Cossack; then she sang an impudent _burlatskiya_
+lazily defiant of her listeners; then a so-called "dancing song," in
+which there was little restraint in word or air.
+
+The subtly infernal enchantment of girl and music was felt by everybody;
+but several among the illuminati and the fair ultra-modernettes had
+now reached their limit of breadth and tolerance, and were becoming
+bored and self-conscious, when abruptly Marya's figure straightened
+to a lovely severity, her mouth opened sweetly as a cherub's, and,
+looking up like a little, ruddy bird, she sang one of the ancient
+_Kolyadki_, Vanya alone understanding as his long, thin fingers
+wandered instinctively into an improvised accompaniment:
+
+                                   I
+
+                     "Young tears
+                     Your fears disguise;
+                     He is not coming!
+                     Sweet lips
+                     Let slip no sighs;
+                     Cease, heart, your drumming!
+                     He is not coming,
+                                   [A]_Lada!_
+                     He is not coming.
+                     _Lada oy Lada!_
+
+                     "Gaze not in wonder,--
+                     Yonder no rider comes;
+                     Hark how the kettle-drums
+                     Mock his hoofs' thunder;
+                     Hark to their thudding,
+                     Pretty breasts budding,--
+                     Setting the Buddhist bells
+                     Clanking and banging,--
+                     Wheels at the hidden wells
+                     Clinking and clanging!
+                     (_Lada oy Lada!_)
+                     Plough the flower under;
+                     Tear it asunder!
+
+                     "Young eyes
+                     In swift surprise,
+                     What terror veils you?
+                     Clear eyes,
+                     Who gallops here?
+                     What wolf assails you?
+                     What horseman hails you,
+                                     _Lada!_
+                     What pleasure pales you?
+                     _Lada oy Lada!_
+
+                     "Knight who rides boldly,
+                     May Erlik impale you,--
+                     Your mother bewail you,
+                     If you use her coldly!
+                     Health to the wedding!
+                     Joy to the bedding!
+                     Set all the Christian bells
+                     Swinging and ringing--
+                     Monks in their stony cells
+                     Chanting and singing
+                     (_Lada oy Lada!_)
+                     Bud of the rose,
+                     Gently unclose!"
+
+Marya, her gemmed fingers bracketed on her hips, the last sensuous
+note still afloat on her lips, turned her head so that her rounded
+chin rested on her bare shoulder; and looked at Shotwell. He rose,
+applauding with the others, and found a chair for her.
+
+But when she seated herself, she addressed Ilse on the other side of
+him, leaning so near that he felt the warmth of her hair.
+
+"Who was it wrestled with Loki? Was it Hel, goddess of death? Or was
+it Thor who wrestled with that toothless hag, Thokk?"
+
+Ilse explained.
+
+The conversation became general, vaguely accompanied by Vanya's
+drifting improvisations, where he still sat at the piano, his lost
+gaze on Marya.
+
+Bits of the chatter around him came vaguely to Shotwell--the
+birth-control lady's placid inclination toward obstetrics; Wardner on
+concentration, with Palla listening, bending forward, brown eyes wide
+and curious and snowy hands framing her face; Ilse partly turned where
+she was seated, alert, flushed, half smiling at what John Estridge,
+behind her shoulder, was saying to her,--some improvised nonsense, of
+which Jim caught a fragment:
+
+                   "If he who dwells in Midgard
+                   With cunning can not floor her,
+                   What hope that Mistress Westgard
+                   Will melt if I implore her?
+
+                   "And yet I've come to Asgard,
+                   And hope I shall not bore her
+                   If I tell Mistress Westgard
+                   How deeply I adore her----"
+
+Through the hum of conversation and capricious laughter, Vanya's vague
+music drifted like wind-blown thistle-down, and his absent regard
+never left Marya, where she rested among the cushions in low-voiced
+dialogue with Jim.
+
+"I had hoped," she smiled, "that you had perhaps remembered me--enough
+to stop for a word or two some day at tea-time."
+
+He had had no intention of going; but he said that he had meant to and
+would surely do so,--the while she was leisurely recognising the lie
+as it politely uncoiled.
+
+"Why won't you come?" she asked under her breath.
+
+"I shall certainly----"
+
+"No; you won't come." She seemed amused: "Tell me, are you too a
+concentrationist?" And her beryl-green eyes barely flickered toward
+Palla. Then she smiled and laid her hand lightly on her breast: "I, on
+the contrary, am a Diffusionist. It's merely a matter of how God
+grinds the lens. But prisms colour one's dull white life so gaily!"
+
+"And split it up," he said, smiling.
+
+"And disintegrate it," she nodded, "--so exquisitely."
+
+"Into rainbows."
+
+"You do not believe that there is hidden gold there?" And, looking at
+him, she let one hand rest lightly against her hair.
+
+"Yes. I believe it," he said, laughing at her enchanting effrontery.
+"But, Marya, when the rainbow goes a-glimmering, the same old grey
+world is there again. It's always there----"
+
+"Awaiting another rainbow!"
+
+"But storms come first."
+
+"Is another rainbow not worth the storm?"
+
+"Is it?" he demanded.
+
+"Shall we try?" she asked carelessly.
+
+He did not answer. But presently he looked across at Vanya.
+
+"Who is there who would not love him?" said Marya serenely.
+
+"I was wondering."
+
+"No need. All love Vanya. I, also."
+
+"I thought so."
+
+"Think so. For it is quite true.... Will you come to tea alone with me
+some afternoon?"
+
+He looked at her; reddened. Marya turned her head leisurely, to hear
+what Palla was saying to her. At the sound of her voice, Jim turned
+also, and saw Palla bending near his shoulder.
+
+"I'm sorry," she was saying to Marya, "but Questa Terrett desires to
+know Jim----"
+
+"Is it any wonder," said Marya, "that women should desire to know
+him? Alas!--" She laughed and turned to Ilse, who seated herself as
+Jim stood up.
+
+Palla, her finger-tips resting lightly on his arm, said laughingly:
+"Our youthful and tawny enchantress seemed unusually busy with you
+this evening. Has she turned you into anything very disturbing?"
+
+"Would you care?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Enough to come to earth and interfere?"
+
+"Good heavens, has it gone as far as that!" she whispered in gay
+consternation. "And could I really arrive in time, though breathless?"
+
+He laughed: "You don't need to stir from your niche, sweetness. I
+swept your altar once. I'll keep the fire clean."
+
+"You adorable thing--" He felt the faintest pressure of her fingers;
+then he heard himself being presented to Questa Terrett.
+
+The frail and somewhat mortuary beauty of this slim poetess, with her
+full-lipped profile of an Egyptian temple-girl and her pale, still
+eyes, left him guessing--rather guiltily--recollecting his recent but
+meaningless disrespect.
+
+"I don't know," she said, "just why you are here. Soldiers are no
+novelty. Is somebody in love with you?"
+
+It was a toss-up whether he'd wither or laugh, but the demon of gaiety
+won out.
+
+She also smiled.
+
+"I asked you," she added, "because you seem to be quite featureless."
+
+"Oh, I've a few eyes and noses and that sort----"
+
+"I mean psychologically accentless."
+
+"Just plain man?"
+
+"Yes. That is all you are, isn't it?"
+
+"I'm afraid it is," he admitted, quite as much amused as she appeared
+to be.
+
+"I see. Some crazy girl here is enamoured of you. Otherwise, you
+scarcely belong among modern intellectuals, you know."
+
+At that he laughed outright.
+
+She said: "You really are delightful. You're just a plain, fighting
+male, aren't you?"
+
+"Well, I haven't done much fighting----"
+
+"Unimaginative, too! You could have led yourself to believe you had
+done a lot," she pointed out. "And maybe you could have interested
+me."
+
+"I'm sorry. But suppose you try to interest _me_?"
+
+"Don't I? I've tried."
+
+"Do your best," he encouraged her cheerfully. "You never can be sure
+I'm not listening."
+
+At that she laughed: "You nice youth," she said, "if you'd talk that
+way to your sweetheart she'd sit up and listen.... Which I'm afraid
+she doesn't, so far."
+
+He felt himself flushing, but he refused to wince under her amused
+analysis.
+
+"You've simply got to have imagination, you know," she insisted.
+"Otherwise, you don't get anywhere at all. Have you read my smears?"
+
+"Smears?"
+
+"Bacteriologists take a smear of something on a glass slide and slip
+it under a microscope. My poems are like that. The words are the
+bacteria. Few can identify them."
+
+"Are you serious?"
+
+"Entirely."
+
+He maintained his gravity: "Would you be kind enough to take a smear
+and let me look?" he inquired politely.
+
+"Certainly: the experiment is called 'Unpremeditation.'"
+
+She dropped one thin and silken knee over the other and crossed her
+hands on it as she recited her poem.
+
+                           "UNPREMEDITATION."
+
+                     "In the tube.
+                     Several,
+                     With intonation.
+                     Red, red, red.
+                     A square fabric
+                     Once white
+                     With intention.
+                     Soiled, soiled, soiled.
+                     Six hundred hundred million
+                     Swarm like vermin,
+                     Without intention.
+                     Redder. Redder.
+                     Drip, drip, drip.
+                     A goes west,
+                     B goes east,
+                     C goes north,
+                     Pink, pink, pink.
+                     Two white squares.
+                     And a coat-sleeve.
+                     Without intention,
+                     Intonations.
+                     Pinker. Redder.
+                     Six hundred hundred million.
+                     Billions. Trillions.
+                     A week. Two weeks.
+                     Otherwise?
+                     Eternity."
+
+Jim's features had become a trifle glassy. "You do skip a few words,"
+he said, "don't you?"
+
+"Words are animalculæ. Some skip, some gyrate, some sub-divide."
+
+He put a brave face on the matter: "If you're not really guying me,"
+he ventured, "would you tell me a little about your poem?"
+
+"Why, yes," she replied amiably. "To put it redundantly, then, I have
+sketched in my poem a man in the subway, with influenza, which infects
+others in his vicinity."
+
+She rose, smiled, and sauntered off, leaving him utterly unable to
+determine whether or not he had been outrageously imposed upon. Palla
+rescued him, and he went with her, a little wild-eyed, downstairs to
+the nearly empty and carpetless drawing-room, where a music box was
+playing and people were already dancing.
+
+Toward midnight, Marya, passing Jim on her way to the front door,
+leaned wide from Vanya's arm:
+
+"Let us at least discuss my rainbow theory," she said, laughing, and
+her face a shade too close to his; and continued on, still clinging to
+the sleeve of Vanya's fur-lined coat.
+
+Ilse was the last to leave, with Estridge waiting behind her to hold
+her wrap.
+
+She came up to Palla, took both her hands in an odd, subdued, wistful
+way.
+
+After a moment she kissed her, and, close to her ear: "Wait,
+darling."
+
+Palla did not understand.
+
+Ilse said: "I mean--wait before you ever take any step to--to prove
+any theory--or belief."
+
+Still Palla did not comprehend.
+
+"With--Jim," said Ilse in a low voice.
+
+"Oh. Why, of course. But--it could never happen."
+
+"Why?"
+
+Palla said honestly: "One reason is because he wouldn't anyway."
+
+"You must not be certain."
+
+"I am. I'm absolutely certain."
+
+Ilse gazed at her, then laughed and pressed her hand. "Are you cold?"
+asked Palla.
+
+"No."
+
+"I thought I felt you shiver, dearest."
+
+Ilse flushed and held out her arms for the sleeves of her fur coat,
+which Estridge was holding.
+
+They went away together, leaving Palla alone with Shotwell, among the
+fading flowers.
+
+  [A] The ancient Slavonic Venus.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+"So," said Puma, "you are quite convinced he has much wealth. Yes?"
+
+"You betcha," replied Elmer Skidder. "That pious guy has got all kinds
+of it. Why, Alonzo D. Pawling can buy you and me like we were two
+subway tickets and then forget which pocket he put us in."
+
+"He also is a sport? Yes?"
+
+"On the quiet. Oh, I got his number some years ago. Ran into him once
+in New York, where you used to knock three times and ring twice before
+they slid the panel on you."
+
+"A bank president?"
+
+"Did you ever know one that didn't?" grinned Skidder, inserting pearl
+studs in his shirt.
+
+"It is very bad--for a shake-down," mused Puma, smoothing his glossy
+top hat with one of Skidder's silk mufflers.
+
+"Aw, you can't scare Alonzo D. Pawling. Say, Angy, what dames have you
+commandeered?"
+
+"I ask Barclay and West. Also, they got another--Vanna Brown."
+
+"Pictures?"
+
+"No, she has a friend."
+
+Skidder continued to attire himself in an over-braided evening dress;
+Puma, seated behind him, gazed absently at his partner's features
+reflected in the looking glass.
+
+"A theatre on Broadway," he mused. "You say he has seemed interested,
+Elmer?"
+
+"He didn't run away screaming."
+
+"How did he behave?"
+
+"Well, it's hard to size up Alonzo D. Pawling. He's a fly guy, Angy.
+What a man says at a little supper for four, with a peach pulling his
+Depews and a good looker sticking gardenias in his buttonhole, ain't
+what he's likely to say next day in your office."
+
+"You have accompany him to Broadway and you have shown him the
+parcel?"
+
+"I sure did."
+
+"You explain how we can not lose out? You mention the option?"
+
+Skidder cast aside his white tie and tried another, constructed on the
+butterfly plan.
+
+"I put the whole thing up to him," he said. "No use stalling with
+Alonzo D. Pawling. I know him too well. So I let out straight from the
+shoulder, and he knows the scheme we've got in mind and he knows we
+want his money in it. That's how it stands to-night."
+
+Puma nodded and softly joined his over-manicured finger-tips:
+
+"We give him a good time," he said. "We give him a little dinner like
+there never was in New York. Yes?"
+
+"You betcha."
+
+"Barclay is a devil. You think she please him?"
+
+"Alonzo D. Pawling is some bird himself," remarked Skidder, picking up
+his hat and turning to Puma, who rose with lithe briskness, put on his
+hat, and began to pull at his white gloves.
+
+They went down to the street, where Puma's car was waiting.
+
+"I stop at the office a moment," he said, as they entered the
+limousine. "You need not get out, Elmer."
+
+At the studio he descended, saying to Skidder that he'd be back in a
+moment.
+
+But it was very evident when he entered his office that he had not
+expected to find Max Sondheim there; and he hesitated on the
+threshold, his white-gloved hand still on the door-knob.
+
+"Come in, Puma; I want to see you," growled Sondheim, retaining his
+seat but pocketing _The Call_, which he had been reading.
+
+"To-morrow," said Puma coolly; "I have no time----"
+
+"No, _now_!" interrupted Sondheim.
+
+They eyed each other for a moment in silence, then Puma shrugged:
+
+"Very well," he said. "But be quick, if you please----"
+
+"Look here," interrupted the other in a menacing voice, "you're
+getting too damned independent, telling me to be quick! I had a date
+with you here at five o'clock. You thought you wouldn't keep it and
+you left at four-thirty. But I stuck around till you 'phoned in that
+you'd stop here to get some money. It's seven o'clock now, and I've
+waited for you. And I guess you've got enough time to hear what I'm
+going to say."
+
+Puma looked at him without any expression at all on his sanguine
+features. "Go on," he said.
+
+"What I got to say to you is this," began Sondheim. "There's a kind of
+a club that uses our hall on off nights. It's run by women."
+
+Puma waited.
+
+"They meet this evening at eight in our hall,--your hall, if you
+choose."
+
+Puma nodded carelessly.
+
+"All right. Put them out."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Put 'em out!" growled Sondheim. "We don't want them there to-night or
+any other night."
+
+"You ask me to evict respectable people who pay me rent?"
+
+"I don't ask you; I _tell_ you."
+
+Puma turned a deep red: "And whose hall do you think it is?" he
+demanded in a silky voice.
+
+"Yours. That's why I tell you to get rid of that bunch and their
+Combat Club."
+
+"Why have you ask me such a----"
+
+"Because they're fighting us and you know it. That's a good enough
+reason."
+
+"I shall not do so," said Puma, moistening his lips with his tongue.
+
+"Oh, I guess you will when you think it over," sneered Sondheim,
+getting up from his chair and stuffing his newspaper into his overcoat
+pocket. He crossed the floor and shot an ugly glance at Puma _en
+passant_. Then he jerked open the door and went out briskly.
+
+Puma walked into the inner waiting room, where a telephone operator
+sat reading a book.
+
+"Where's McCabe?" he asked.
+
+"Here he comes now, Governor."
+
+The office manager sauntered up, eating a slice of apple pie, and Puma
+stepped forward to meet him.
+
+"For what reason have you permit Mr. Sondheim to wait in my office?"
+he demanded.
+
+"He said you told him to go in and wait there."
+
+"He is a liar! Hereafter he shall wait out here. You understand,
+McCabe?"
+
+"Yes, sir. You're always out when he calls, ain't you?"
+
+Puma meditated a few moments: "No. When he calls you shall let me
+know. Then I decide. But he shall not wait in my office."
+
+"Very good, sir." And, as Puma turned to go: "The police was here
+again this evening, sir."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"They heard of the row in the hall last night."
+
+"What did you tell them?"
+
+"Oh, the muss was all swept up--windows fixed and the busted benches
+in the furnace, so I said there had been no row as far as I knew, and
+I let 'em go in and nose around."
+
+"Next time," said Puma, "you shall say to them that there was a very
+bad riot."
+
+"Sir?"
+
+"A big fight," continued Puma. "And if there is only a little damage
+you shall make more. And you shall show it to the police."
+
+"I get you, Governor. I'll stage it right; don't worry."
+
+"Yes, you shall stage it like there never was in all of France any
+ruins like my hall! And afterward," he said, half to himself, "we
+shall see what we shall see."
+
+He went back to his office, took a packet of hundred dollar bills from
+the safe, and walked slowly out to where the limousine awaited him.
+
+"Say, what the hell--" began Skidder impatiently; but Puma leaped
+lightly to his seat and pulled the fur robe over his knees.
+
+"Now," he said, in excellent humour, "we pick up Mr. Pawling at the
+Astor."
+
+"Where are the ladies?"
+
+"They join us, Hotel Rajah. It will be, I trust, an amusing evening."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+About midnight, dinner merged noisily into supper in the private
+dining room reserved by Mr. Puma for himself and guests at the new
+Hotel Rajah.
+
+There had been intermittent dancing during the dinner, but now the
+negro jazz specialists had been dismissed with emoluments, and a
+music-box substituted; and supper promised to become even a more
+lively repetition of the earlier banquet.
+
+Puma was superb--a large, heavy man, he danced as lightly as any
+ballerina; and he and Tessa Barclay did a Paraguayan dance together,
+with a leisurely and agile perfection of execution that elicited
+uproarious demonstrations from the others.
+
+Not a whit winded, Puma resumed his seat at table, laughing as Mr.
+Pawling insisted on shaking hands with him.
+
+"You are far too kind to my poor accomplishments," he said in
+deprecation. "It was not at all difficult, that Paraguayan dance."
+
+"It was art!" insisted Mr. Pawling, his watery eyes brimming with
+emotion. And he pressed the pretty waist of Tessa Barclay.
+
+"Art," rejoined Puma, laying a jewelled hand on his shirt-front, "is
+an ecstatic outburst from within, like the song of the bird. Art is
+simple; art is not difficult. Where effort begins, art ends. Where
+self-expression becomes a labour, art already has perished!"
+
+He thumped his shirt-front with an impassioned and highly-coloured
+fist.
+
+"What is art?" he cried, "if it be not pleasure? And pleasure ceases
+where effort begins. For me, I am all heart, all art, like there never
+was in all the history of the Renaissance. As expresses itself the
+little innocent bird in song, so in my pictures I express myself. It
+is no effort. It is in me. It is born. Behold! Art has given birth to
+Beauty!"
+
+"And the result," added Skidder, "is a _ne plus ultra par excellence_
+which gathers in the popular coin every time. And say, if we had a
+Broadway theatre to run our stuff, and Angelo Puma to soopervise the
+combine--oh boy!--" He smote Mr. Pawling upon his bony back and dug
+him in the ribs with his thumb.
+
+Mr. Pawling's mouth sagged and his melancholy eyes shifted around him
+from Tessa Barclay--who was now attempting to balance a bon-bon on her
+nose and catch it between her lips--to Vanna Brown, teaching Miss West
+to turn cart-wheels on one hand.
+
+Evidently Art had its consolations; and the single track genius who
+lived for art alone got a bonus, too. Also, what General Sherman once
+said about Art seemed to be only too obvious.
+
+A detail, however, worried Mr. Pawling. Financially, he had always
+been afraid of Jews. And the nose of Angelo Puma made him uneasy every
+time he looked at it.
+
+But an inch is a mile on a man's nose; and his own was bigger, yet
+entirely Yankee; so he had about concluded that there was no racial
+occasion for financial alarm.
+
+What he should have known was that no Jew can compete with a
+Connecticut Yankee; but that any half-cast Armenian is master of both.
+Especially when born in Mexico of a Levantine father.
+
+Now, in spite of Angelo Puma's agile gaiety and exotic exuberances,
+his brain remained entirely occupied with two matters. One of these
+concerned the possibility of interesting Mr. Pawling in a plot of
+ground on Broadway, now defaced by several taxpayers.
+
+The other matter which fitfully preoccupied him was his unpleasant and
+unintentional interview with Sondheim.
+
+For it had come to a point, now, that the perpetual bullying of former
+associates was worrying Mr. Puma a great deal in his steadily
+increasing prosperity.
+
+The war was over. Besides, long ago he had prudently broken both his
+pledged word and his dangerous connections in Mexico, and had started
+what he believed to be a safe and legitimate career in New York,
+entirely free from perilous affiliations.
+
+Government had investigated his activities; Government had found
+nothing for which to order his internment as an enemy alien.
+
+It had been a close call. Puma realised that. But he had also realised
+that there was no law in Mexico ten miles outside of Mexico City;--no
+longer any German power there, either;--when he severed all
+connections with those who had sent him into the United States
+camouflaged as a cinema promoter, and under instruction to do all the
+damage he could to everything American.
+
+But he had not counted on renewing his acquaintance with Karl Kastner
+and Max Sondheim in New York. Nor did they reveal themselves to him
+until he had become too prosperous to denounce them and risk
+investigation and internment under the counter-accusations with which
+they coolly threatened him.
+
+So, from the early days of his prosperity in New York, it had been
+necessary for him to come to an agreement with Sondheim and Kastner.
+And the more his prosperity increased the less he dared to resent
+their petty tyranny and blackmail, because, whether or not they might
+suffer under his public accusations, it was very certain that
+internment, if not imprisonment for a term of years, would be the fate
+reserved for himself. And that, of course, meant ruin.
+
+So, although Puma ate and drank and danced with apparent abandon, and
+flashed his dazzling smile over everybody and everything, his mind,
+when not occupied by Alonzo D. Pawling, was bothered by surmises
+concerning Sondheim. And also, at intervals, he thought of Palla
+Dumont and the Combat Club, and he wondered uneasily whether
+Sondheim's agents had attempted to make any trouble at the meeting in
+his hall that evening.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+There had been some trouble. The meeting being a public one, under
+municipal permission, Kastner had sent a number of his Bolshevik
+followers there, instructed to make what mischief they could. They
+were recruited from all sects of the Reds, including the American
+Bolsheviki, known commonly as the I. W. W. Also, among them were
+scattered a few pacifists, hun-sympathisers, conscientious objectors
+and other birds of analogous plumage, quite ready for interruptions
+and debate.
+
+Palla presided, always a trifle frightened to find herself facing any
+audience, but ashamed to avoid the delegated responsibility.
+
+Among others on the platform around her were Ilse and Marya and Questa
+Terrett and the birth-control lady--Miss Thane--neat and placid and
+precise as usual, and wearing long-distance spectacles for a more
+minute inspection of the audience.
+
+Palla opened the proceedings in a voice which was clear, and always
+became steadier under heckling.
+
+Her favourite proposition--the Law of Love and Service--she offered
+with such winning candour that the interruption of derisive laughter,
+prepared by several of Kastner's friends, was postponed; and Terry
+Hogan, I. W. W., said to Jerry Smith, I. W. W.:
+
+"God love her, she's but a baby. Lave her chatter."
+
+However, a conscientious objector got up and asked her whether she
+considered that the American army abroad had conformed to her Law of
+Love and Service, and when she answered emphatically that every
+soldier in the United States army was fulfilling to the highest degree
+his obligations to that law, both pacifists and conscientious
+objectors dissented noisily, and a student from Columbia College got
+up and began to harangue the audience.
+
+Order was finally obtained: Palla added a word or two and retired; and
+Ilse Westgard came forward.
+
+Somebody in the audience called out: "Say, just because you're a
+good-looker it don't mean you got a brain!"
+
+Ilse threw back her golden head and her healthy laughter rang
+uncontrolled.
+
+"Comrade," she said, "we all have to do the best we can with what
+brain we have, don't we?"
+
+"Sure!" came from her grinning heckler, who seemed quite won over by
+her good humour.
+
+So, an armistice established, Ilse plunged vigorously into her theme:
+
+"Let me tell you something which you all know in your hearts: any
+class revolution based on violence and terrorism is doomed to
+failure."
+
+"Don't be too sure of that!" shouted a man.
+
+"I am sure of it. And you will never see any reign of terror in
+America."
+
+"But you may see Bolshevism here--Bolshevist propaganda--Bolshevist
+ideas penetrating. You may see these ideas accepted by Labor. You may
+see strikes--the most senseless and obsolete weapon ever wielded by
+thinking men; you may see panics, tie-ups, stagnation, misery. But you
+never shall see Bolshevism triumphant here, or permanently triumphant
+anywhere.
+
+"Because Bolshevism is autocracy!"
+
+"The hell it is!" yelled an I. W. W.
+
+"Yes," said Ilse cheerfully, "as you have said it is hell. And hell is
+an end, not a means, not a remedy.
+
+"Because it is the negation of all socialism; the death of civilisation.
+And civilisation has an immortal destiny; and that destiny is
+socialism!"
+
+A man interrupted, but she asked him so sweetly for a few moments more
+that he reseated himself.
+
+"Comrades," she said, "I know something about Bolshevism and
+revolution. I was a soldier of Russia. I carried a rifle and full
+pack. I was part of what is history. And I learned to be tolerant in
+the trenches; and I learned to love this unhappy human race of ours.
+And I learned what is Bolshevism.
+
+"It is one of many protests against the exploitation of men by men. It
+is one of the many reactions against intolerable wrong. It is not a
+policy; it is an outburst against injustice; against the stupidity of
+present conditions, where the few monopolise the wealth created by the
+many; and the many remain poor.
+
+"And Bolshevism is the remedy proposed--the violent superimposition
+of a brand new autocracy upon the ruins of the old!
+
+"It does not work. It never can work, because it imposes the will of
+one class upon all other classes. It excludes all parties excepting
+its own from government. It is, therefore, not democratic. It is a
+tyranny, imposing upon capital and labour alike its will.
+
+"And I tell you that Labour has just won the greatest of all wars. Do
+you suppose Labour will endure the autocracy of the Bolsheviki? The
+time is here when a more decent division is going to be made between
+the employer and the labourer.
+
+"I don't care what sort of production it may be, the producer is going
+to receive a much larger share; the employer a much smaller. And the
+producer is going to enjoy a better standard of living, opportunities
+for leisure and self-cultivation; and the three spectres that haunt
+him from childhood to grave--lack of money to make a beginning; fear
+for a family left on its own resources by his death; terror of poverty
+in old age--shall vanish.
+
+"Against these three evil ghosts that haunt his bedside when the long
+day is done, there are going to be guarantees. Because those who won
+for us this righteous war, whether abroad or at home, are going to
+have something to say about it.
+
+"And it will be they, not the Bolsheviki--it will be labourer and
+employer, not incendiary and assassin, who shall determine what is to
+be the policy of this Republic toward those to whom it owes its
+salvation!"
+
+A man stood up waving his arms: "All right! All right! The question is
+whether the sort of government we have is worth saving. You talk very
+flip about the Bolsheviki, but I'll tell you they'll run this country
+yet, and every other too, and run 'em to suit themselves! It's our
+turn; you've had your inning. Now, you'll get a dose of what you hand
+to us if we have to ram it down with a gun barrel!"
+
+There was wild cheering from Kastner's men scattered about the hall;
+cries of "That's the stuff! Take away their dough! Kick 'em out of
+their Fifth Avenue castles and set 'em to digging subways!"
+
+Ilse said calmly: "Thank you very much for proving my contention for
+all these people who have been so kind as to listen to me.
+
+"I said to you that Bolshevism is merely a new and more immoral
+autocracy which wishes to confiscate all property, annihilate all
+culture and set up in the public places a new god--the god of
+Ignorance!
+
+"You have been good enough to corroborate me. And I and my audience
+now know that Bolshevism is on its way to America, and that its agents
+are already here.
+
+"It is in view of such a danger that this Combat Club has been
+organised. And it was time to organise it.
+
+"It is evident, too, that the newspapers agree with us. Let us read
+you what one of them has to say:
+
+  "'We fully realise the atrocity of the Bolshevik propaganda, which
+  is really the doctrine of communism and anarchy. We realise the
+  perilous ferment which endangers civilisation. But in the
+  countries which have held fast to moral standards during the war
+  we believe the factors of safety are sufficiently great, the
+  forces of sanity are far stronger than those of chaos----'"
+
+Here, those whose rôle it was to interrupt with derisive laughter,
+broke out at a preconcerted signal. But Ilse read on:
+
+  "'In a word, as a mere matter of self-interest and common sense,
+  we can only see the people, as a whole, in any country, as opposed
+  to anarchy in any form. In our own land, even granted that there
+  are a hundred thousand "red" agitators, or say a quarter of a
+  million--and we have no real belief that this is so--what are
+  these in a population of one hundred and five millions? Are the
+  ninety and nine sane, moral, law abiding men and women going to
+  allow themselves to be stampeded into ruin by a handful of
+  criminals and lunatics?
+
+  "'We do not for a moment believe it. These agitators and
+  incendiaries have a sort of maniacal impetus that fills the air
+  with dust and noise and alarms the credulous. Perhaps it may be
+  wise to counteract this with a little quiet promotion of ideas of
+  safety and prosperity, based on order and law. It may be well to
+  calm the nerves of the timorous and it can do no harm to set in
+  motion a counter wave of horror and repulsion against those who
+  are planning to lead the world back to conditions of tribal
+  savagery. Educational work is always beneficent. Let us have much
+  of that but no panic. The power of truth and reason is in calm
+  confidence.'"
+
+And now a bushy-headed man got on his feet and levelled his forefinger
+at Ilse: "Take shame for your-selluf!" he shouted. "I know you! You
+fought mit Korniloff! You took orders from Kerensky, from aristocrats,
+from cadets!"
+
+Ilse said pleasantly. "I fought for Russia, my friend. And when the
+robbers and despoilers of Russia became the stronger, I took a
+vacation."
+
+Some people laughed, but a harsh voice cried: "We know what you did.
+You rescued the friend of the Romanoffs--that Carmelite nun up there
+on the platform behind you, who calls herself Miss Dumont!"
+
+And from the other side of the hall another man bawled out: "You and
+the White Nun have done enough mischief. And you and your club had
+better get out of here while the going is good!"
+
+Estridge, who was standing in the rear of the hall with Shotwell, came
+down along the aisle. Jim followed.
+
+"Who said that?" he demanded, scanning the faces on that side while
+Shotwell looked among the seats beyond.
+
+Nobody said anything, for John Estridge stood over six feet and Jim
+looked physically very fit.
+
+Estridge, standing in the aisle, said in his cool, penetrating voice:
+
+"This club is a forum for discussion. All are free to argue any point.
+Only swine would threaten violence.
+
+"Now go on and argue. Say what you like. But the next man who
+threatens these ladies or this club with violence will have to leave
+the hall."
+
+"Who'll put him out?" piped an unidentified voice.
+
+Then the two young men laughed; and their mirth was not reassuring to
+the violently inclined.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+There were disturbances during the evening, but no violence, and only
+a few threats--those that made them remaining in prudent incognito.
+
+Miss Thane made a serene, precise and perfectly logical address upon
+birth control.
+
+Somebody yelled that the millionaires didn't have to resort to it,
+being already sufficiently sterile to assure the dwindling of their
+class.
+
+A woman rose and said she had always done what she pleased in the
+matter, law or no law, but that if it were true the Bolsheviki in
+America were but a quarter of a million to a hundred million of the
+bourgeoisie, then it was time to breed and breed to the limit.
+
+"And let the kids starve?" cried another woman--a mere girl. "That
+isn't the way. The way to do is to even things with a hundred million
+hand grenades!"
+
+Instantly the place was in an uproar; but Palla came forward and said
+that the meeting was over, and Estridge and Shotwell and two policemen
+kept the aisles fairly clear while the wrangling audience made their
+way to the street.
+
+"Aw, it's all lollipop!" said a man. "What d' yeh expect from a bunch
+of women?"
+
+"The Red Flag Club is better," rejoined another. "Say, bo! There's
+somethin' doin' when Sondheim hands it out!"
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ilse went away with Estridge. Palla came along among the other women,
+and turned aside to offer her hand to Jim.
+
+"Did you expect to take me home?" she asked demurely.
+
+"Didn't you expect me to?" he inquired uneasily.
+
+"I? Why should I?" She slipped her arm into his with a little nestling
+gesture. "And it's a very odd thing, Jim, that they left the chafing
+dish on the table. And that before she went to bed my waitress laid
+covers for two."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+"Are you worried about this Dumont girl?" asked Shotwell Senior
+abruptly.
+
+His wife did not look up from her book. After an interval:
+
+"Yes," she said, "I am."
+
+Her husband watched her over the top of his newspaper.
+
+"I can't believe there's anything in it," he said. "But it's a shame
+that Jim should worry you so."
+
+"He doesn't mean to."
+
+"Probably he doesn't, but what's the difference? You're unhappy and
+he's the reason of it. And it isn't as though he were a cub any
+longer, either. He's old enough to know what he's about. He's no Willy
+Baxter."
+
+"That is what makes me anxious," said Helen Shotwell. "Do you know,
+dear, that he hasn't dined here once this week, yet he seems to go
+nowhere else--nowhere except to her."
+
+"What sort of woman is she?" he demanded, wiping his eyeglasses as
+though preparing to take a long-distance look at Palla.
+
+"I know her only at the Red Cross."
+
+"Well, is she at all common?"
+
+"No.... That is why it is difficult for me to talk to Jim about her.
+There's nothing of that sort to criticise."
+
+"No social objections to the girl?"
+
+"None. She's an unusual girl."
+
+"Attractive?"
+
+"Unfortunately."
+
+"Well, then----"
+
+"Oh, James, I _want_ him to marry Elorn! And if he's going to make
+himself conspicuous over this Dumont girl, I don't think I can bear
+it!"
+
+"What _is_ the objection to the girl, Helen?" he asked, flinging his
+paper onto a table and drawing nearer the fire.
+
+"She isn't at all our kind, James----"
+
+"But you just said----"
+
+"I don't mean socially. And still, as far as that goes, she seems to
+care nothing whatever for position or social duties or obligations."
+
+"That's not so unusual in these days," he remarked. "Lots of nice
+girls are fed up on the social aspects of life."
+
+"Well, for example, she has not made the slightest effort to know
+anybody worth knowing. Janet Speedwell left cards and then asked her
+to dinner, and received an amiable regret for her pains. No girl can
+afford to decline invitations from Janet, even if her excuse is a club
+meeting.
+
+"And two or three other women at the Red Cross have asked her to lunch
+at the Colony Club, and have made advances to her on Leila Vance's
+account, but she hasn't responded. Now, you know a girl isn't going to
+get on by politely ignoring the advances of such women. But she
+doesn't even appear to be aware of their importance."
+
+"Why don't you ask her to something?" suggested her husband.
+
+"I did," she said, a little sharply. "I asked her and Leila Vance to
+dine with us. I intended to ask Elorn, too, and let Jim realise the
+difference if he isn't already too blind to see."
+
+"Did she decline?"
+
+"She did," said Helen curtly.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It happened that she had asked somebody to dine with her that
+evening. And I have a horrid suspicion it was Jim. If it was, she
+could have postponed it. Of course it was a valid excuse, but it
+annoyed me to have her decline. That's what I tell you, James, she has
+a most disturbing habit of declining overtures from everybody--even
+from----"
+
+Helen checked herself, looked at her husband with an odd smile, in
+which there was no mirth; then:
+
+"You probably are not aware of it, dear, but that girl has also
+declined Jim's overtures."
+
+"Jim's what?"
+
+"Invitation."
+
+"Invitation to do what?"
+
+"Marry him."
+
+Shotwell Senior turned very red.
+
+"The devil she did! How do you know?"
+
+"Jim told me."
+
+"That she turned him down?"
+
+"She declined to marry him."
+
+Her husband seemed unable to grasp such a fact. Never had it occurred
+to Shotwell Senior that any living, human girl could decline such an
+invitation from his only son.
+
+After a painful silence: "Well," he said in a perplexed and mortified
+voice, "she certainly seems to be, as you say, a most unusual girl....
+But--if it's settled--why do you continue to worry, Helen?"
+
+"Because Jim is very deeply in love with her.... And I'm sore at
+heart."
+
+"Hard hit, is he?"
+
+"Very unhappy."
+
+Shotwell Senior reddened again: "He'll have to face it," he said....
+"But that girl seems to be a fool!"
+
+"I--wonder."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"A girl may change her mind." She lifted her head and looked with sad
+humour at her husband, whom she also had kept dangling for a while.
+Then:
+
+"James, dear, our son _is_ as fine as we think him. But he's just a
+splendid, wholesome, everyday, unimaginative New York business man.
+And he's fallen in love with his absolute antithesis. Because this
+girl is all ardent imagination, full of extravagant impulses, very
+lovely to look at, but a perfectly illogical fanatic!
+
+"Mrs. Vance has told me all about her. She really belongs in some
+exotic romance, not in New York. She's entirely irresponsible,
+perfectly unstable. There is in her a generous sort of recklessness
+which is quite likely to drive her headlong into any extreme. And what
+sort of mate would such a girl be for a young man whose ambition is to
+make good in the real estate business, marry a nice girl, have a
+pleasant home and agreeable children, and otherwise conform to the
+ordinary conventions of civilisation?"
+
+"I think," remarked her husband grimly, "that she'd keep him
+guessing."
+
+"She would indeed! And that's not all, James. For I've got to tell you
+that the girl entertains some rather weird and dreadful socialistic
+notions. She talks socialism--a mild variety--from public platforms.
+She admits very frankly that she entertains no respect for accepted
+conventions. And while I have no reason to doubt her purity of mind
+and personal chastity, the unpleasant and startling fact remains that
+she proposes that humanity should dispense with the marriage ceremony
+and discard it and any orthodox religion as obsolete superstitions."
+
+Her husband stared at her.
+
+"For heaven's sake," he began, then got frightfully red in the face
+once more. "What that girl needs is a plain spanking!" he said
+bluntly. "I'd like to see her or any other girl try to come into this
+family on any such ridiculous terms!"
+
+"She doesn't seem to want to come in on any terms," said Helen.
+
+"Then what are you worrying about?"
+
+"I am worrying about what might happen if she ever changed her mind."
+
+"But you say she doesn't believe in marriage!"
+
+"She doesn't."
+
+"Well, that boy of ours isn't crazy," insisted Shotwell Senior.
+
+But his mother remained silent in her deep misgiving concerning the
+sanity of the simpler sex, when mentally upset by love. For it seemed
+very difficult to understand what to do--if, indeed, there was
+anything for her to do in the matter.
+
+To express disapproval of Palla to Jim or to the girl herself--to show
+any opposition at all--would, she feared, merely defeat its own
+purpose and alienate her son's confidence.
+
+The situation was certainly a most disturbing one, though not at
+present perilous.
+
+And Helen would not permit herself to believe that it could ever
+really become an impossible situation--that this young girl would
+deliberately slap civilisation in the face; or that her only son would
+add a kick to the silly assault and take the ruinous consequences of
+social ostracism.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The young girl in question was at that moment seated before her piano,
+her charming head uplifted, singing in the silvery voice of an
+immaculate angel, to her own accompaniment, the heavenly Mass of Saint
+Hildé:
+
+                        "Love me,
+                      Adorable Mother!
+                        Mary,
+                      I worship no other.
+                        Save me,
+                      O, graciously save me
+                        I pray!
+                  Let my Darkness be turned into Day
+                  By the Light of Thy Grace
+                      And Thy Face,
+                        I pray!"
+
+She continued the exquisite refrain on the keys for a while, then
+slowly turned to the man beside her.
+
+"The one Mass I still love," she murmured absently, "--memories of
+childhood, I suppose--when the Sisters made me sing the solo--I was
+only ten years old." ... She shrugged her shoulders: "You know, in
+those days, I was a little devil," she said seriously.
+
+He smiled.
+
+"I really was, Jim,--all over everything and wild as a swallow. I led
+the pack; Shadow Hill held us in horror. I remember I fought our
+butcher's boy once--right in the middle of the street----"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"He did something to a cat which I couldn't stand."
+
+"Did you whip him?"
+
+"Oh, Jim, it was horrid. We both were dreadfully battered. And the
+constable caught us both, and I shall never, never forget my mother's
+face!----"
+
+She gazed down at the keys of the piano, touched them pensively.
+
+"The very deuce was in me," she sighed. "Even now, unless I'm occupied
+with all my might, something begins--to simmer in me----"
+
+She turned and looked at him: "--A sort of enchanted madness that
+makes me wild to seize the whole world and set it right!--take it into
+my arms and defend it--die for it--or slay it and end its pain."
+
+"Too much of an armful," he said with great gravity. "The thing to do
+is to select an individual and take _him_ to your heart."
+
+"And slay him?" she inquired gaily.
+
+"Certainly--like the feminine mantis--if you find you don't like him.
+Individual suitors must take their chances of being either eaten or
+adored."
+
+"Jim, you're so funny."
+
+She swung her stool, rested her elbow on the piano, and gazed at him
+interrogatively, the odd, half-smile edging her lips and eyes. And,
+after a little _duetto_ of silence:
+
+"Do you suppose I shall ever come to care for you--imprudently?" she
+asked.
+
+"I wouldn't let you."
+
+"How could you help it? And, as far as that goes, how could I, if it
+happened?"
+
+"If you ever come to care at all," he said, "you'll care enough."
+
+"That is the trouble with you," she retorted, "you don't care
+enough."
+
+A slight flush stained his cheek-bones: "Sometimes," he said, "I
+almost wish I cared less. And that would be what you call enough."
+
+Colour came into her face, too:
+
+"Do you know, Jim, I really don't know how much I do care for you? It
+sounds rather silly, doesn't it?"
+
+"Do you care more than you did at first?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Much more?"
+
+"I told you I don't know how much."
+
+"Not enough to marry me?"
+
+"Must we discuss that again?"
+
+He got up, went out to the hall, pulled a book from his overcoat
+pocket, and returned.
+
+"Would you care to hear what the greatest American says on the
+subject, Palla?"
+
+"On the subject of marriage?"
+
+"No; he takes the marriage for granted. It's what he has to say
+concerning the obligations involved."
+
+"Proceed, dear," she said, laughingly.
+
+He read, eliminating what was not necessary to make his point:
+
+"'A race is worthless and contemptible if its men cease to work hard
+and, at need, to fight hard; and if its women cease to breed freely.
+If the best classes do not reproduce themselves the nation will, of
+course, go down.
+
+"'When the ordinary decent man does not understand that to marry the
+woman he loves, as early as he can, is the most desirable of all
+goals; when the ordinary woman does not understand that all other
+forms of life are but makeshift substitutes for the life of the wife,
+the mother of healthy children; then the State is rotten at heart.
+
+"'The woman who shrinks from motherhood is as low a creature as a man
+of the professional pacifist, or poltroon, type, who shirks his duty
+as a soldier.
+
+"'The only full life for man or woman is led by those men and women
+who together, with hearts both gentle and valiant, face lives of love
+and duty, who see their children rise up to call them blessed, and who
+leave behind them their seed to inherit the earth.
+
+"'No celibate life approaches such a life in usefulness. The mother
+comes ahead of the nun.
+
+"'But if the average woman does not marry and become the mother of
+enough healthy children to permit the increase of the race; and if the
+average man does not marry in times of peace and do his full duty in
+war if need arises, then the race is decadent and should be swept
+aside to make room for a better one.
+
+"'Only that nation has a future whose sons and daughters recognise and
+obey the primary laws of their racial being!'"
+
+He closed the book and laid it on the piano.
+
+"Now," he said, "either we're really a rotten and decadent race, and
+might as well behave like one, or we're sound and sane."
+
+Something unusual in his voice--in the sudden grim whiteness of his
+face--disturbed Palla.
+
+"I want you to marry me," he said. "You care for no other man. And if
+you don't love me enough to do it, you'll learn to afterward."
+
+"Jim," she said gently, and now rather white herself, "that is an
+outrageous thing to say to me. Don't you realise it?"
+
+"I'm sorry. But I love you--I need you so that I'm fit for nothing else.
+I can't keep my mind on my work; I can't think of anybody--anything
+but you.... If you didn't care for me more or less I wouldn't come
+whining to you. I wouldn't come now until I'd entirely won your
+heart--except that--if I did--and if you refused me marriage and
+offered the other thing--I'd be about through with everything! And
+I'd know damned well that the nation wasn't worth the powder to blow
+it to hell if such women as you betray it!"
+
+The girl flushed furiously; but her voice seemed fairly under
+control.
+
+"Hadn't you better go, Jim, before you say anything more?"
+
+"Will you marry me?"
+
+"No."
+
+He stood up very straight, unstirring, for a long time, not looking at
+her.
+
+Then he said "good-bye," in a low voice, and went out leaving her
+quite pale again and rather badly scared.
+
+As the lower door closed, she sprang to the landing and called his
+name in a frightened voice that had no carrying power.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Later she telephoned to his several clubs. At eleven she called each
+club again; and finally telephoned to his house.
+
+At midnight he had not telephoned in reply to the messages she had
+left requesting him to call her.
+
+Her anxiety had changed to a vague bewilderment. Her dismayed
+resentment at what he had said to her was giving place to a strange
+and unaccustomed sense of loneliness.
+
+Suddenly an overwhelming desire to be with Ilse seized her, and she
+would have called a taxi and started immediately, except for the dread
+that Jim might telephone in her absence.
+
+Yet, she didn't know what it was that she wanted of him, except to
+protest at his attitude toward her. Such a protest was due them
+both--an appeal in behalf of the friendship which meant so much to
+her--which, she had abruptly discovered, meant far more to her than
+she supposed.
+
+At midnight she telephoned to Ilse. A sleepy maid replied that Miss
+Westgard had not yet returned.
+
+So Palla called a taxi, pinned on her hat and struggled into her fur
+coat, and, taking her latch-key, started for Ilse's apartment, feeling
+need of her in a blind sort of way--desiring to listen to her friendly
+voice, touch her, hear her clear, sane laughter.
+
+A yawning maid admitted her. Miss Westgard had dined out with Mr.
+Estridge, but had not yet returned.
+
+So Palla, wondering a little, laid aside her coat and went into the
+pretty living room.
+
+There were books and magazines enough, but after a while she gave up
+trying to read and sat staring absently at a photograph of Estridge in
+uniform, which stood on the table at her elbow.
+
+Across it was an inscription, dated only a few days back: "To Ilse
+from Jack, on the road to Asgard."
+
+Then, as she gazed at the man's handsome features, for the first time
+a vague sense of uneasiness invaded her.
+
+Of a gradually growing comradeship between these two she had been
+tranquilly aware. And yet, now, it surprised her to realise that their
+comradeship had drifted into intimacy.
+
+Lying back in her armchair, her thoughts hovered about these two; and
+she went back in her mind to recollect something of the beginning of
+this intimacy;--and remembered various little incidents which, at the
+time, seemed of no portent.
+
+And, reflecting, she recollected now what Ilse had said to her after
+the last party she had given--and which Palla had not understood.
+
+What had Ilse meant by asking her to "wait"? Wait for what?... Where
+was Ilse, now? Why did she remain out so late with John Estridge? It
+was after one o'clock.
+
+Of course they must be dancing somewhere or other. There were plenty
+of dances to go to.
+
+Palla stirred restlessly in her chair. Evidently Ilse had not told her
+maid that she meant to be out late, for the girl seemed to have
+expected her an hour ago.
+
+Palla's increasing restlessness finally drove her to the windows,
+where she pulled aside the shades and stood looking out into the
+silent night.
+
+The night was cold and clear and very still. Rarely a footfarer
+passed; seldom a car. And the stillness of the dark city increased her
+nervousness.
+
+New York has rare phases of uncanny silence, when, for a space, no
+sound disturbs the weird stillness.
+
+The clang of trains, the feathery whirr of motors, the echo of
+footsteps, the immense, indefinable breathing vibration of the iron
+monster, drowsing on its rock between three rivers and the sea, ceases
+utterly. And a vast stillness reigns, mournful, ominous, unutterably
+sad.
+
+Palla looked down into the empty street. The dark chill of it seemed
+to rise and touch her; and she shivered unconsciously and turned back
+into the lighted room.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was two o'clock. Her eyes were heavy, her heart heavier. Why should
+everything suddenly happen to her in that way? Where had Jim gone when
+he left her? And who was it answered the telephone at his house when
+she had called up and asked to speak to him? It was a woman's voice--a
+maid, no doubt--yet, for an instant, she had fancied that the voice
+resembled his mother's.
+
+But it couldn't have been, for Palla had given her name, and
+Mrs. Shotwell would have spoken to her--unless--perhaps his
+mother--disapproved of something--of her calling Jim at such an
+hour.... Or of something ... perhaps of their friendship ... of
+herself, perhaps----
+
+She heard the clock strike and looked across at the mantel.
+
+What was Ilse doing at half-past two in the morning? Where could she
+be?
+
+Palla involuntarily turned her head and looked at the photograph. Of
+course Ilse was safe with a man like John Estridge.... That is to say
+...
+
+Without warning, her face grew hot and the crimson tide mounted to the
+roots of her hair, dyeing throat and temples.
+
+A sort of stunning reaction followed as the tide ebbed; she found
+herself stupidly repeating the word "safe," as though to interpret
+what it meant.
+
+Safe? Yes, Ilse was safe. She knew how to take care of herself ...
+unless....
+
+Again the crimson tide invaded her skin to the temples.... A sudden
+and haunting fear came creeping after it had ebbed once more, leaving
+her gazing fixedly into space through the tumult of her thoughts. And
+always in dull, unmeaning repetition the word "safe" throbbed in her
+ears.
+
+Safe? Safe from what? From the creed they both professed? From their
+common belief? From the consequences of living up to it?
+
+At the thought, Palla sprang to her feet and stood quivering all over,
+both hands pressed to her throat, which was quivering too.
+
+Where was Ilse? What had happened? Had she suddenly come face to face
+with that creed of theirs--that shadowy creed which they believed in,
+perhaps because it seemed so unreal!--because the ordeal by fire
+seemed so vague, so far away in that ghostly bourne which is called
+the future, and which remains always so inconceivably distant to the
+young--star-distant, remote as inter-stellar dust--aloof as death.
+
+It was three o'clock. There were velvet-dark smears under Palla's
+eyes, little colour in her lips. The weight of fatigue lay heavily on
+her young shoulders; on her mind, too, partly stupefied by the
+violence of her emotions.
+
+Once she had risen heavily, had gone into the maid's room and had told
+her to go to bed, adding that she herself would wait for Miss
+Westgard.
+
+That, already, was nearly an hour ago, and the gilt hands of the clock
+were already creeping around the gilded dial toward the half hour.
+
+As it struck on the clear French bell, a key turned in the outside
+door; then the door closed; and Palla rose trembling from her chair as
+Ilse entered, her golden hair in lovely disorder, the evening cloak
+partly flung from her shoulders.
+
+There was a moment's utter silence. Then Ilse stepped swiftly forward
+and took Palla in her arms.
+
+"My darling! What has happened?" she asked. "Why are you here at this
+hour? You look dreadfully ill!----"
+
+Palla's head dropped on her breast.
+
+"What is it?" whispered Ilse. "Darling--darling--you did--you did
+wait--didn't you?"
+
+Palla's voice was scarcely audible: "I don't know what you mean.... I
+was only frightened about you.... I've been so unhappy.... And Jim
+said--good-bye--and I can't--find him----"
+
+"I want you to answer me! Are you in love with him?"
+
+"No.... I don't--think so----"
+
+Ilse drew a deep breath.
+
+"It's all right, then," she said.
+
+Then, suddenly, Palla seemed to understand what Ilse had meant when
+she had said, "Wait!"
+
+And she lifted her head and looked blindly into the sea-blue
+eyes--blindly, desperately, striving to see through those clear
+soul-windows what it might be that was looking out at her.
+
+And, gazing, she knew that she dared not ask Ilse where she had been.
+
+The latter smiled; but her voice was very tender when she spoke.
+
+"We'll telephone your maid in the morning. You must go to bed,
+Palla."
+
+"Alone?"
+
+Ilse turned carelessly and laid her cloak across a chair. There was a
+second chamber beyond her own. She went into it, turned down the bed
+and called Palla, who came slowly after her.
+
+They kissed each other in silence. Then Ilse went back to her own
+room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+"Jim," said his mother, "Miss Dumont called you on the telephone at an
+unusual hour last night. You had gone to your room, and on the chance
+that you were asleep I did not speak to you."
+
+That was all--sufficient explanation to discount any reproach from her
+son incident on his comparing notes with the girl in question. Also
+just enough in her action to convey to the girl a polite hint that the
+Shotwell family was not at home to people who telephoned at that
+unconventional hour.
+
+On his way to business that morning, Jim telephoned to Palla, but,
+learning she was not at home, let the matter rest.
+
+In his sullen and resentful mood he no longer cared--or thought he
+didn't, which resulted in the same thing--the accumulation of
+increasing bitterness during a dull, rainy working day at the office,
+and a dogged determination to keep clear of this woman until effort to
+remain away from her was no longer necessary.
+
+For the thing was utterly hopeless; he'd had enough. And in his
+bruised heart and outraged common sense he was boyishly framing an
+indictment of modern womanhood--lumping it all and cursing it
+out--swearing internally at the entire enfranchised pack which the war
+had set afoot and had licensed to swarm all over everything and raise
+hell with the ancient and established order of things.
+
+The stormy dark came early; and in this frame of mind when he left the
+office he sulkily avoided the club.
+
+He very rarely drank anything; but, not knowing what to do, he drifted
+into the Biltmore bar.
+
+He met a man or two he knew, but declined all suggestions for the
+evening, turned up his overcoat collar, and started through the hotel
+toward the northern exit.
+
+And met Marya Lanois face to face.
+
+She was coming from the tea-room with two or three other people, but
+turned immediately on seeing him and came toward him with hand
+extended.
+
+"Dear me," she said, "you look very wet. And you don't look
+particularly well. Have you arrived all alone for tea?"
+
+"I had my tea in the bar," he said. "How are you, Marya?--but I musn't
+detain you--" he glanced at the distant group of people who seemed to
+be awaiting her.
+
+"You are not detaining me," she said sweetly.
+
+"Your people seem to be waiting----"
+
+"They may go to the deuce. Are you quite alone?"
+
+"I--yes----"
+
+"Shall we have tea together?"
+
+He laughed. "But you've had yours----"
+
+"Well, you know there are other things that one sometimes drinks."
+
+There seemed no way out of it. They went into the tea-room together
+and seated themselves.
+
+"How is Vanya?" he inquired.
+
+"Vanya gives a concert to-night in Baltimore."
+
+"And you didn't go!"
+
+"No. It was rainy. Besides, I hear Vanya play when I desire to hear
+him."
+
+Their order was served.
+
+"So you wouldn't go to Baltimore," said Jim smilingly. "It strikes me,
+Marya, that you can be a coldblooded girl when you wish to be."
+
+"After all, what do you know about me?"
+
+He laughed: "Oh, I don't mean that I've got your number----"
+
+"No. Because I have many numbers. I am a complicated combination," she
+added, smiling; "--yet after all, a combination only. And quite simple
+when one discovers the key to me."
+
+"I think I know what it is," he said.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Mischief."
+
+They laughed. Marya, particularly, was intensely amused. She was
+extremely fetching in her bicorne toque and narrow gown of light
+turquoise, and her golden beaver scarf and muff.
+
+"Mischief," she repeated. "I should say not. There seems to be already
+sufficient mischief loose in the world, with the red tide rising
+everywhere--in Russia, in Germany, Austria, Italy, England--yes, and
+here also the crimson tide of Bolshevism begins to move.... Tell me;
+you are coming to the club to-morrow evening, I hope."
+
+"No."
+
+"Oh. Why?"
+
+"No," he repeated, almost sullenly. "I've had enough of queerness for
+a while----"
+
+"Jim! Do you dare include me?"
+
+He had to laugh at her pretence of fury: "No, Marya, you're just a
+pretty mischief-maker, I suppose----"
+
+"Then what do you mean by 'queerness'? Don't you think it's sensible
+to combat Bolshevism and fight it with argument and debate on its own
+selected camping ground? Don't you think it is high time somebody
+faced this crimson tide--that somebody started to build a dyke against
+this threatened inundation?"
+
+"The best dykes have machine guns behind them, not orators," he said
+bluntly.
+
+"My friend, I have seen that, also. And to what have machine guns led
+us in Petrograd, in Moscow, in Poland, Finland, Courland--" She
+shrugged her pretty shoulders. "No. I have seen enough blood."
+
+He said: "I have seen a little myself."
+
+"Yes, I know. But a soldier is always a soldier, as a hound is always
+a hound. The blood of the quarry is what their instinct follows. Your
+goal is death; we only seek to tame."
+
+"The proper way to check Bolshevism in America is to police the
+country properly, and kick out the outrageous gang of domestic
+Bolsheviki who have exploited us, tricked us, lied to us, taxed us
+unfairly, and in spite of whom we have managed to help our allies win
+this war.
+
+"Then, when this petty, wretched, crooked bunch has been swept out,
+and the nation aired and disinfected, and when the burden of taxation
+is properly distributed, and business dares lift its head again, then
+start your debates and propaganda and try to educate your enemies if
+you like. But keep your machine guns oiled."
+
+"You speak in an uncomplimentary fashion of government," said the
+girl, smiling.
+
+"I am all for government. That does not mean that I am for the
+particular incumbents in office under the present Government. I have
+no use for them. Know that this war was won, not through them but in
+spite of them.
+
+"Yet I place loyalty first of all--loyalty to the true ideals of that
+Government which some of the present incumbents so grotesquely
+misrepresent.
+
+"That means, stand by the ship and the flag she flies, no matter who
+steers or what crew capers about her decks.
+
+"That means, watch out for all pirates;--open fire on anything that
+flies a hostile flag, red or any other colour.
+
+"And that's my creed, Marya!"
+
+"To shoot; not to debate?"
+
+"An inquest is safer."
+
+"We shall never agree," said the girl, laughing. "And I'm rather
+glad."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because disagreements are more amusing than any _entente cordiale_,
+_mon ami_. It is the opposing forces that never bore each other. In
+life, too--I mean among human beings. Once they agree, interest
+lessens."
+
+"Nonsense," he said, smiling.
+
+"Oh, it is quite true. Behold us. We don't agree. But I am interested,"
+she added with pretty audacity; "so please take me to dinner
+somewhere."
+
+"You mean now, as we are?"
+
+"Parbleu! Did you wish to go home and dress?"
+
+"I don't care if you don't," he said.
+
+"Suppose," she suggested, "we dine where there is something to see."
+
+"A Broadway joint?" he asked, amused.
+
+"A joint?" she repeated, smilingly perplexed. "Is that a place where
+we may dine and see a spectacle too and afterward dance?"
+
+"Something of that sort," he admitted, laughing. But under his
+careless gaiety an ugly determination had been hardening; he meant
+to go no more to Palla; he meant to welcome any distraction of the
+moment to help tide him over the long, grey interval that loomed
+ahead--welcome any draught that might mitigate the bitter waters he
+was tasting--and was destined to drain to their revolting dregs.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+They went to the Palace of Mirrors and were lucky enough to secure a
+box.
+
+The food was excellent; the show a gay one.
+
+Between intermissions he took Marya to the floor for a dance or two.
+The place was uncomfortably crowded: uniforms were everywhere, too;
+and Jim nodded to many men he knew, and to a few women.
+
+And, in the vast, brilliant place, there was not a man who saw Marya
+and failed to turn and follow her with his eyes. For Marya had been
+fashioned to trouble man. And that primitively constructed and
+obviously-minded sex never failed to become troubled.
+
+"We'd better enjoy our champagne," remarked Marya. "We'll be a
+wineless nation before long, I suppose."
+
+"It seems rather a pity," he remarked, "that a man shouldn't be free
+to enjoy a glass of claret. But if the unbaked and the half-baked, and
+the unwashed and the half-washed can't be trusted to practise
+moderation, we others ought to abstain, I suppose. Because what is
+best for the majority ought to be the law for all."
+
+"If it were left to me," said the girl, "I'd let the submerged drink
+themselves to death."
+
+"What on earth are you talking about?" he said. "I thought you were a
+socialist!"
+
+"I am. I desire no law except that of individual inclination."
+
+"Why, that's Bolshevism!"
+
+Her laughter rang out unrestrained: "I believe in Bolshevism--for
+myself--but not for anybody else. In other words, I'd like to be
+autocrat of the world. If I were, I'd let everybody alone unless they
+interfered with me."
+
+"And in that event?" he asked, laughing, as the lights all over the
+house faded to a golden glimmer in preparation for the second part of
+the spectacle. He could no longer see her clearly across the little
+table. "What would you do if people interfered with you?" he
+repeated.
+
+Marya smiled. The last ray of light smouldered in her tiger-red hair;
+the warm, fragrant, breathing youth of her grew vaguer, merging with
+the shadows; only the beryl-tinted eyes, which slanted slightly,
+remained distinct.
+
+Her voice came to him through the music: "If I were autocrat, any man
+who dared oppose me would have his choice."
+
+"What choice?"
+
+The music swelled toward a breathless crescendo.
+
+She said: "Oppose me and you shall learn!----"
+
+The house burst into a dazzling flood of moon-tinted light, all
+thronged with slim shapes whirling in an enchanted dance. Then clouds
+seemed to gather; the moon slid behind them, leaving a frosty
+demi-darkness through which, presently, snow began to fall.
+
+The girl leaned toward him, watching the spectacle in silence. Perhaps
+unconsciously her left hand, satin-smooth, slipped over his--as though
+the contact were a symbol of enjoyment shared.
+
+Light broke the next moment, revealing the spectacle on stage and
+floor in all its tinsel magnificence--snow-nymphs, polar-bears, all
+capering madly until an unearthly shriek heralded the coming of a
+favorite clown, who tumbled all the way down the stage steps and
+continued hysterically turning flip-flaps, cart-wheels, and
+somersaults until he landed with a crash at the foot of the steps
+again.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+A large, highly coloured and over-glossy man, passing under their box
+during a dancing intermission, bowed rather extravagantly to Jim. He
+recognised Angelo Puma, with contemptuous amusement at his impudence.
+
+It was evident, too, that Puma was quite ready to linger if
+encouraged--anxious, in fact, to extend his hand.
+
+But his impudence had already ceased to amuse Jim, and he said
+carelessly to Marya, in a voice perfectly audible to Puma:
+
+"There goes a man who, in collusion with a squinting partner of his,
+once beat me out of a commission."
+
+Puma's heavy, burning face turned abruptly from Marya, whom he had
+been looking at; and he continued on across the floor. And Jim forgot
+him.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+They remained until the place closed. Then he took her home.
+
+It was an apartment overlooking the park from Fifty-ninth Street--a
+big studio and apparently many comfortable rooms--a large, still place
+where no servants were in evidence and where thick velvety carpets
+from Ushak and Sultanabad muffled every footfall.
+
+She had insisted on his entering for a moment. He stood looking about
+him in the great studio, where Vanya's concert-grand loomed up, a
+sprawling, shadowy shape under the dim drop-light which once had been
+a mosque-lamp in Samarcand.
+
+The girl flung stole and muff from her, rolled up her gloves and took
+a shot at the piano, then, laughing, unpinned her hat and sent it
+scaling away into the golden dusk somewhere.
+
+"Are you sleepy, Jim?"
+
+A sudden vision of his trouble in the long, long night to face--trouble,
+insomnia, and the bitterness welling ever fresher with the interminable
+thoughts he could not suppress, could not control----
+
+"I'm not sleepy," he said. "But don't you want to turn in?"
+
+She went over to the piano, and, accompanying herself on deadened
+pedal where she stood, sang in a low voice the "_Snow-Tiger_," with
+its uncanny refrain:
+
+                            "Tiger-eyes
+                            Tiger-eyes,
+                            What do you see
+                             Far in the dark
+                             Over the snow?
+                             Far in the dark
+                             Over the snow,
+                Slowly the ghosts of dead men go,--
+                Horses and riders under the moon
+                Trample along to the dead men's rune,
+                            _Slava! Slava!_
+                            Over the snow."
+
+"That's too hilarious a song," said Jim, laughing. "May I suggest a
+little rag to properly subdue us?"
+
+"You don't like _Tiger-eyes_?"
+
+"I've heard more cheerful ditties."
+
+"When I'm excited by pleasure," said the girl, "I sing _Tiger-eyes_."
+
+"Does it subdue you?"
+
+She looked at him. "No."
+
+Still standing, she looked down at the keys, struck the muffled chords
+softly.
+
+                     "Tiger-eyes
+                      Tiger-eyes,
+                      Where do they go,
+                      Far in the dark
+                      Over the snow?
+                      Into the dark,
+                      Over the snow,
+              Only the ghosts of the dead men know
+              Where they have come from, whither they go,
+              Riding at night by the corpse-light glow,
+                      _Slava!_ _Slava!_
+                      Over the snow."
+
+"Well, for the love of Mike----"
+
+Marya's laughter pealed.
+
+"So you don't like _Tiger-eyes_?" she demanded, coming from behind the
+piano.
+
+"I sure don't," he admitted.
+
+"The real Russian name of the song is 'Words! Words!' And that's all
+the song is--all that any song is--all that anything amounts
+to--words! words!--" She dropped onto the long couch,--"Anything
+except--love."
+
+"You may include that, too," he said, lighting a cigarette for her;
+and she blew a ring of smoke at him, saying:
+
+"I may--but I won't. For goodness sake leave me the last one of my
+delusions!"
+
+They both laughed and he said she was welcome to her remaining
+delusion.
+
+"Won't you share it with me?" she said, her smile innocent enough,
+save for the audacity of the red mouth.
+
+"Share your delusion?"
+
+"Yes, that too."
+
+This wouldn't do. He lighted a cigarette for himself and sauntered
+over to the piano.
+
+"I hope Vanya's concert is a success," he said. "He's such a charming
+fellow, Vanya--so considerate, so gentle--" He turned and looked at
+Marya, and his eyes added: "Why the devil don't you marry him and have
+a lot of jolly children?"
+
+There seemed to be in his clear eyes enough for the girl to comprehend
+something of the question they flung at her.
+
+"I don't love Vanya," she said.
+
+"Of course you do!"
+
+"As I might love a child--yes."
+
+After a silence: "It strikes me," he said, "that you're passionately
+in love."
+
+"I am."
+
+"With yourself," he added, smiling.
+
+"With _you_."
+
+This wouldn't do any longer. The place slightly stifled him with its
+stillness, rugs--the odours that came from lacquered shapes, looming
+dimly, flowered and golden in the dusk--the aromatic scent of her
+cigarette----
+
+"Hell!" he muttered under his breath. "This is no place for a white
+man." But aloud he said pleasantly: "My very best wishes for Vanya
+to-night. Tell him so when he returns--" He put on his overcoat and
+picked up hat and stick.
+
+"It's infernally late," he added, "and I've been a beast to keep you
+up. It was awfully nice of you."
+
+She rose from the lounge and walked with him to the door.
+
+"Good night," he said cheerily; but she retained his hand, added her
+other to it, and put up her face.
+
+"Look here," he said, smilingly, "I can't do that, Marya."
+
+"Why can't you?"
+
+Her soft breath was on his face; the mouth too near--too near----
+
+"No, I can't!" he said curtly, but his voice trembled a little.
+
+"Why?" she whispered.
+
+"Because--there's Vanya. No, I won't do it!"
+
+"Is that the reason?"
+
+"It's a reason."
+
+"I don't love Vanya. I do love you."
+
+"Please remember----"
+
+"No! No! I have nothing to remember--unless you give me something----"
+
+"You had better try to remember that Vanya loves you. You and I can't
+do a thing like that to Vanya--"
+
+"Are there no other reasons?"
+
+He reddened to the temples: "No, there are not--now. There is no other
+reason--except myself."
+
+"Yourself?"
+
+"Yes, damn it, myself! That's all that remains now to keep me
+straight. And I've been so. That may be news to you. Perhaps you don't
+believe it."
+
+"Is it so, Jim?" she asked in a voice scarcely audible.
+
+"Yes, it is. And so I shall keep on, and play the game that way--play
+it squarely with Vanya, too----"
+
+He had lost his heavy colour; he stood looking at her with a white,
+strained, grim expression that tightened the jaw muscles; and she felt
+his powerful hand clenching between hers.
+
+"It's no use," he said between his set lips, "I've got to go on--see
+it through in my own fashion--this rotten thing called life. I'm
+sorry, Marya, that I'm not a better sport----"
+
+A wave of colour swept her face and her hands suddenly crushed his
+between them.
+
+"You're wonderful," she said. "I do love you."
+
+But the tense, grey look had come back into his face. Looking at her
+in silence, presently his gaze seemed to become remote, his absent
+eyes fixed on something beyond her.
+
+"I've a rotten time ahead of me," he said, not knowing he had spoken.
+When his eyes reverted to her, his features remained expressionless,
+but his voice was almost tender as he said good night once more.
+
+Her hands fell away; he opened the door and went out without looking
+back.
+
+He found a taxi at the Plaza. He was swearing when he got into it. And
+all the way home he kept repeating to himself: "I'm one of those
+cursed, creeping Josephs; that's what I am,--one of those pepless,
+sanctimonious, creeping Josephs.... And I always loathed that poor
+fish, too!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+Shotwell Junior discovered in due course of time the memoranda of the
+repeated messages which Palla had telephoned to his several clubs,
+asking him to call her up immediately.
+
+It was rather late to do that now, but his pulses began to quicken
+again in the old, hopeless way; and he went to the telephone booth and
+called the number which seemed burnt into his brain forever.
+
+A maid answered; Palla came presently; and he thought her voice seemed
+colourless and unfamiliar.
+
+"Yes, I'm perfectly well," she replied to his inquiry; "where in the
+world did you go that night? I simply couldn't find you anywhere."
+
+"What had you wished to say to me?"
+
+"Nothing--except--that I was afraid you were angry when you left, and
+I didn't wish you to part with me on such terms. Were you annoyed?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You say it very curtly, Jim."
+
+"Is that all you desired to say to me?"
+
+"Yes.... I was a little troubled.... Something else went wrong,
+too;--everything seemed to go wrong that night.... I thought
+perhaps--if I could hear your voice--if you'd say something kind----"
+
+"Had you nothing else to tell me, Palla?"
+
+"No.... What?"
+
+"Then you haven't changed your attitude?"
+
+"Toward you? I don't expect to----"
+
+"You know what I mean!"
+
+"Oh. But, Jim, we can't discuss _that_ over the telephone."
+
+"I suppose not.... Is anything wrong with you, Palla? Your voice
+sounds so tired----"
+
+"Does it? I don't know why. Tell me, please, what did you do that
+unhappy night?"
+
+"I went home."
+
+"Directly?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I telephoned your house about twelve, and was informed you were not
+at home."
+
+"They thought I was asleep. I'm sorry, Palla----"
+
+"I shouldn't have telephoned so late," she interrupted, "I'm afraid
+that it was your mother who answered; and if it was, I received the
+snub I deserved!"
+
+"Nonsense! It wasn't meant that way----"
+
+"I'm afraid it was, Jim. It's quite all right, though. I won't do it
+again.... Am I to see you soon?"
+
+"No, not for a while----"
+
+"Are you so busy?"
+
+"There's no use in my going to you, Palla."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I'm in love with you," he said bluntly, "and I'm trying to
+get over it."
+
+"I thought we were _friends_, too."
+
+After a lengthy silence: "You're right," he said, "we are."
+
+She heard his quick, deep breath like a sigh. "Shall I come
+to-night?"
+
+"I'm expecting some people, Jim--women who desire to establish a
+Combat Club in Chicago, and they have come on here to consult me."
+
+"To-morrow night, then?"
+
+"Please."
+
+"Will you be alone?"
+
+"I expect to be."
+
+Once more he said: "Palla, is anything worrying you? Are you ill? Is
+Ilse all right?"
+
+There was a pause, then Palla's voice, resolutely tranquil.
+"Everything is all right in the world as long as you are kind to me,
+Jim. When you're not, things darken and become queer----"
+
+"Palla!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Listen! This is to serve notice on you. I'm going to make a fight for
+you."
+
+After a silence, he heard her sweet, uncertain laughter.
+
+"Jim?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"I suppose it would shock you if I made a fight for--_you_!"
+
+He took it as a jest and laughed at her perverse humour. But what
+she had meant she herself scarcely realised; and she turned away
+from the telephone, conscious of a vague excitement invading her and
+of a vaguer consternation, too. For behind the humorous audacity
+of her words, she seemed to realise there remained something
+hidden--something she was on the verge of discovering--something
+indefinable, menacing, grave enough to dismay her and drive from her
+lips the last traces of the smile which her audacious jest had
+left there.
+
+The ladies from Chicago were to dine with her; her maid had hooked
+her gown; orchids from Jim had just arrived, and she was still pinning
+them to her waist--still happily thrilled by this lovely symbol of
+their renewed accord, when the bell rang.
+
+It was much too early to expect anybody: she fastened her orchids and
+started to descend the stairs for a last glance at the table, when, to
+her astonishment, she saw Angelo Puma in the hall in the act of
+depositing his card upon the salver extended by the maid.
+
+He looked up and saw her before she could retreat: she made the best
+of it and continued on down, greeting him with inquiring amiability:
+
+"Miss Dumont, a thousand excuses for this so bold intrusion," he
+began, bowing extravagantly at every word. "Only the urgent importance
+of my errand could possibly atone for a presumption like there never
+has been in all----"
+
+"Please step into the drawing room, Mr. Puma, if you have something of
+importance to say."
+
+He followed her on tiptoe, flashing his magnificent eyes about the
+place, still wearing over his evening dress the seal overcoat with its
+gardenia, which was already making him famous on Broadway.
+
+Palla seated herself, wondering a little at the perfumed splendour of
+her landlord. He sat on the extreme edge of an arm chair, his glossy
+hat on his knee.
+
+"Miss Dumont," he said, laying one white-gloved paw across his
+shirt-front, "you shall behold in me a desolate man!"
+
+"I'm sorry." She looked at him in utter perplexity.
+
+"What shall you say to me?" he cried. "What just reproaches shall you
+address to me, Miss Dumont!"
+
+"I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Puma," she said, inclined to laugh,
+"--until you tell me what is your errand."
+
+"Miss Dumont, I am most unhappy and embarrass. Because you have pay me
+in advance for that which I am unable to offer you."
+
+"I don't think I understand."
+
+"Alas! You have pay to me by cheque for six months more rent of my
+hall."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I have given to you a lease for six months more, and with it an
+option for a year of renewal."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Miss Dumont, behold me desolate."
+
+"But why?"
+
+"Because I am force by circumstance over which I have no control to
+cancel this lease and option, and ask you most respectfully to be so
+kind as to secure other quarters for your club."
+
+"But we can't do that!" exclaimed Palla in dismay.
+
+"I am so very sorry----"
+
+"We can't do it," added Palla with decision. "It's utterly impossible,
+Mr. Puma. All our meetings are arranged for months in advance; all the
+details are completed. We could not disarrange the programme adopted.
+From all over the United States people are invited to come on certain
+fixed dates. All arrangements have been made; you have my cheque and I
+have your signed lease. No, we are obliged to hold you to your
+contract, and I'm very sorry if it inconveniences you."
+
+Puma's brilliant eyes became tenderly apprehensive.
+
+"Miss Dumont," he said in a hushed and confidential voice, "believe me
+when I venture to say to you that your club should leave for reasons
+most grave, most serious."
+
+"What reasons?"
+
+"The others--the Red Flag Club. Who knows what such crazy people might
+do in anger? They are very angry already. They complain that your club
+has interfere with them----"
+
+"That is exactly why we're there, Mr. Puma--to interfere with them,
+neutralise their propaganda, try to draw the same people who listen to
+their violent tirades. That is why we're there, and why we refuse to
+leave. Ours is a crusade of education. We chose that hall because we
+desired to make the fight in the very camp of the enemy. And I must
+tell you plainly that we shall not give up our lease, and that we
+shall hold you to it."
+
+The dark blood flooded his heavy features:
+
+"I do not desire to take it to the courts," he said. "I am willing to
+offer compensation."
+
+"We couldn't accept. Don't you understand, Mr. Puma? We simply must
+have that particular hall for the Combat Club."
+
+Puma remained perfectly silent for a few moments. There was still, on
+his thick lips, the suave smile which had been stamped there since his
+appearance in her house.
+
+But in this man's mind and heart there was growing a sort of dull and
+ferocious fear--fear of elements already gathering and combining to
+menace his increasing prosperity.
+
+Sullenly he was aware that this hard-won prosperity was threatened.
+Always its conditions had been unstable at best, but now the
+atmospheric pressure was slowly growing, and his sky of promise was
+not as clear.
+
+Some way, somehow, he must manage to evict these women. Twice Sondheim
+had warned him. And that evening Sondheim had sent him an ultimatum by
+Kastner.
+
+And Puma was perfectly aware that Karl Kastner knew enough about him
+to utterly ruin him in the great Republic which was now giving him a
+fortune and which had never discovered that his own treacherous
+mission here was the accomplishment of her ruin.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Puma stood up, heavily, cradling his glossy hat. But his urbane smile
+became brilliant again and he made Palla an extravagant bow.
+
+"It shall be arrange," he said cheerfully. "I consult my partner--your
+_friend_, Mr. Skidder! Yes! So shall we arrive at entente."
+
+His large womanish eyes swept the room. Suddenly they were arrested by
+a photograph of Shotwell Junior--in a silver frame--the only ornament,
+as yet, in the little drawing room.
+
+And instantly, within Angelo Puma, the venomous instinct was aroused
+to do injury where it might be done safely and without suspicion of
+intent.
+
+"Ah," he exclaimed gaily, "my friend, Mr. Shotwell! It is from him,
+Miss Dumont, you have purchase this so beautiful residence!"
+
+He bent to salute with a fanciful inclination the photograph of the
+man who had spoken so contemptuously of him the evening previous.
+
+"Mr. Shotwell also adores gaiety," he said laughingly. "Last night I
+beheld him at the Palace of Mirrors--and with an attractive young lady
+of your club, Miss Dumont--the charming young Russian lady with whom
+you came once to pay me the rent--" He kissed his hand in an ecstasy
+of recollection. "So beautiful a young lady! So gay were they in their
+box! Ah, youth! youth! Ah, the happiness and folly when laughter
+bubbles in our wine!--the magic wine of youth!"
+
+He took his leave, moving lightly to the door, almost grotesque in his
+elaborate evolutions and adieux.
+
+Palla went slowly upstairs.
+
+The evening paper lay on a table in the living room. She unfolded it
+mechanically; looked at it but saw no print, merely an unsteady haze
+of greyish tint on which she could not seem to concentrate.
+
+Marya and Jim ... together.... That was the night he went away
+angry.... The night he told her he had gone directly home.... But it
+couldn't have been.... He couldn't have lied....
+
+She strove to recollect as she sat there staring at the newspaper....
+What was it that beast had said about it?... Of course--_last_
+night!... Marya and Jim had been together last night.... But where was
+Vanya?... Oh, yes.... Last night Vanya was away ... in Baltimore.
+
+The paper dropped to her lap; she sat looking straight ahead of her.
+
+What had so shocked her then about Jim and Marya being together? True,
+she had not supposed them to be on such terms--had not even thought
+about it....
+
+Yes, she _had_ thought about it, scarcely conscious of her own
+indefinable uneasiness--a memory, perhaps, of that evening when the
+Russian girl had been at little pains to disguise her interest in this
+man. And Palla had noticed it--noticed that Marya was seated too near
+him--noticed that, and the subtle attitude of provocation, and the
+stealthy evolution of that occult sorcery which one woman instantly
+divines in another and finds slightly revolting.
+
+Was it merely that memory which had been evoked when Puma's laughing
+revelation so oddly chilled her?--the suspected and discovered
+predilection of this Russian girl for Jim? Or was it something else,
+something deeper, some sudden and more profound illumination which
+revealed to her that, in the depths of her, she was afraid?
+
+Afraid? Afraid of what?
+
+Her charming young head sank; the brown eyes stared at the floor.
+
+She was beginning to understand what had chilled her, what she had
+unconsciously been afraid of--_her own creed!_--when applied to
+another woman.
+
+And this was the second time that this creed of hers had risen to
+confront her, and the second time she had gazed at it, chilled by
+fear: once, when she had waited for Ilse to return; and now once
+again.
+
+For now she began to comprehend how ruthless that creed could become
+when professed by such a girl as Marya Lanois.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+She was still seated there when Marya came in, her tiger-red hair in
+fascinating disorder from the wind, her skin fairly breathing the warm
+fragrance of exotic youth.
+
+"My Palla! How pale you seem!" she exclaimed, embracing her. "You are
+quite well? Really? Then I am reassured!"
+
+She went to the mirror and tucked in a burnished strand or two of
+hair.
+
+"These Chicago ladies--they have not arrived, I see. Am I then so
+early? For I see that Ilse is not yet here----"
+
+"It is only a quarter to eight," said Palla, smiling; but the brown
+eyes were calmly measuring this lithe and warm and lovely thing with
+green eyes--measuring it intently--taking its measure--taking, for the
+first time in her life, her measure of any woman.
+
+"Was Vanya's concert a great success?" she asked.
+
+"Vanya has not yet returned." She shrugged. "There was nothing in New
+York papers."
+
+"I suppose you were very nervous last night," said Palla.
+
+For a moment Marya continued to arrange her hair by the aid of the
+mantel mirror, then she turned very lithely and let her green gaze
+rest full on Palla's face.
+
+What she might possibly have divined was hidden behind the steady
+brown eyes that met hers may have determined her attitude and words;
+for she laughed with frank carelessness and plunged into it all:
+
+"Fancy, Palla, my encountering Jim Shotwell in the Biltmore, and
+dining with him at that noisy Palace of Mirrors last night! Did he
+tell you?"
+
+"I haven't seen him."
+
+"--Over the telephone, perhaps?"
+
+"No, he did not mention it."
+
+"Well, it was most amusing. It is the unpremeditated that is
+delightful. And can you see us in that dreadful place, as gay as a
+pair of school children? And we must laugh at nothing and find it
+enchanting--and we must dance amid the hoi polloi and clap our hands
+for the encore too!----"
+
+A light peal of laughter floated from her lips at the recollections
+evoked:
+
+"And after! Can you see us, Palla, in Vanya's studio, too wide awake
+to go our ways!--and the song I sang at that unearthly hour--the song
+I sing always when happily excited----"
+
+The bell rang; the first guest had arrived.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+Vanya's concert had been enough of a success to attract the
+attention of genuine music-lovers and an impecunious impresario--an
+irresponsible promoter celebrated for rushing headlong into things
+and being kicked headlong out of them.
+
+All promising virtuosi had cut their wisdom teeth on him; all had
+acquired experience and its accompanying toothache; none had acquired
+wealth until free of this ubiquitous impresario.
+
+His name was Wilding: he seized upon Vanya; and that gentle and
+disconcerted dreamer offered no resistance.
+
+So Wilding began to haunt Vanya's apartment at all hours of the day,
+rushing in with characteristic enthusiasm to discuss the vast campaign
+of nation-wide concerts which in his mind's eye were already
+materialising.
+
+Marya had no faith in him and was becoming very tired of his noise and
+bustle in the stillness and subdued light which meant home to her, and
+which this loud, excitable, untidy man was eternally invading.
+
+Always he was shouting at Vanya: "It's a knock-out! It will go big!
+big! big! We got 'em started in Baltimore!"--a fact, but none of his
+doing! "We'll play Philadelphia next; I'm fixin' it for you. All you
+gotta do is go there and the yelling starts. Well, I guess. Some riot,
+believe _me_!"
+
+Wilding had no money in the beginning. After a while, Vanya had none,
+or very little; but the impresario wore a new fur coat and spats. And
+Broadway winked wearily and said: "He's got another!"--doubtless
+deeming specification mere redundancy.
+
+Yet, somehow, Wilding did manage to book Vanya in Philadelphia--at a
+somewhat distant date, it is true--but it was something with which to
+begin the promised "nation-wide tour" under the auspices of Dawson B.
+Wilding.
+
+Marya had money of her own, but trusted none of it in Wilding's
+schemes. In fact, she had come to detest him thoroughly, and whenever
+he was announced she would rise like some beautiful, disgusted feline,
+which something has disturbed in her dim and favourite corner, and
+move lithely away to another room. And it almost seemed as though her
+little, warm, closely-chiselled ears actually flattened with bored
+annoyance as the din of Wilding's vociferous greeting to Vanya arose
+behind her.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+One day toward Christmas time, she said to Vanya, in her level,
+satin-smooth voice:
+
+"You know, _mon ami_, I am tiring rapidly of this great fool who comes
+shouting and tramping into our home. And when I am annoyed beyond my
+nerve capacity, I am likely to leave."
+
+Vanya said gently that he was sorry that he had entered into financial
+relations with a man who annoyed her, but that it could scarcely be
+helped now.
+
+He was seated at his piano, not playing, but scoring. And he resumed
+his composition after he had spoken, his grave, delicate head bent
+over the ruled sheets, a gold pencil held between his long fingers.
+
+Marya lounged near, watched him. Not for the first time, now, did his
+sweet temper and gentleness vaguely irritate her--string her nerves a
+little tighter until they began to vibrate with an indefinable longing
+to say something to arouse this man--startle him--awaken him to a
+physical tensity and strength.... Such as Shotwell's for example....
+
+"Vanya?"
+
+He looked up absently, the beauty of dreams still clouding his eyes.
+
+And suddenly, to her own astonishment, her endurance came to its end.
+She had never expected to say what she was now going to say to him.
+She had never dreamed of confession--of enlightening him. And now, all
+at once, she knew she was going to do it, and that it was a needless
+and cruel and insane and useless thing to do, for it led her nowhere,
+and it would leave him in helpless pain.
+
+"Vanya," she said, "I am in love with Jim Shotwell."
+
+After a few moments, she turned and slowly crossed the studio. Her hat
+and coat lay on a chair. She put them on and walked out.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The following morning, Palla, arriving to consult Marya on a matter of
+the Club's business, discovered Vanya alone in the studio.
+
+He was lying on the lounge when she entered, and he looked ill, but he
+rose with all his characteristic grace and charm and led her to a
+chair, saluting her hand as he seated her.
+
+"Marya has not yet arrived?" she inquired.
+
+His delicate features became very grave and still.
+
+"I thought," added Palla, "that Marya usually breakfasted at
+eleven----"
+
+Something in his expression checked her; and she fell silent,
+fascinated by the deathly whiteness of his face.
+
+"I am sorry to tell you," he said, in a pleasant and steady voice,
+"that Marya has not returned."
+
+"Why--why, I didn't know she was away----"
+
+"Yesterday she decided. Later she was good enough to telephone from
+the Hotel Rajah, where, for the present, she expects to remain."
+
+"Oh, Vanya!" Palla's involuntary exclamation brought a trace of colour
+into his cheeks.
+
+He said: "It is not her fault. She was loyal and truthful. One may not
+control one's heart.... And if she is in love--well, is she not free
+to love him?"
+
+"Who--is--it?" asked Palla faintly.
+
+"Mr. Shotwell, it appears."
+
+In the dead silence, Vanya passed his hand slowly across his temples;
+let it drop on his knee.
+
+"Freedom above all else," he said, "--freedom to love, freedom to
+cease loving, freedom to love anew.... Well ... it is curious--the
+scheme of things.... Love must remain inexplicable. For there is no
+analysis. I think there never could be any man who cared as I have
+cared, as I do care for her...."
+
+He rose, and to Palla he seemed already a trifle stooped;--it may have
+been his studio coat, which fitted badly.
+
+"But, Vanya dear--" Palla looked at him miserably, conscious of her
+own keen fears as well as of his sorrow. "Don't you think she'll come
+back? Do you suppose it is really so serious--what she thinks
+about--Mr. Shotwell?"
+
+He shook his head: "I don't know.... If it is so, it is so. Freedom is
+of first importance. Our creed is our creed. We must abide by what we
+teach and believe."
+
+"Yes."
+
+He nodded absently, staring palely into space.
+
+Perhaps his lost gaze evoked the warm-skinned, sunny-haired girl who
+had gone out of the semi-light of this still place, leaving the void
+unutterably vast around him. For this had been the lithe thing's
+silken lair--the slim and supple thing with beryl eyes--here where
+thick-piled carpets of the East deadened every human movement--where
+no sound stirred, nor any air--where dull shapes loomed, lacquered and
+indistinct, and an odour of Chinese lacquer and nard haunted the
+tinted dusk.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Like one of those lazy, golden, jewelled sea-creatures of irresponsible
+freedom brought seemed to fill the girl cooler currents arouses a
+restlessness infernal, Marya's first long breath of freedom subtly
+excited her.
+
+She had no definite ideas, no plans. She was merely tired of Vanya.
+
+Perhaps her fresh, wholesome contact with Jim had started it--the
+sense of a clean vitality which had seemed to envelop her like the
+delicious, half-resented chill of a spring-pool plunge. For the
+exhilaration possessed her still; and the sudden stimulation which the
+sense of irresponsible freedom brought seemed to fill the girl with a
+new vigour.
+
+Foot-loose, heart-loose, her green eyes on the open world where it
+stretched away into infinite horizons, she paced her new nest in the
+Hotel Rajah, tingling with subdued excitement, innocent of the
+faintest regret for what had been.
+
+For a week she lived alone, enjoying the sensation of being hidden,
+languidly savouring the warm comfort of isolation.
+
+She had not sent for her belongings. She purchased new personal
+effects, enchanted to be rid of familiar things.
+
+There was no snow. She walked a great deal, moving in unaccustomed
+sections of the city at all hours, skirting in the early winter dusk
+the glitter of Christmas preparations along avenues and squares,
+lunching where she was unlikely to encounter anybody she knew, dining,
+too, at hazard in unwonted places--restaurants she had never heard of,
+tea-rooms, odd corners.
+
+Vanya wrote her. She tossed his letters aside, scarcely read. Ilse and
+Palla wrote her, and telephoned her. She paid them no attention.
+
+The metropolitan jungle fascinated her. She adored her liberty, and
+looked out of beryl-green eyes across the border of license, where
+ghosts of the half-world swarmed in no-man's-land.
+
+Conscious that she had been fashioned to trouble man, the knowledge
+merely left her indefinitely contented, save when she remembered Jim.
+But that he had checked her drift toward him merely excited her; for
+she knew she had been made to trouble such as he; and she had seen his
+face that night....
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ilse, on her way home to dress--for she was going out somewhere with
+Estridge--stopped for tea at Palla's house, and found her a little
+disturbed over an anonymous letter just delivered--a typewritten sheet
+bluntly telling her to take her friends and get out of the hall where
+the Combat Club held its public sessions; and warning her of serious
+trouble if she did not heed this "friendly" advice.
+
+"Pouf!" exclaimed Ilse contemptuously, "I get those, too, and tear
+them up. People who talk never strike. Are you anxious, darling?"
+
+Palla smiled: "Not a bit--only such cowardice saddens me.... And the
+days are grey enough...."
+
+"Why do you say that? I think it is a wonderful winter--a beautiful
+year!"
+
+Palla lifted her brown eyes and let them dwell on the beauty of this
+clear-skinned, golden-haired girl who had discovered beauty in the
+aftermath of the world's great tragedy.
+
+Ilse smiled: "Life is good," she said. "This world is all to be done
+over in the right way. We have it all before us, you and I, Palla, and
+those who love and understand."
+
+"I am wondering," said Palla, "who understands us. I'm not discouraged,
+but--there seems to be so much indifference in the world."
+
+"Of course. That is our battle to overcome it."
+
+"Yes. But, dear, there seems to be so much hatred, too, in the world.
+I thought the war had ended, but everywhere men are still in
+battle--everywhere men are dying of this fierce hatred that seems to
+flame up anew across the world; everywhere men fight and slay to gain
+advantage. None yields, none renounces, none gives. It is as though
+love were dead on earth."
+
+"Love is being reborn," said Ilse cheerfully. "Birth means pain,
+always----"
+
+Without warning, a hot flush flooded her face; she averted it as the
+tea-tray was brought and set on a table before Palla. When her face
+cooled, she leaned back in her chair, cup in hand, a sort of confused
+sweetness in her blue eyes.
+
+Palla's heart was beating heavily as she leaned on the table, her cup
+untasted, her idle fingers crumbing the morsel of biscuit between
+them.
+
+After a moment she said: "So you have concluded that you care for John
+Estridge?"
+
+"Yes, I care," said Ilse absently, the same odd, sweet smile curving
+her cheeks.
+
+"That is--wonderful," said Palla, not looking at her.
+
+Ilse remained silent, her blue gaze aloof.
+
+A maid came and turned up the lamps, and went away again.
+
+Palla said in a low voice: "Are you--afraid?"
+
+"No."
+
+They both remained silent until she rose to go. Palla, walking with
+her to the head of the stairs, holding one of her hands imprisoned,
+said with an effort: "I am frightened, dear.... I can't help it....
+You will be certain, first, won't you?----"
+
+"It is as certain as death," said Ilse in a low, still voice.
+
+Palla shivered; she passed one arm around her; and they stood so for a
+while. Then Ilse's arm tightened, and the old gaiety glinted in her
+sea-blue eyes:
+
+"Is your house in order too, Palla?" she asked. "Turn around, little
+enigma! There; I can look into those brown eyes now. And I see nothing
+in them to answer me my question."
+
+"Do you mean Jim?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"I haven't seen him."
+
+"For how long?"
+
+"Weeks. I don't know how long it has been----"
+
+"Have you quarrelled?"
+
+"Yes. We seem to. This is quite the most serious one yet."
+
+"You are not in love with him."
+
+"Oh, Ilse, I don't know. He simply can't understand me. I feel so
+bruised and tired after a controversy with him. He seems to be so
+merciless to my opinions--so violent----"
+
+"You poor child.... After all, Palla, freedom also means the liberty
+to change one's mind.... If you should care to change yours----"
+
+"I can't change my inmost convictions."
+
+"Those--no."
+
+"I have not changed them. I almost wish I could. But I've got to be
+honest.... And he can't understand me."
+
+Ilse smiled and kissed her: "That is scarcely to be wondered at, as
+you don't seem to know your own mind. Perhaps when you do he, also,
+may understand you. Good-bye! I must run----"
+
+Palla watched her to the foot of the stairs; the door closed; the
+engine of a taxi began to hum.
+
+Her telephone was ringing when she returned to the living room, and
+the quick leap of her heart averted her of the hope revived.
+
+But it was a strange voice on the wire,--a man's voice, clear,
+sinister, tainted with a German accent:
+
+"Iss this Miss Dumont? Yess? Then this I haff to say to you: You shall
+find yourself in serious trouble if you do not move your foolish club
+of vimmen out of the vicinity of which you know. We giff you one more
+chance. So shall you take it or you shall take some consequences!
+_Goot-night!_"
+
+The instrument clicked in her ear as the unknown threatener hung up,
+leaving her seated there, astonished, hurt, bewildered.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The man who "hung up on her" stepped out of a saloon on Eighth Avenue
+and joined two other men on the corner.
+
+The man was Karl Kastner; the other two were Sondheim and Bromberg.
+
+"Get her?" growled the latter, as all three started east.
+
+"Yess. And now we shall see what we shall see. We start the finish now
+already. All foolishness shall be ended. Now we fix Puma."
+
+They continued on across the street, clumping along with their
+overcoat collars turned up, for it had turned bitter cold and the wind
+was rising.
+
+"You don't think it's a plant?" inquired Sondheim, for the third
+time.
+
+Bromberg blew his red nose on a dirty red handkerchief.
+
+"We'll plant Puma if he tries any of that," he said thickly.
+
+Kastner added that he feared investigation more than they did because
+he had more at stake.
+
+"Dot guy he iss rich like a millionaire," he added. "Ve make him pay
+some dammach, too."
+
+"How's he going to fire that bunch of women if they got a lease?"
+demanded Bromberg.
+
+"Who the hell cares how he does it?" grunted Sondheim.
+
+"Sure," added Kastner; "let him dig up. You buy anybody if you haff
+sufficient coin. Effery time! Yess. Also! Let him dig down into his
+pants once. So shall he pay them, these vimmen, to go avay und shut
+up mit their mischief what they make for us already!"
+
+Sondheim was still muttering about "plants" in the depths of his
+soiled overcoat-collar, when they arrived at the hall and presented
+themselves at the door of Puma's outer office.
+
+A girl took their message. After a while she returned and piloted them
+out, and up a wide flight of stairs to a door marked, "No admittance."
+Here she knocked, and Puma's voice bade them enter.
+
+Angelo Puma was standing by a desk when they trooped in, keeping their
+hats on. The room was ventilated and illumined in the daytime only by
+a very dirty transom giving on a shaft. Otherwise, there were no
+windows, no outlet to any outer light and air.
+
+Two gas jets caged in wire--obsolete stage dressing-room effects--lighted
+the room and glimmered on Puma's polished top-hat and the gold knob of
+his walking-stick.
+
+As for Puma himself, he glanced up stealthily from the scenario he was
+reading as he stood by the big desk, but dropped his eyes again, and,
+opening a drawer, laid away the typed manuscript. Then he pulled out
+the revolving desk chair and sat down.
+
+"Well?" he inquired, lighting a cigar.
+
+There was an ominous silence among the three men for another moment.
+Then Puma looked up, puffing his cigar, and Sondheim stepped forward
+from the group and shook his finger in his face.
+
+"What yah got planted around here for us? Hey?" he demanded in a low,
+hoarse voice. "Come on now, Puma! What yeh think yeh got on us?" And
+to Kastner and Bromberg: "Go ahead, boys, look for a dictaphone and
+them kind of things. And if this wop hollers I'll do him."
+
+A ruddy light flickered in Puma's eyes, but the cool smile lay
+smoothly on his lips, and he did not even turn his head to watch them
+as they passed along the walls, sounding, peering, prying, and jerking
+open the door of the cupboard--the only furniture there except the
+desk and the chair on which Puma sat.
+
+"What the hell's the matter with yeh?" snarled Sondheim, suddenly
+stooping to catch Puma's eye, which had wandered as though bored by
+the proceedings.
+
+"Nothing," said Puma, coolly; "what's the matter with you, Max?"
+
+Kastner came around beside him and said in his thin, sinister tone:
+
+"You know it vat I got on you, Angelo?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"So? Also! Vas iss it you do about doze vimmen?"
+
+"They won't go."
+
+In Bromberg's voice sounded an ominous roar: "Don't hand us nothing
+like that! You hear what I'm telling you?"
+
+Puma shrugged: "I hand you what I have to hand you. They have the
+lease. What is there for me to do?"
+
+"Buy 'em off!"
+
+"I try. They will not."
+
+"You offer 'em enough and they'll quit!"
+
+"No. They will not. They say they are here to fight you. They laugh at
+my money. What shall I do?"
+
+"I'll tell you one thing you'll do, and do it damn quick!" roared
+Bromberg. "Hand over that money we need!"
+
+"If you bellow in so loud a manner," said Puma, "they could hear you
+in the studio.... How much do you ask for?"
+
+"Two thousand."
+
+"No."
+
+"What yeh mean by 'No'?"
+
+"What I say to you, that I have not two thousand."
+
+"You lying greaser----"
+
+"I do not lie. I have paid my people and there remains but six hundred
+dollars in my bank."
+
+"When do we get the rest?" asked Sondheim, as Puma tossed the packet
+of bills onto the desk.
+
+"When I make it," replied Puma tranquilly. "You will understand my
+receipts are my capital at present. What else I have is engaged
+already in my new theatre. If you will be patient you shall have what
+I can spare."
+
+Bromberg rested both hairy fists on the desk and glared down at Puma.
+
+"Who's this new guy you got to go in with you? What's the matter with
+our getting a jag of his coin?"
+
+"You mean Mr. Pawling?"
+
+"Yeh. Who the hell is that duck what inks his whiskers?"
+
+"A partner."
+
+"Well, let him shove us ours then."
+
+"You wish to ruin me?" inquired Puma placidly.
+
+"Not while you're milkin'," said Sondheim, showing every yellow fang
+in a grin.
+
+"Then do not frighten Mr. Pawling out. Already you have scared my
+other partner, Mr. Skidder, like there never was any rabbits scared.
+You are foolish. If you are reasonable, I shall make money and you
+shall have your share. If you are not, then there is no money to give
+you."
+
+Sondheim said: "Take a slant at them yellow-backs, Karl." And Kastner
+screwed a powerful jeweller's glass into his eye and began a minute
+examination of the orange-coloured treasury notes, to find out whether
+they were marked bills.
+
+Bromberg said heavily: "See here, Angelo, you gotta quit this damned
+stalling! You gotta get them women out, and do it quick or we'll blow
+your dirty barracks into the North River!"
+
+Sondheim began to wag his soiled forefinger again.
+
+"Yeh quit us cold when things was on the fritz. Now, yeh gotta pay. If
+you wasn't nothing but a wop skunk yeh'd stand in with us. The way
+you're fixed would help us all. But now yeh makin' money and yeh
+scared o' yeh shadow!----"
+
+Bromberg cut in: "And you'll be outside when the band starts playing.
+Look what's doing all over the world! Every country is starting
+something! You watch Berlin and Rosa Luxemburg and her bunch. Keep
+your eye peeled, Angy, and see what we and the I. W. W. start in every
+city of the country!"
+
+Kastner, having satisfied himself that the bills had not been marked,
+and pocketed his jeweller's glass, pushed back his lank blond hair.
+
+"Yess," he said in his icy, incisive voice, "yoost vatch out already!
+Dot crimson tide it iss rising the vorld all ofer! It shall drown
+effery aristocrat, effery bourgeois, effery intellectual. It shall be
+but a red flood ofer all the vorld vere noddings shall live only our
+peoble off the proletariat!"
+
+"And where the hell will you be then, Angelo?" sneered Bromberg. "By
+God, we won't have to ask you for our share of your money then!"
+
+Again Sondheim leaned over him and wagged his nicotine-dyed finger:
+
+"You get the rest of our money! Understand? And you get them women
+out!--or I tell you we'll blow you and your joint to Hoboken! Get
+that?"
+
+"I have understood," said Puma quietly; but his heavy face was a muddy
+red now, and he choked a little when he spoke.
+
+"Give us a date and stick to it," added Bromberg. "Set it yourself.
+And after that we won't bother to do any more jawin'. We'll just
+attend to business--_your_ business, Puma!"
+
+After a long silence, Puma said calmly: "How much you want?"
+
+"Ten thousand," said Sondheim.
+
+"And them women out of this," added Bromberg.
+
+"Or ve get you," ended Kastner in his deadly voice.
+
+Puma lifted his head and looked intently at each one of them in turn.
+And seemed presently to come to some conclusion.
+
+Kastner forestalled him: "You try it some monkey trick and you try it
+no more effer again."
+
+"What's your date for the cash?" insisted Sondheim.
+
+"February first," replied Puma quietly.
+
+Kastner wrote it on the back of an envelope.
+
+"Und dese vimmen?" he inquired.
+
+"I'll get a lawyer----"
+
+"The hell with that stuff!" roared Bromberg. "Get 'em out! Scare 'em
+out! Jesus Christ! how long d'yeh think we're going to stand for being
+hammered by that bunch o' skirts? They got a lot o' people sore on us
+now. The crowd what uster come around is gettin' leery. And who are
+these damned women? One of 'em was a White Nun, when they did the
+business for the Romanoffs. One of 'em fired on the Bolsheviki--that
+big blond girl with yellow hair, I mean! Wasn't she one of those
+damned girl-soldiers? And look what she's up to now--comin' over here
+to talk us off the platform!--the dirty foreigner!"
+
+"Yes," growled Bromberg, "and there's that redheaded wench of
+Vanya's!--some Grand Duke's slut, they say, before she quit him for
+the university to start something else----"
+
+Kastner cut in in his steely voice: "If you do not throw out these
+women, Puma, we fix them and your hall and you--all at one time, my
+friend. Also! Iss it then for February the first, our understanding?
+Or iss it, a little later, the end of all your troubles, Angelo?"
+
+Puma got up, nodded his acceptance of their ultimatum, and opened the
+door for them.
+
+When they trooped out, under the brick arch, they noticed his splendid
+limousine waiting, and as they shuffled sullenly away westward,
+Bromberg, looking back, saw Puma come out and jump lightly into the
+car.
+
+"Swine!" he snarled, facing the bitter wind once more and shuffling
+along beside his silent brethren.
+
+Puma went east, then north to the Hotel Rajah, where, in a private
+room, he was to complete a financial transaction with Alonzo B.
+Pawling.
+
+Skidder, too, came in at the same time, squinting rapidly at his
+partner; and together they moved toward the elevator.
+
+The elevator waited a moment more to accommodate a willowy, red-haired
+girl in furs, whose jade eyes barely rested on Puma's magnificent
+black ones as he stepped aside to make way for her with an extravagant
+bow.
+
+"Some skirt," murmured Skidder in his ear, as the car shot upward.
+
+Marya left the car at the mezzanine floor: Puma's eyes were like coals
+for a moment.
+
+"You know that dame?" inquired Skidder, his eyes fairly snapping.
+
+"No." He did not add that he had seen her at the Combat Club and knew
+her to belong to another man. But his black eyes were almost blazing
+as he stepped from the elevator, for in Marya's insolent glance he had
+caught a vague glimmer of fire--merely a green spark, very faint--if,
+indeed, it had been there at all....
+
+Pawling himself opened the door for them.
+
+"Is it all right? Do we get the parcel?" were his first words.
+
+"It's a knock-out!" cried Skidder, slapping him on the back. "We
+got the land, we got the plans, we got the iron, we got the
+contracts!--Oh, boy!--our dough is in--go look at it and smell it for
+yourself! So get into the jack, old scout, and ante up, because we
+break ground Wednesday and there'll be bills before then, you
+betcha!"
+
+When the cocktails were brought, Puma swallowed his in a hurry, saying
+he'd be back in a moment, and bidding Skidder enlighten Mr. Pawling
+during the interim.
+
+He summoned the elevator, got out at the mezzanine, and walked lightly
+into the deserted and cloister-like perspective, his shiny hat in his
+hand.
+
+And saw Marya standing by the marble ramp, looking down at the bustle
+below.
+
+He stopped not far away. He had made no sound on the velvet carpet.
+But presently she turned her head and the green eyes met his black
+ones.
+
+Neither winced. The sheer bulk of the beast and the florid magnificence
+of its colour seemed to fascinate her.
+
+She had seen him before, and scarcely noted him. She remembered. But
+the world was duller, then, and the outlook grey. And then, too, her
+still, green eyes had not yet wandered beyond far horizons, nor had
+her heart been cut adrift to follow her fancy when the tides stirred
+it from its mooring--carrying it away, away through deeps or shallows
+as the currents swerved.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+The pale parody on that sacred date which once had symbolised the
+birth of Christ had come and gone; the ghastly year was nearing its
+own death--the bloodiest year, for all its final triumph, that the
+world had ever witnessed--_l'année horrible_!
+
+Nor was the end yet, of all this death and dying: for the Crimson
+Tide, washing through Russia, eastward, seethed and eddied among the
+wrecks of empires, lapping Poland's bones, splashing over the charred
+threshold of the huns, creeping into the Balkans, crawling toward
+Greece and Italy, menacing Scandinavia, and arousing the stern
+watchers along the French frontier--the ultimate eastward barrier of
+human liberty.
+
+And unless, despite the fools who demur, that barrier be based upon
+the Rhine, that barrier will fall one day.
+
+Even in England, where the captive navies of the anti-Christ now
+sulked at anchor under England's consecrated guns, some talked glibly
+of rule by Soviet. All Ireland bristled now, baring its teeth at
+government; vast armies, disbanding, were becoming dully restless; and
+armed men, disarming, began to wonder what now might be their destiny
+and what the destiny of the world they fought for.
+
+And everywhere, among all peoples, swarmed the stealthy agents of the
+Red Apocalypse, whispering discontent, hinting treasons, stirring the
+unhappy to sullen anger, inciting the simple-minded to insanity, the
+ignorant to revolution. For four years it had been a battle between
+Light and Night; and now there threatened to be joined in battle the
+uttermost forces of Evolution and Chaos--the spiritual Armageddon at
+last, where Life and Light and Order must fight a final fight with
+Degeneracy, Darkness and Death.
+
+And always, everywhere, that hell-born Crimson Tide seemed to be
+rising. All newspapers were full of it, sounding the universal alarm.
+And Civilisation merely stared at the scarlet flood--gawked stupidly
+and unstirring--while the far clamour of massacre throughout Russia
+grew suddenly to a crashing discord in Berlin, shaking the whole world
+with brazen dissonance.
+
+Like the first ominous puff before the tempest, the deadly breath of
+the Black Death--called "influenza," but known of old among the
+verminous myriads of the East--swept over the earth from East to West.
+Millions died; millions were yet to perish of it; yet the dazed world,
+still half blind with blood and smoke, sat helpless and unstirring,
+barring no gates to this pestilence that stalked the stricken earth at
+noon-day.
+
+New York, partly paralysed by sacrifice and the blood-sucking antics
+of half-crazed congressmen, gorged by six years feeding after decades
+of starvation, welcomed the incoming soldiers in a bewildered sort of
+way, making either an idiot's din of dissonance or gaping in stupid
+silence as the huge troop-ships swept up the bay.
+
+The battle fleet arrived--the home squadron and the "6th battle
+squadron"--and lay towering along the Hudson, while officers and
+jackies swarmed the streets--streets now thronged by wounded,
+too--pallid cripples in olive drab, limping along slowly beneath
+lowering skies, with their citations and crosses and ribbons and
+wound chevrons in glinting gold under the relighted lustres of the
+metropolis.
+
+So the false mockery of Christmas came to the city--a forced festival,
+unutterably sad, for all that the end of the war was subject of thanks
+in every church and synagogue. And so the mystic feast ended, scarcely
+heeded amid the slow, half-crippled groping for financial readjustment
+in the teeth of a snarling and vindictive Congress, mean in its envy,
+meaner in revenge--a domestic brand of sectional Bolsheviki as dirty
+and degenerate as any anarchist in all Russia.
+
+The President had sailed away--(_Slava! Slava! Nechevo!_)--and the
+newspapers were preparing to tell their disillusioned public all about
+it, if permitted.
+
+And so dawned the New Year over the spreading crimson flood, flecking
+the mounting tide with brighter scarlet as it crept ever westward,
+ever wider, across a wounded world.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Palla had not seen Jim for a very long time now. Christmas passed,
+bringing neither gift nor message, although she had sent him a little
+remembrance--_The Divine Pantheon_, by an unfrocked Anglican
+clergyman, one Loxon Fettars, recently under detention pending
+investigation concerning an alleged multiplicity of wives.
+
+The New Year brought no greeting from him, either; nobody she knew had
+seen him, and her pride had revolted at writing him after she had
+telephoned and left a message at his club--her usual concession after
+a stormy parting.
+
+And there was another matter that was causing her a constantly
+increasing unrest--she had not seen Marya for many a day.
+
+Quiet grief for what now appeared to be a friendship ended--at
+other times a tingle of bitterness that he had let it end so
+relentlessly--and sometimes, at night, the secret dread--eternally
+buried yet perennially resurrected--the still, hidden, ever-living
+fear of Marya; these the girl knew, now, as part of life.
+
+And went on, steadily, with her life's business, as though moving
+toward a dark horizon where clouds towered gradually higher,
+reflecting the glimmer of unseen lightning.
+
+Somehow, lately, a vague sensation of impending trouble had invaded
+her; and she never entirely shook it off, even in her lighter moods,
+when there was gay company around her; or in the warm flush of
+optimistic propaganda work; or in the increasingly exciting sessions
+of the Combat Club, now interrupted nightly by fierce outbreaks from
+emissaries of the Red Flag Club, who were there to make mischief.
+
+Also, there had been an innovation established among her company of
+moderate socialists; a corps of missionary speakers, who volunteered
+on certain nights to speak from the classic soap-box on street
+corners, urging the propaganda of their panacea, the Law of Love and
+Service.
+
+Twice already, despite her natural timidity and dread of public
+speaking, Palla had faced idle, half-curious, half sneering crowds
+just east or west of Broadway; had struggled through with what she had
+come to say; had gently replied to heckling, blushed under insult,
+stood trembling by her guns to the end.
+
+Ilse was more convincing, more popular with her gay insouciance and
+infectious laughter, and her unexpected and enchanting flashes of
+militancy, which always interested the crowd.
+
+And always, after these soap-box efforts, both Palla and Ilse were
+insulted over the telephone by unknown men. Their mail, also,
+invariably contained abusive or threatening letters, and sometimes
+vile ones; and Estridge purchased pistols for them both and exacted
+pledges that they carry them at night.
+
+On the evening selected for Palla's third essay in street oratory, she
+slipped her pistol into her muff and set out alone, not waiting for
+Ilse, who, with John Estridge, was to have met her after dinner at her
+house, and, as usual, accompany her to the place selected.
+
+But they knew where she was to speak, and she did not doubt they would
+turn up sooner or later at the rendezvous.
+
+All that day the dull, foreboding feeling had been assailing her at
+intervals, and she had been unable to free herself entirely from the
+vague depression.
+
+The day had been grey; when she left the house a drizzle had begun to
+wet the flagstones, and every lamp-post was now hooded with ghostly
+iridescence.
+
+She walked because she had need of exercise, not even deigning to
+unfurl her umbrella against the mist which spun silvery ovals over
+every electric globe along Fifth Avenue, and now shrouded every
+building above the fourth story in a cottony ocean of fog.
+
+When finally she turned westward, the dark obscurity of the
+cross-street seemed to stretch away into infinite night and she
+hurried a little, scarcely realising why.
+
+There did not seem to be a soul in sight--she noticed that--yet
+suddenly, halfway down the street, she discovered a man walking at her
+elbow, his rubber-shod feet making no sound on the wet walk.
+
+Palla had never before been annoyed by such attentions in New York,
+yet she supposed it must be the reason for the man's insolence.
+
+She hastened her steps; he moved as swiftly.
+
+"Look here," he said, "I know who you are, and where you're going. And
+we've stood just about enough from you and your friends."
+
+In the quick revulsion from annoyance and disgust to a very lively
+flash of fright, Palla involuntarily slackened her pace and widened
+the distance between her and this unknown.
+
+"You better right-about-face and go home!" he said quietly. "You talk
+too damn much with your face. And we're going to stop you. See?"
+
+At that her flash of fear turned to anger:
+
+"Try it," she said hotly; and hurried on, her hand clutching the
+pistol in her wet muff, her eyes fixed on the unknown man.
+
+"I've a mind to dust you good and plenty right here," he said. "Quit
+your running, now, and beat it back again--" His vise-like grip was on
+her left arm, almost jerking her off her feet; and the next moment she
+struck him with her loaded pistol full in the face.
+
+As he veered away, she saw the seam open from his cheek bone to his
+chin--saw the white face suddenly painted with wet scarlet.
+
+The sight of the blood made her sick, but she kept her pistol
+levelled, backing away westward all the while.
+
+There was an iron railing near; he went over and leaned against it as
+though stupefied.
+
+And all the while she continued to retreat until, behind her, his dim
+shape merged into the foggy dark.
+
+Then Palla turned and ran. And she was still breathing fast and
+unevenly when she came to that perfect blossom of vulgarity and
+apotheosis of all American sham--Broadway--where in the raw glare from
+a million lights the senseless crowds swept north and south.
+
+And here, where Jew-manager and gentile ruled the histrionic destiny
+of the United States--here where art, letters, service, industry,
+business had each developed its own species of human prostitute--two
+muddy-brained torrents of humanity poured in opposite directions,
+crowding, shoving, shuffling along in the endless, hopeless Hunt for
+Happiness.
+
+She had made, in the beginning of her street-corner career,
+arrangements with a neighbouring boot-black to furnish one soap-box on
+demand at a quarter of a dollar rent for every evening.
+
+She extracted the quarter from her purse and paid the boy; carried the
+soap-box herself to the curb; and, with that invariable access of
+fright which attacked her at such moments, mounted it to face the
+first few people who halted out of curiosity to see what else she
+meant to do.
+
+Columns of passing umbrellas hid her so that not many people noticed
+her; but gradually that perennial audience of shabby opportunists
+which always gathers anywhere from nowhere, ringed her soap-box. And
+Palla began to speak in the drizzling rain.
+
+For some time there were no interruptions, no jeers, no doubtful
+pleasantries. But when it became more plain to the increasing crowd
+that this smartly though simply gowned young woman had come to
+Broadway in the rain for the purpose of protesting against all forms
+of violence, including the right of the working people to strike, ugly
+remarks became audible, and now and then a menacing word was flung at
+her, or some clenched hand insulted her and amid a restless murmur
+growing rougher all the time.
+
+Once, to prove her point out of the mouth of the proletariat itself,
+she quoted from Rosa Luxemburg; and a well-dressed man shouldered his
+way toward her and in a low voice gave her the lie.
+
+The painful colour dyed her face, but she went on calmly, explaining
+the different degrees and extremes of socialism, revealing how the
+abused term had been used as camouflage by the party committed to the
+utter annihilation of everything worth living for.
+
+And again, to prove her point, she quoted:
+
+"Socialism does not mean the convening of Parliaments and the
+enactment of laws; it means the overthrow of the ruling classes with
+all the brutality at the disposal of the proletariat."
+
+The same well-dressed man interrupted again:
+
+"Say, who pays you to come here and hand out that Wall Street stuff?"
+
+"Nobody pays me," she replied patiently.
+
+"All right, then, if that's true why don't you tell us something about
+the interests and the profiteers and all them dirty games the
+capitalists is rigging up? Tell us about the guy who wants us to pay
+eight cents to ride on his damned cars! Tell us about the geezers who
+soak us for food and coal and clothes and rent!
+
+"You stand there chirping to us about Love and Service and how we
+oughta give. _Give!_ Jesus!--we ain't got anything left to give. They
+ain't anything to give our wives or our children,--no, nor there ain't
+enough left to feed our own faces or pay for a patch on our pants!
+_Give?_ Hell! The interests _took_ it. And you stand there twittering
+about Love and Service! We oughta serve 'em a brick on the neck and
+love 'em with a black-jack!"
+
+"How far would that get you?" asked Palla gently.
+
+"As far as their pants-pockets anyway!"
+
+"And when you empty those, who is to employ and pay you?"
+
+"Don't worry," he sneered, "we'll do the employing after that."
+
+"And will your employees do to you some day what you did to your
+employers with a black-jack?"
+
+The crowd laughed, but her heckler shook his fist at her and yelled:
+
+"Ain't I telling you that we'll be sitting in these damn gold-plated
+houses and payin' wages to these here fat millionaires for blackin'
+our shoes?"
+
+"You mean that when Bolshevism rules there are to be rich and poor
+just the same as at present?"
+
+Again the crowd laughed.
+
+"All right!" bawled the man, waving both arms above his head,
+"--yes, I do mean it! It will be our turn then. Why not? What do we
+want to split fifty-fifty with them soft, fat millionaires for?
+Nix on that stuff! It will be hog-killing time, and you can bet your
+thousand-dollar wrist watch, Miss, that there'll be some killin' in
+little old New York!"
+
+He had backed out of the circle and disappeared in the crowd before
+Palla could attempt further reasoning with him. So she merely shook
+her head in gentle disapproval and dissent:
+
+"What is the use," she said, "of exchanging one form of tyranny for
+another? Why destroy the autocracy of the capitalist and erect on its
+ruins the autocracy of the worker?
+
+"How can class distinctions be eradicated by fanning class-hatred? In
+a battle against all dictators, why proclaim dictatorship--even of the
+proletariat?
+
+"All oppression is hateful, whether exercised by God or man--whether
+the oppressor be that murderous, stupid, treacherous, tyrannical
+bully in the Old Testament, miscalled God, or whether the oppressor be
+the proletariat which screamed for the blood of Jesus Christ and got
+it!
+
+"Free heart, free mind, free soul!--anything less means servitude, not
+service--hatred, not love!"
+
+A man in the outskirts of the crowd shouted: "Say, you're some
+rag-chewer, little girl! Go to it!"
+
+She laughed, then glanced at her wrist watch.
+
+There were a few more words she might say before the time she allowed
+herself had expired, and she found courage to go on, striving to
+explain to the shifting knot of people that the battle which now
+threatened civilisation was the terrible and final fight between Order
+and Disorder and that, under inexorable laws which could never change,
+order meant life and survival; disorder chaos and death for all living
+things.
+
+A few cheered her as she bade them good-night, picked up her soap-box
+and carried it back to her boot-black friend, who inhabited a shack
+built against the family-entrance side of a saloon.
+
+She was surprised that Ilse and John Estridge had not appeared--could
+scarcely understand it, as she made her way toward a taxicab.
+
+For, in view of the startling occurrence earlier in the evening, and
+the non-appearance of Ilse and Estridge, Palla had decided to return
+in a taxi.
+
+The incident--the boldness of the unknown man and vicious brutality of
+his attitude, and also a sickening recollection of her own action and
+his bloody face--had really shocked her, even more than she was aware
+of at the time.
+
+She felt tired and strained, and a trifle faint now, where she lay
+back, swaying there on her seat, her pistol clutched inside her muff,
+as the ramshackle vehicle lurched its noisy way eastward. And always
+that dull sense of something sinister impending--that indefinable
+apprehension--remained with her. And she gazed darkly out on the dark
+streets, possessed by a melancholy which she did not attempt to
+analyse.
+
+Yet, partly it came from the ruptured comradeship which always
+haunted her mind, partly because of Ilse and the uncertainty of what
+might happen to her--may have happened already for all Palla
+knew--and partly because--although she did not realise it--in the
+profound deeps of her girl's being she was vaguely conscious of
+something latent which seemed to have lain hidden there for a long,
+long time--something inert, inexorable, indestructible, which, if
+it ever stirred from its intense stillness, must be reckoned with
+in years to come.
+
+She made no effort to comprehend what this thing might be--if, indeed,
+it really existed--no pains to analyse it or to meditate over the
+vague indications of its presence.
+
+She seemed merely to be aware of something indefinable concealed in
+the uttermost depths of her.
+
+It was Doubt, unborn.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The taxi drew up before her house. Rain was falling heavily, as she
+ran up the steps--a cold rain through which a few wet snowflakes
+slanted.
+
+Her maid heard the rattle of her night-key and came to relieve her of
+her wet things, and to say that Miss Westgard had telephoned and had
+left a number to be called as soon as Miss Dumont returned.
+
+The slip of paper bore John Estridge's telephone number and Palla
+seated herself at her desk and called it.
+
+Almost immediately she heard Ilse's voice on the wire.
+
+"What is the matter, dear?" inquired Palla with the slightest shiver
+of that premonition which had haunted her all day.
+
+But Ilse's voice was cheerful: "We were so sorry not to go with you
+this evening, darling, but Jack is feeling so queer that he's turned
+in and I've sent for a physician."
+
+"Shall I come around?" asked Palla.
+
+"Oh, no," replied Ilse calmly, "but I've an idea Jack may need a
+nurse--perhaps two."
+
+"What is it?" faltered Palla.
+
+"I don't know. But he is running a high temperature and he says that
+it feels as though something were wrong with his appendix.
+
+"You see Jack is almost a physician himself, so if it really is acute
+appendicitis we must know as soon as possible."
+
+"Is there _anything_ I could do?" pleaded Palla. "Darling, I do so
+want to be of use if----"
+
+"I'll let you know, dear. There isn't anything so far."
+
+"Are you going to stay there to-night?"
+
+"Of course," replied Ilse calmly. "Tell me, Palla, how did the
+soap-box arguments go?"
+
+"Not very well. I was heckled. I'm such a wretched public speaker,
+Ilse;--I can never remember what rejoinders to make until it's too
+late."
+
+She did not mention her encounter with the unknown man; Ilse had
+enough to occupy her.
+
+They chatted a few moments longer, then Ilse promised to call her if
+necessary, and said good-night.
+
+A little after midnight Palla's telephone rang beside her bed and she
+started upright with a pang of fear and groped for the instrument.
+
+"Jack is seriously ill," came the level voice of Ilse. "We have taken
+him to the Memorial Hospital in one of their ambulances."
+
+"W--what is it?" asked Palla.
+
+"They say it is pneumonia."
+
+"Oh, Ilse!----"
+
+"I'm not afraid. Jack is in magnificent physical condition. He is too
+splendid not to win the fight.... And I shall be with him.... I shall
+not let him lose."
+
+"Tell me what I can do, darling!"
+
+"Nothing--except love us both."
+
+"I do--I do indeed----"
+
+"Both, Palla!"
+
+"Y--yes."
+
+"_Do you understand?_"
+
+"Oh, I--I think I do. And I do love you--love you both--devotedly----"
+
+"You must, _now_.... I am going home to get some things. Then I shall
+go to the hospital. You can call me there until he is convalescent."
+
+"Will they let you stay there?"
+
+"I have volunteered for general work. They are terribly short-handed
+and they are glad to have me."
+
+"I'll come to-morrow," said Palla.
+
+"No. Wait.... Good-night, my darling."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+As a mischievous caricaturist, in the beginning, draws a fairly good
+portrait of his victim and then gradually habituates his public to a
+series of progressively exaggerated extravagances, so progressed the
+programme of the Bolsheviki in America, revealing little by little
+their final conception of liberty and equality in the bloody and
+distorted monster which they had now evolved, and which they publicly
+owned as their ideal emblem.
+
+In the Red Flag Club, Sondheim shouted that a Red Republic was
+impossible because it admitted on an equality the rich and well-to-do.
+
+Karl Kastner, more cynical, coolly preached the autocracy of the
+worker; told his listeners frankly that there would always be masters
+and servants in the world, and asked them which they preferred to be.
+
+With the new year came sporadic symptoms of unrest;--strikes,
+unwarranted confiscations by Government, increasingly bad service
+in public utilities controlled by Government, loose talk in a
+contemptible Congress, looser gabble among those who witlessly lent
+themselves to German or Bolshevik propaganda--or both--by repeating
+stories of alleged differences between America and England, America
+and France, America and Italy.
+
+The hen-brained--a small minority--misbehaved as usual whenever the
+opportunity came to do the wrong thing; the meanest and most
+contemptible partisanship since the shameful era of the carpet bagger
+prevailed in a section of the Republic where the traditions of great
+men and great deeds had led the nation to expect nobler things.
+
+For the same old hydra seemed to be still alive on earth, lifting, by
+turns, its separate heads of envy, intolerance, bigotry and greed.
+Ignorance, robed with authority, legally robbed those comfortably
+off.
+
+The bleat of the pacifist was heard in the land. Those who had once
+chanted in sanctimonious chorus, "He kept us out of war," now sang
+sentimental hymns invoking mercy and forgiveness for the crucifiers of
+children and the rapers of women, who licked their lips furtively and
+leered at the imbecile choir. Representatives of a great electorate
+vaunted their patriotism and proudly repeated: "We forced him into
+war!" Whereas they themselves had been kicked headlong into it by a
+press and public at the end of its martyred patience.
+
+There appeared to be, so far, no business revival. Prosperity was
+penalised, taxed to the verge of blackmail, constantly suspected and
+admonished; and the Congressional Bolsheviki were gradually breaking
+the neck of legitimate enterprise everywhere throughout the Republic.
+
+And everywhere over the world the crimson tide crept almost
+imperceptibly a little higher every day.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Toward the middle of January the fever which had burnt John Estridge
+for a week fell a degree or two.
+
+Palla, who had called twice a day at the Memorial Hospital, was seated
+that morning in a little room near the disinfecting plant, talking to
+Ilse, who had just laid aside her mask.
+
+"You look rather ill yourself," said Ilse in her cheery, even voice.
+"Is anything worrying you, darling?"
+
+"Yes.... You are."
+
+"I!" exclaimed the girl, really astonished. "Why?"
+
+"Sometimes," murmured Palla, "my anxiety makes me almost sick."
+
+"Anxiety about _me_!----"
+
+"You know why," whispered Palla.
+
+A bright flush stained Ilse's face: she said calmly:
+
+"But our creed is broad enough to include all things beautiful and
+good."
+
+Palla shrank as though she had been struck, and sat staring out of the
+narrow window.
+
+Ilse lifted a basket of soiled linen and carried it away. When,
+presently, she returned to take away another basket, she inquired
+whether Palla had made up her quarrel with Jim Shotwell, and Palla
+shook her head.
+
+"Do you really suppose Marya has made mischief between you?" asked
+Ilse curiously.
+
+"Oh, I don't know, Ilse," said the girl listlessly. "I don't know what
+it is that seems to be so wrong with the world--with everybody--with
+me----"
+
+She rose nervously, bade Ilse adieu, and went out without turning her
+head--perhaps because her brown eyes had suddenly blurred with tears.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Half way to Red Cross headquarters she passed the Hotel Rajah. And why
+she did it she had no very clear idea, but she turned abruptly and
+entered the gorgeous lobby, went to the desk, and sent up her name to
+Marya Lanois.
+
+It appeared, presently, that Miss Lanois was at home and would receive
+her in her apartment.
+
+The accolade was perfunctory: Palla's first glance informed her that
+Marya had grown a trifle more svelte since they had met--more
+brilliant in her distinctive coloration. There was a tawny beauty
+about the girl that almost blazed from her hair and delicately
+sanguine skin and lips.
+
+They seated themselves, and Marya lighted the cigarette which Palla
+had refused; and they fell into the animated, gossiping conversation
+characteristic of such reunions.
+
+"Vanya?" repeated Marya, smiling, "no, I have not seen him. That is
+quite finished, you see. But I hope he is well. Do you happen to
+know?"
+
+"He seems--changed. But he is working hard, which is always best for
+the unhappy. And he and his somewhat vociferous friend, Mr. Wilding,
+are very busy preparing for their Philadelphia concert."
+
+"Wilding," repeated Marya, as though swallowing something distasteful.
+"He was the last straw! But tell me, Palla, what are you doing these
+jolly days of the new year?"
+
+"Nothing.... Red Cross, canteen, club--and recently I go twice a day
+to the Memorial Hospital."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"John Estridge is ill there."
+
+"What is the matter with him?"
+
+"Pneumonia."
+
+"Oh. I am so sorry for Ilse!----" Her eyes rested intently on Palla's
+for a moment; then she smiled subtly, as though sharing with Palla
+some occult understanding.
+
+Palla's face whitened a little: "I want to ask you a question,
+Marya.... You know our belief--concerning life in general.... Tell
+me--since your separation from Vanya, do you still believe in that
+creed?"
+
+"Do I still believe in my own personal liberty to do as I choose? Of
+course."
+
+"From the moral side?"
+
+"Moral!" mocked Marya, "--What are morals? Artificial conventions
+accidentally established! Haphazard folkways of ancient peoples whose
+very origin has been forgotten! What is moral in India is immoral in
+England: what is right in China is wrong in America. It's purely a
+matter of local folkways--racial customs--as to whether one is or is
+not immoral.
+
+"Ethics apply to the Greek _Ethos_; morals to the Latin _Mores_--_moeurs_
+in French, _sitte_ in German, _custom_ in English;--and all mean
+practically the same thing--metaphysical hair-splitters to the
+contrary--which is simply this: all beliefs are local, and local
+customs or morals are the result. Therefore, they don't worry me."
+
+Palla sat with her troubled eyes on the careless, garrulous,
+half-smiling Russian girl, and trying to follow with an immature mind
+the half-baked philosophy offered for her consumption.
+
+She said hesitatingly, almost shyly: "I've wondered a little, Marya,
+how it ever happened that such an institution as marriage became
+practically universal----"
+
+"Marriage isn't an institution," exclaimed Marya smilingly. "The
+family, which existed long before marriage, is the institution,
+because it has a definite structure which marriage hasn't.
+
+"Marriage always has been merely a locally varying mode of sex
+association. No laws can control it. Local rules merely try to
+regulate the various manners of entering into a marital state, the
+obligations and personal rights of the sexes involved. What really
+controls two people who have entered into such a relation is local
+opinion----"
+
+She snapped her fingers and tossed aside her cigarette: "You and I
+happen to be, locally, in the minority with our opinions, that's
+all."
+
+Palla rose and walked slowly to the door. "Have you seen Jim
+recently?" she managed to say carelessly.
+
+Marya waited for her to turn before replying: "Haven't _you_ seen
+him?" she asked with the leisurely malice of certainty.
+
+"No, not for a long while," replied Palla, facing with a painful flush
+this miserable crisis to which her candour had finally committed her.
+"We had a little difference.... Have you seen him lately?"
+
+Marya's sympathy flickered swift as a dagger:
+
+"What a shame for him to behave so childishly!" she cried. "I shall
+scold him soundly. He's like an infant--that boy--the way he sulks if
+you deny him anything--" She checked herself, laughed in a confused
+way which confessed and defied.
+
+Palla's fixed smile was still stamped on her rigid lips as she made
+her adieux. Then she went out with death in her heart.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+At the Red Cross his mother exchanged a few words with her at
+intervals, as usual, during the séance.
+
+The conversation drifted toward the subject of religious orders in
+Russia, and Mrs. Shotwell asked her how it was that she came to begin
+a novitiate in a country where Catholic orders had, she understood,
+been forbidden permission to establish themselves in the realm of the
+Greek church.
+
+Palla explained in her sweet, colourless voice that the Czar had
+permitted certain religious orders to establish themselves--very few,
+however,--the number of nuns of all orders not exceeding five hundred.
+Also she explained that they were forbidden to make converts from the
+orthodox religion, which was why the Empress had sternly refused the
+pleading of the little Grand Duchess.
+
+"I do not think," added Palla, "that the Bolsheviki have left any
+Catholic nuns in Russia, unless perhaps they have spared the Sisters
+of Mercy. But I hear that non-cloistered orders like the Dominicans,
+and cloistered orders such as the Carmelites and Ursulines have been
+driven away.... I don't know whether this is true."
+
+Mrs. Shotwell, her eyes on her flying needle, said casually: "Have you
+never felt the desire to reconsider--to return to your novitiate?"
+
+The girl, bending low over her work, drew a deep, still breath.
+
+"Yes," she said, "it has occurred to me."
+
+"Does it still appeal to you at times?"
+
+The girl lifted her honest eyes: "In life there are moments when any
+refuge appeals."
+
+"Refuge from what?" asked Helen quietly.
+
+Palla did not evade the question: "From the unkindness of life," she
+said. "But I have concluded that such a motive for cloistered life is
+a cowardly one."
+
+"Was that your motive when you took the white veil?"
+
+"No, not then.... It seemed to be an overwhelming need for service
+and adoration.... It's strange how faiths change though need
+remains."
+
+"You still feel that need?"
+
+"Of course," said the girl simply.
+
+"I see. Your clubs and other service give you what you require to
+satisfy you and make you happy and contented."
+
+As Palla made no reply, Helen glanced at her askance; and caught a
+fleeting glimpse of tragedy in this girl's still face--the face of a
+cloistered nun burnt white--purged utterly of all save the mystic
+passion of the spirit.
+
+The face altered immediately, and colour came into it; and her slender
+hands were steady as she turned her bandage and cut off the thread.
+
+What thoughts concerning this girl were in her mind, Helen could
+neither entirely comprehend nor analyse. At moments a hot hatred for
+the girl passed over her like flame--anger because of what she was
+doing to her only son.
+
+For Jim had changed; and it was love for this woman that had changed
+him--which had made of him the silent, listless man whose grey face
+haunted his mother's dreams.
+
+That he, dissipating all her hopes of him, had fallen in love with
+Palla Dumont was enough unhappiness, it seemed; but that this girl
+should have found it possible to refuse him--that seemed to Helen a
+monstrous thing.
+
+And even were Jim able to forget the girl and free himself from this
+exasperating unhappiness which almost maddened his mother, still she
+must always afterward remember with bitterness the girl who had
+rejected her only son.
+
+Not since Palla had telephoned on that unfortunate night had she or
+Helen ever mentioned Jim. The mother, expecting his obsession to wear
+itself out, had been only too glad to approve the rupture.
+
+But recently, at moments, her courage had weakened when, evening after
+evening, she had watched her son where he sat so silent, listless, his
+eyes dull and remote and the book forgotten on his knees.
+
+A steady resentment for all this change in her son possessed Helen,
+varied by flashes of impulse to seize Palla and shake her into
+comprehension of her responsibility--of her astounding stupidity,
+perhaps.
+
+Not that she wanted her for a daughter-in-law. She wanted Elorn. But
+now she was beginning to understand that it never would be Elorn
+Sharrow. And--save when the change in Jim worried her too deeply--she
+remained obstinately determined that he should not bring this girl
+into the Shotwell family.
+
+And the amazing paradox was revealed in the fact that Palla fascinated
+her; that she believed her to be as fine as she was perverse; as
+honest as she was beautiful; as spiritually chaste as she knew her to
+be mentally and bodily untainted by anything ignoble.
+
+This, and because Palla was the woman to whom her son's unhappiness
+was wholly due, combined to exercise an uncanny fascination on Helen,
+so that she experienced a constant and haunting desire to be near the
+girl, where she could see her and hear her voice.
+
+At moments, even, she experienced a vague desire to intervene--do
+something to mitigate Jim's misery--yet realising all the while she
+did not desire Palla to relent.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+As for Palla, she was becoming too deeply worried over the darkening
+aspects of life to care what Helen thought, even if she had divined
+the occult trend of her mind toward herself.
+
+One thing after another seemed to crowd more threateningly upon
+her;--Jim's absence, Marya's attitude, and the certainty, now, that
+she saw Jim;--and then the grave illness of John Estridge and her
+apprehensions regarding Ilse; and the increasing difficulties of club
+problems; and the brutality and hatred which were becoming daily more
+noticeable in the opposition which she and Ilse were encountering.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+After a tiresome day, Palla left a new Hostess House which she had
+aided to establish, and took a Fifth Avenue bus, too weary to walk
+home.
+
+The day had been clear and sunny, and she wondered dully why it had
+left with her the impression of grey skies.
+
+Dusk came before she arrived at her house. She went into her unlighted
+living room, and threw herself on the lounge, lying with eyes closed
+and the back of one gloved hand across her temples.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+When a servant came to turn up the lamp, Palla had bitten her lip till
+the blood flecked her white glove. She sat up, declined to have tea,
+and, after the maid had departed, she remained seated, her teeth busy
+with her under lip again, her eyes fixed on space.
+
+After a long while her eyes swerved to note the clock and what its
+gilt hands indicated.
+
+And she seemed to arrive at a conclusion, for she went to her bedroom,
+drew a bath, and rang for her maid.
+
+"I want my rose evening gown," she said. "It needs a stitch or two
+where I tore it dancing."
+
+At six, not being dressed yet, she put on a belted chamber robe and
+trotted into the living room, as confidently as though she had no
+doubts concerning what she was about to do.
+
+It seemed to take a long while for the operator to make the
+connection, and Palla's hand trembled a little where it held the
+receiver tightly against her ear. When, presently, a servant
+answered:
+
+"Please say to him that a client wishes to speak to him regarding an
+investment."
+
+Finally she heard his voice saying: "This is Mr. James Shotwell
+Junior; who is it wishes to speak to me?"
+
+"A client," she faltered, "--who desires to--to participate with
+you in some plan for the purpose of--of improving our mutual
+relationship."
+
+"Palla." She could scarcely hear his voice.
+
+"I--I'm so unhappy, Jim. Could you come to-night?"
+
+He made no answer.
+
+"I suppose you haven't heard that Jack Estridge is very ill?" she
+added.
+
+"No. What is the trouble?"
+
+"Pneumonia. He's a little better to-night."
+
+She heard him utter: "That's terrible. That's a bad business." Then to
+her: "Where is he?"
+
+She told him. He said he'd call at the hospital. But he said nothing
+about seeing her.
+
+"I wondered," came her wistful voice, "whether, perhaps, you would
+dine here alone with me this evening."
+
+"Why do you ask me?"
+
+"Because--I--our last quarrel was so bitter--and I feel the hurt of it
+yet. It hurts even physically, Jim."
+
+"I did not mean to do such a thing to you."
+
+"No, I know you didn't. But that numb sort of pain is always there. I
+can't seem to get rid of it, no matter what I do."
+
+"Are you very busy still?"
+
+"Yes.... I saw--Marya--to-day."
+
+"Is that unusual?" he asked indifferently.
+
+"Yes. I haven't seen her since--since she and Vanya separated."
+
+"Oh! Have they separated?" he asked with such unfeigned surprise that
+the girl's heart leaped wildly.
+
+"Didn't you know it? Didn't Marya tell you?" she asked shivering with
+happiness.
+
+"I haven't seen her since I saw you," he replied.
+
+Palla's right hand flew to her breast and rested there while she
+strove to control her voice. Then:
+
+"Please, Jim, let us forgive and break bread again together. I--" she
+drew a deep, unsteady breath--"I can't tell you how our separation has
+made me feel. I don't quite know what it's done to me, either. Perhaps
+I can understand if I see you--if I could only see you again----"
+
+There ensued a silence so protracted that a shaft of fear struck
+through her. Then his voice, pleasantly collected:
+
+"I'll be around in a few minutes."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+She was scared speechless when the bell rang--when she heard his
+unhurried step on the stair.
+
+Before he was announced by the maid, however, she had understood one
+problem in the scheme of things--realised it as she rose from the
+lounge and held out her slender hand.
+
+He took it and kept it. The maid retired.
+
+"Well, Palla," he said.
+
+"Well," she said, rather breathlessly, "--I know now."
+
+His voice and face seemed amiable and lifeless; his eyes, too,
+remained dull and incurious; but he said: "I don't think I understand.
+What is it you know?"
+
+"Shall I tell you?"
+
+"If you wish."
+
+His pleasant, listless manner chilled her; she hesitated, then turned
+away, withdrawing her hand.
+
+When she had seated herself on the sofa he dropped down beside her in
+his old place. She lighted a cigarette for him.
+
+"Tell me about poor old Jack," he said in a low voice.
+
+Their dinner was a pleasant but subdued affair. Afterward she played
+for him--interrupted once by a telephone call from Ilse, who said that
+John's temperature had risen a degree and the only thing to do was to
+watch him every second. But she refused Palla's offer to join her at
+the hospital, saying that she and the night nurse were sufficient; and
+the girl went slowly back to the piano.
+
+But, somehow, even that seemed too far away from her lover--or the man
+who once had been her avowed lover. And after idling-with the keys for
+a few minutes she came back to the lounge where he was seated.
+
+He looked up from his revery: "This is most comfortable, Palla," he
+said with a slight smile.
+
+"Do you like it?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"You need not go away at all--if it pleases you." Her voice was so
+indistinct that for a moment he did not comprehend what she had said.
+Then he turned and looked at her. Both were pale enough now.
+
+"That is what--what I was going to tell you," she said. "Is it too
+late?"
+
+"Too late!"
+
+"To say that I am--in love with you."
+
+He flushed heavily and looked at her in a dazed way.
+
+"What do you mean?" he said.
+
+"I mean--if you want me--I am--am not afraid any more----"
+
+They had both risen instinctively, as though to face something vital.
+She said:
+
+"Don't ask me to submit to any degrading ceremony.... I love you
+enough."
+
+He said slowly: "Do you realise what you say? You are crazy! You and
+your socialist friends pretend to be fighting anarchy. You preach
+against Bolshevism! You warn the world that the Crimson Tide is
+rising. And every word you utter swells it! _You_ are the anarchists
+yourselves! You are the Bolsheviki of the world! You come bringing
+disorder where there is order; you substitute unproven theory for
+proven practice!
+
+"Like the hun, you come to impose your will on a world already content
+with its own God and its own belief! And that is autocracy; and
+autocracy is what you say you oppose!
+
+"I tell you and your friends that it was not wolves that were
+pupped in the sand of the shaggy Prussian forests when the first
+Hohenzollern was dropped. It was swine! Swine were farrowed;--not
+even _sanglier_, but decadent domestic swine;--when Wilhelm and his
+degenerate litter came out to root up Europe! And _they_ were the
+first real Bolsheviki!"
+
+He turned and began to stride to and fro; his pale, sunken face deeply
+shadowed, his hands clenching and unclenching.
+
+"What in God's name," he said fiercely, "are women like you doing to
+us! What do you suppose happens to such a man as I when the girl he
+loves tells him she cares only to be his mistress! What hope is there
+left in him?--what sense, what understanding, what faith?
+
+"You don't have to tell me that the Crimson Tide is rising. I saw it
+in the Argonne. I wish to God I were back there and the hun was still
+resisting. I wish I had never lived to come back here and see what
+demoralisation is threatening my own country from that cursed germ of
+wilful degeneracy born in the Prussian twilight, fed in Russian
+desolation, infecting the whole world----"
+
+His voice died in his throat; he walked swiftly past her, turned at
+the threshold:
+
+"I've known three of you," he said, "--you and Ilse and Marya. I've
+seen a lot of your associates and acquaintances who profess your
+views. And I've seen enough."
+
+He hesitated; then when he could control his voice again:
+
+"It's bad enough when a woman refuses marriage to a man she does not
+love. That man is going to be unhappy. But have you any idea what
+happens to him when the girl he loves, and who says she cares for him,
+refuses marriage?
+
+"It was terrible even when you cared for me only a little. But--but
+now--do you know what I think of your creed? I hate it as you hated
+the beasts who slew your friend! Damn your creed! To hell with it!"
+
+She covered her face with both hands: there was a noise like thunder
+in her brain.
+
+She heard the door close sharply in the hall below.
+
+This was the end.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+She felt a trifle weak. In her ears there lingered a dull, confused
+sensation, like the echo of things still falling. Something had gone
+very wrong with the scheme of nature. Even beneath her feet, now, the
+floor seemed unsteady, unreliable.
+
+A half-darkness dimmed her eyes; she laid one slim hand on the sofa-back
+and seated herself, fighting instinctively for consciousness.
+
+She sat there for a long while. The swimming faintness passed away. An
+intense stillness seemed to invade her, and the room, and the street
+outside. And for vast distances beyond. Half hours and hours rang
+clearly through the silence from the mantel-clock. So still was the
+place that a sheaf of petals falling from a fading rose on the piano
+seemed to fill the room with ghostly rustling.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+This, then, was the finish. Love had ended. Youth itself was ending,
+too, here in the dead silence of this lamplit room.
+
+There remained nothing more. Except that ever darkening horizon where,
+at the earth's ends, those grave shapes of cloud closed out the vista
+of remote skies.
+
+There seemed to be no shelter anywhere in the vast nakedness of the
+scheme of things--no shadow under which to crouch--no refuge.
+
+Dim visions of cloistered forms, moving in a blessed twilight, grew
+and assumed familiar shape amid the dumb desolation reigning in her
+brain. The spectral temptation passed, repassed; processional,
+recessional glided by, timed by her heart's low rhythm.
+
+But, little by little, she came to understand that there was no refuge
+even there; no mystic glow in the dark corridors of her own heart; no
+source of light save from the candles glimmering on the high altar; no
+aureole above the crucifix.
+
+Always, everywhere, there seemed to be no shelter, no roof above the
+scheme of things.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+She heard the telephone. As she slowly rose from the sofa she noted
+the hour as it sounded;--four o'clock in the morning.
+
+A man's voice was speaking--an unhurried, precise, low-pitched,
+monotonous voice:
+
+"This--is--the--Memorial Hospital. Doctor--Willis--speaking. Mr.--John--
+Estridge--died--at--ten minutes--to--four. Miss Westgard--wishes--to--
+go--to--your--residence--and--remain--over--night--if--convenient....
+Thank you. Miss--Westgard--will--go--to--you--immediately. Good-night."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Palla rose from her chair in the unfurnished drawing-room, went out
+into the hall, admitted Ilse, then locked and chained the two front
+doors.
+
+When she turned around, trembling and speechless, they kissed. But it
+was only Palla's mouth that trembled; and when they mounted the stairs
+it was Ilse's arm that supported Palla.
+
+Except that her eyes were heavy and seemed smeared with deep violet
+under the lower lids, Ilse did not appear very much changed.
+
+She took off her furs, hat, and gloves and sat down beside Palla. Her
+voice was quite clear and steady; there appeared to be no sign of
+shock or of grief, save for a passing tremor of her tired eyes now and
+then.
+
+She said: "We talked a little together, Jack and I, after I telephoned
+to you.
+
+"That was the last. His hand began to burn in mine steadily, like
+something on fire. And when, presently, I found he was not asleep, I
+motioned to the night nurse.
+
+"The change seemed to come suddenly; she went to find one of the
+internes; I sat with my hand on his pulse.... There were three
+physicians there.... Jack was not conscious after midnight."
+
+Palla's lips and throat were dry and aching and her voice almost
+inaudible:
+
+"Darling," she whispered, "--darling--if I could give him back to you
+and take his place!----"
+
+Ilse smiled, but her heavy eyelids quivered:
+
+"The scheme of things is so miserably patched together.... Except for
+the indestructible divinity within each one of us, it all would be so
+hopeless.... I had never been able to imagine Jack and Death
+together--" She looked up at the clock. "He was alive only an hour
+ago.... Isn't it strange--"
+
+"Oh, Ilse, Ilse! I wish this God who deals out such wickedness and
+misery had struck me down instead!"
+
+Neither seemed to notice the agnostic paradox in this bitter cry wrung
+from a young girl's grief.
+
+Ilse closed her eyes as though to rest them, and sat so, her steady
+hand on Palla's. And, so resting, said in her unfaltering voice:
+
+"Jack, of course, lives.... But it seems a long time to wait to see
+him."
+
+"Jack lives," whispered Palla.
+
+"Of course.... Only--it seems so long a time to wait.... I wanted to
+show him--how kind love has been to us--how still more wonderful love
+could have been to us ... for I could have borne him many children....
+And now I shall bear but one."
+
+After a silence, Palla lifted her eyes. In them the shadow of terror
+still lingered; there was not an atom of colour in her face.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ilse slept that night, though Palla scarcely closed her eyes. Dreadful
+details of the coming day rose up to haunt her--all the ghastly
+routine necessary before the dead lie finally undisturbed by the stir
+and movement of many footsteps--the coming and going of the living.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Because what they called pneumonia was the Black Death of the ancient
+East, they had warned Ilse to remain aloof from that inert thing that
+had been her lover. So she did not look upon his face again.
+
+There were relatives of sorts at the chapel. None spoke to her. The
+sunshine on the flower-covered casket was almost spring like.
+
+And in the cemetery, too, there was no snow; and, under the dead
+grass, everywhere new herbage tinted the earth with delicate green.
+
+Ilse returned from the cemetery with Palla. Her black veil and
+garments made of her gold hair and blond skin a vivid beauty that
+grief had not subdued.
+
+That deathless courage which was part of her seemed to sustain the
+clear glow of her body's vigour as it upheld her dauntless spirit.
+
+"Did you see Jim in the chapel?" she asked quietly.
+
+Palla nodded. She had seen Marya, also. After a little while Ilse said
+gravely:
+
+"I think it no treachery to creed when one submits to the equally
+vital belief of another. I think our creed includes submission,
+because that also is part of love."
+
+Palla lifted her face in flushed surprise:
+
+"Is there any compromising with truth?" she asked.
+
+"I think love is the greatest truth. What difference does it make how
+we love?"
+
+"Does not our example count? You had the courage of your belief. Do
+you counsel me to subscribe to what I do not believe by acquiescing in
+it?"
+
+Ilse closed her sea-blue eyes as though fatigued. She said dreamily:
+
+"I think that to believe in love and mating and the bearing of
+children is the only important belief in the world. But under what
+local laws you go about doing these things seems to be of minor
+importance,--a matter, I should say, of personal inclination."
+
+Ilse wished to go home. That is, to her own apartment, where now were
+enshrined all her memories of this dead man who had given to her
+womanhood that ultimate crown which in her eyes seemed perfect.
+
+She said serenely to Palla: "Mine is not the loneliness that craves
+company with the living. I have a long time to wait; that is all. And
+after a while I shall not wait alone.
+
+"So you must not grieve for me, darling. You see I know that Jack
+lives. It's just the long, long wait that calls for courage. But I
+think it is a little easier to wait alone until--until there are two
+to wait--for him----"
+
+"Will you call me when you want me, Ilse?"
+
+"Always, darling. Don't grieve. Few women know happiness. I have known
+it. I know it now. It shall not even die with me."
+
+She smiled faintly and turned to enter her doorway; and Palla
+continued on alone toward that dwelling which she called home.
+
+The mourning which she had worn for her aunt, and which she had worn
+for John Estridge that morning, she now put off, although vaguely
+inclined for it. But she shrank from the explanations in which it was
+certain she must become involved when on duty at the Red Cross and the
+canteen that afternoon.
+
+Undressed, she sent her maid for a cup of tea, feeling too tired for
+luncheon. Afterward she lay down on her bed, meaning merely to close
+her eyes for a moment.
+
+It was after four in the afternoon when she sat up with a start--too
+late for the Red Cross; but she could do something at the canteen.
+
+She went about dressing as though bruised. It seemed to take an
+interminable time. Her maid called a taxi; but the short winter
+daylight had nearly gone when she arrived at the canteen.
+
+She remained there on kitchen duty until seven, then untied her white
+tablier, washed, pinned on her hat, and went out into the light-shot
+darkness of the streets and turned her steps once more toward home.
+
+There is, among the weirder newspapers of the metropolis, a sheet
+affectionately known as "pink-and-punk," the circulation of which
+seems to depend upon its distribution of fake "extras."
+
+As Palla turned into her street, shabby men with hoarse voices were
+calling an extra and selling the newspaper in question.
+
+She bought one, glanced at the headlines, then, folding it, unlocked
+her door.
+
+Dinner was announced almost immediately, but she could not touch it.
+
+She sank down on the sofa, still wearing her furs and hat. After a
+little while she opened her newspaper.
+
+It seemed that a Bolsheviki plot had been discovered to murder the
+premiers and rulers of the allied nations, and to begin simultaneously
+in every capital and principal city of Europe and America a reign of
+murder and destruction.
+
+In fact, according to the account printed in startling type, the
+Terrorists had already begun their destructive programme in
+Philadelphia. Half a dozen buildings--private dwellings and one small
+hotel--had been more or less damaged by bombs. A New York man named
+Wilding, fairly well known as an impresario, had been killed outright;
+and a Russian pianist, Vanya Tchernov, who had just arrived in
+Philadelphia to complete arrangements for a concert to be given by him
+under Mr. Wilding's management, had been fatally injured by the
+collapse of the hotel office which, at that moment, he was leaving in
+company with Mr. Wilding.
+
+A numbness settled over Palla's brain. She did not seem to be able
+to comprehend that this affair concerned Vanya--that this newspaper
+was telling her that Vanya had been fatally hurt somewhere in
+Philadelphia.
+
+Hours later, while she was lying on the lounge with her face buried in
+the cushions, and still wearing her hat and furs, somebody came into
+the room. And when she turned over she saw it was Ilse.
+
+Palla sat up stupidly, the marks of tears still glistening under her
+eyes. Ilse picked up the newspaper from the couch, laid it aside, and
+seated herself.
+
+"So you know about Vanya?" she said calmly.
+
+Palla nodded.
+
+"You don't know all. Marya called me on the telephone a few minutes
+ago to tell me."
+
+"Vanya is dead," whispered Palla.
+
+"Yes. They found an unmailed letter directed to Marya in his pockets.
+That's why they notified her."
+
+After an interval: "So Vanya is dead," repeated Palla under her
+breath.
+
+Ilse sat plaiting the black edges of her handkerchief.
+
+"It's such a--a senseless interruption--death----" she murmured. "It
+seems so wanton, so meaningless in the scheme of things ... to make
+two people wait so long--so long!--to resume where they had been
+interrupted----"
+
+Palla asked coldly whether Marya had seemed greatly shocked.
+
+"I don't know, Palla. She called me up and told me. I asked her if
+there was anything I could do; and she answered rather strangely that
+what remained for her to do she would do alone. I don't know what she
+meant."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Whether Marya herself knew exactly what she meant seemed not to be
+entirely clear to her. For, when Mr. Puma, dressed in a travelling
+suit and carrying a satchel, arrived at her apartment in the Hotel
+Rajah, and entered the reception room with his soundless, springy
+step, she came out of her bedroom partly dressed, and still hooking
+her waist.
+
+"What are you doing here?" she demanded contemptuously, looking him
+over from, head to foot. "Did you really suppose I meant to go to
+Mexico with you?"
+
+His heavy features crimsoned: "What pleasantry is this, my Marya?----"
+he began; but the green blaze in her slanting eyes silenced him.
+
+"The difference," she said, "between us is this. You run from those
+who threaten you. I kill them."
+
+"Of--of what nonsense are you speaking!" he stammered. "All is
+arranged that we shall go at eleven----"
+
+"No," she said wearily, "one sometimes plays with stray animals for a
+few moments--and that is all. And that is all I ever saw in you,
+Angelo--a stray beast to amuse and entertain me between two yawns and
+a cup of tea." She shrugged, still twisted lithely in her struggle to
+hook her waist. "You may go," she added, not even looking at him, "or,
+if you are not too cowardly, you may come with me to the Red Flag
+Club."
+
+"In God's name what do you mean----"
+
+"Mean? I mean to take my pistol to the Red Flag Club and kill some
+Bolsheviki. That is what I mean, my Angelo--my ruddy Eurasian pig!"
+
+She slipped in the last hook, turned and enveloped him again with an
+insolent, slanting glance: "_Allons!_ Do you come to the Red Flag?"
+
+"Marya----"
+
+"Yes or no! _Allez!_"
+
+"My God, are--are you then demented?" he faltered.
+
+"My God, I'm not," she mimicked him, "but I can't answer for what I
+might do to you if you hang around this apartment any longer."
+
+She came slowly toward him, her hands bracketed on her hips, her
+strange eyes narrowing.
+
+"Listen to me," she said. "I have loved many times. But never _you_!
+One doesn't love your kind. One experiments, possibly, if idle.
+
+"A man died to-day whom I loved; but was too stupid to love enough.
+Perhaps he knows now how stupid I am.... Unless they blew his soul to
+pieces, also. _Allez!_ Good-night. I tell you I have business to
+attend to, and you stand there rolling your woman's eyes at me!----"
+
+"Damn you!" he said between his teeth. "What is the matter with
+you----"
+
+He had caught her arm; she wrenched it free, tearing the sleeve to her
+naked shoulder.
+
+Then she went to her desk and took a pistol from an upper drawer.
+
+"If you don't go," she said, "I shall have to shoot you and leave you
+here kicking on the carpet."
+
+"In God's name, Marya!" he cried hoarsely, "who is it you shall kill
+at the hall?"
+
+"I shall kill Sondheim and Bromberg and Kastner, I hope. What of it?"
+
+"But--if I go to-night--the others will say _I_ did it! I can't run
+away if you do such thing! I can not go into Mexico but they shall
+arrest me before I am at the border----"
+
+"Eurasian pig, I shall admit the killing!" she said with a green gleam
+in her eyes that perhaps was laughter.
+
+"Yes, my Marya," he explained in agony, the sweat pouring from his
+temples, "but if they think me your accomplice they shall arrest me.
+Me--I can not wait--I shall be ruined if I am arrest! You do not
+comprehend. I have not said it to you how it is that I am compel to
+travel with some money which--which is not--my own."
+
+Marya looked at him for a long while. Suddenly she flung the pistol
+into a corner, threw back her head while peal on peal of laughter rang
+out in the room.
+
+"A thief," she said, fairly holding her slender sides between gemmed
+fingers: "--Just a Levantine thief, after all! Not a thing to shoot.
+Not a man. No! But a giant cockroach from the tropics. Ugh! Too large
+to place one's foot upon!----"
+
+She came leisurely forward, halted, inspected him with laughing
+insolence:
+
+"And the others--Kastner, Sondheim--and the other vermin? You were
+quite right. Why should I kill them--merely because to-day a real man
+died? What if they are the same species of vermin that slew Vanya
+Tchernov? They are not men to pay for it. My pistol could not make a
+dead man out of a live louse! No, you are quite correct. You know your
+own kind. It would be no compliment to Vanya if I should give these
+vermin the death that real men die!"
+
+Puma stood close to the door, furtively passing a thick tongue over
+his dry, blanched lips.
+
+"Then you will not interfere?" he asked softly.
+
+She shrugged her shoulders: one was bare with the torn sleeve
+dangling. "No," she said wearily. "Run home, painted pig. After all,
+the world is mostly swine.... I, too, it seems----" She half raised
+her arms, but the gesture failed, and she stood thinking again and
+staring at the curtained window. She did not hear him leave.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+
+In the strange, springlike weather which prevailed during the last
+days of January, Vanya was buried under skies as fleecy blue as
+April's, and Marya Lanois went back to the studio apartment where she
+and Vanya had lived together. And here, alone, in the first month of
+the new year, she picked up again the ravelled threads of life,
+undecided whether to untangle them or to cut them short and move on
+once more to further misadventure; or to Vanya; or somewhere--or
+perhaps nowhere. So, pending some decision, she left her pistol
+loaded.
+
+Afternoon sunshine poured into the studio between antique silken
+curtains, now drawn wide to the outer day for the first time since
+these two young people had established for themselves a habitation.
+
+And what, heretofore, even the lighted mosque-lamps had scarcely half
+revealed, now lay exposed to outer air and daylight, gilded by the
+sun--cabinets and chests of ancient lacquer; deep-toned carpets in
+which slumbered jewelled fires of Asia; carved gods from the East,
+crusted with soft gold; and tapestries of silk shot with amethyst and
+saffron, centred by dragons and guarded by the burning pearl.
+
+Over all these, and the great mosque lantern drooping from above, the
+false-spring sunshine fell; and through every open window flowed soft,
+deceptive winds, fluttering the leaves of music on the piano,
+stirring the clustered sheafs of growing jonquils and narcissus, so
+that they swayed in their Chinese bowls.
+
+Marya, in black, arranged her tiger-ruddy hair before an ancient
+grotesquerie set with a reflecting glass in which, on some days, one
+could see the form of the Lord Buddha, though none could ever tell
+from whence the image came.
+
+Where Vanya had left his music opened on the piano rack, the sacred
+pages now stirred slightly as the soft wind blew; and scented bells of
+Frisia swayed and bowed around a bowl where gold-fish glowed.
+
+Marya, at the piano, reading at sight from his inked manuscript, came
+presently to the end of what was scored there--merely the first sketch
+for a little spring song.
+
+Some day she would finish it as part of a new debt--new obligations
+she had now assumed in the slowly increasing light of new beliefs.
+
+As she laid Vanya's last manuscript aside, under it she discovered one
+of her own--a cynical, ribald, pencilled parody which she remembered
+she had scribbled there in an access of malicious perversity.
+
+As though curious to sound the obscurer depths of what she had been
+when this jeering cynicism expressed her mood, she began to read from
+her score and words, playing and intoning:
+
+                            "CROQUE-MITAINE.
+
+              "Parfaît qu'on attend La Marée Rouge,
+               La chose est positive.
+               On n'sait pas quand el' bouge,
+               Mais on sait qu'el' arrive.
+                  La Marée Rouge arrivera
+                  Et tout le monde en crèvera!
+
+              "Croque'morts, sacristains et abbés,
+               Dans leurs sacré's boutiques
+               Se cachent auprès des machabé's
+               En répètant des cantiques.
+               Pape, cardinal, et sacré soeur
+               Miaulent avec tout leurs cliques,
+               Lorsque les Bolsheviks reprenn 'nt en choeur;
+                  Mort aux saligaudes chic!
+
+              "La Marée Rouge montera
+               Et la bourgeoisie en crèvera!"
+
+The vicious irony of the atrocious parody--words and music--died out
+in the sunny silence: for a few moments the girl sat staring at the
+scored page; then she leaned forward, and, taking the manuscript in
+both hands, tore it into pieces.
+
+She was still occupied in destroying the unclean thing when a servant
+appeared, and in subdued voice announced Palla and Ilse.
+
+They came in as Marya swept the tattered scraps of paper into an
+incense-bowl, dropped a lighted match upon them, and set the ancient
+bronze vessel on the sill of the open window.
+
+"Some of my vileness I am burning," she said, coming forward and
+kissing Ilse on both cheeks.
+
+Then, looking Palla steadily in the eyes, she bent forward and touched
+her lips with her own.
+
+"Nechevo," she said; "the thing that dwelt within me for a time has
+continued on its way to hell, I hope."
+
+She took the pale girl by both hands: "Do you understand?"
+
+And Palla kissed her.
+
+When they were seated: "What religious order would be likely to accept
+me?" she asked serenely. And answered her own question: "None would
+tolerate me--no order with its rigid systems of inquiry and its
+merciless investigations.... And yet--I wonder.... Perhaps, as a
+lay-sister in some missionary order--where few care to serve--where
+life resembles death as one twin the other.... I don't know: I wonder,
+Palla."
+
+Palla asked her in a low voice if she had seen the afternoon paper.
+Marya did not reply at once; but presently over her face a hot
+rose-glow spread and deepened. Then, after a silence:
+
+"The paper mentioned me as Vanya's wife. Is that what you mean? Yes; I
+told them that.... It made no difference, for they would have
+discovered it anyway. And I scarcely know why I made Vanya lie about
+it to you all;--why I wished people to think otherwise.... Because I
+have been married to Vanya since the beginning.... And I can not
+explain why I have not told you."
+
+She touched a rosebud in the vase that stood beside her, broke the
+stem absently, and sat examining it in silence. And, after a few
+moments:
+
+"As a child I was too imaginative.... We do not change--we women.
+Married, unmarried, too wise, or too innocent, we remain what we were
+when our mothers bore us.... Whatever we do, we never change within:
+we remain, in our souls, what we first were. And unaltered we die....
+In morgue or prison or Potter's Field, where lies a dead female thing
+in a tattered skirt, there, hidden somewhere under rag and skin and
+bone, lies a dead girl-child."
+
+She laid the unopened rosebud on Palla's knees; her preoccupied gaze
+wandered around that silent, sunlit place.
+
+"I could have taken my pistol," she said softly, "and I could have
+killed a few among those whose doctrines at last slew Vanya.... Or I
+could have killed myself."
+
+She turned and her remote gaze came back to fix itself on Palla.
+
+"But, somehow, I think that Vanya would grieve.... And he has grieved
+enough. Do you think so, Palla?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Ilse said thoughtfully: "There is always enough death on earth. And to
+live honestly, and love undauntedly, and serve humanity with a clean
+heart is the most certain way to help the slaying of that thing which
+murdered Vanya."
+
+Palla gazed at Marya, profoundly preoccupied by the astounding
+revelation that she had been Vanya's legal wife; and in her brown eyes
+the stunned wonder of it still remained, nor could she seem to think
+of anything except of that amazing fact.
+
+When they stood up to take leave of Marya, the rosebud dropped from
+Palla's lap, and Marya picked it up and offered it again.
+
+"It should open," she said, her strange smile glimmering. "Cold water
+and a little salt, my Palla--that is all rosebuds need--that is all we
+women need--a little water to cool and freshen us; a little salt for
+all the doubtful worldly knowledge we imbibe."
+
+She took Palla's hands and bent her lips to them, then lifted her
+tawny head:
+
+"What do words matter? _Slava, slava_, under the moon! Words are
+but symbols of needs--your need and Ilse's and mine--and Jack's
+and Vanya's--and the master-word differs as differ our several
+needs. And if I say Christ and Buddha and I are one, let me so
+believe, if that be my need. Or if, from some high minarette, I
+lift my voice proclaiming the unity of God!--or if I confess the
+Trinity!--or if, for me, the god-fire smoulders only within my own
+accepted soul--what does it matter? Slava, slava--the word and the
+need spell Love--whatever the deed, Palla--my Palla!--whatever the
+deed, and despite it."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+As they came, together, to Palla's house and entered the empty
+drawing-room, Ilse said:
+
+"In mysticism there seems to be no reasoning--nothing definite save
+only an occult and overwhelming restlessness.... Marya may take the
+veil ... or nurse lepers ... or she may become a famous courtesan....
+I do not mean it cruelly. But, in the mystic, the spiritual, the
+intellectual and the physical seem to be interchangeable, and become
+gradually indistinguishable."
+
+"That is a frightful analysis," murmured Palla. A little shiver passed
+over her and she laid the rosebud against her lips.
+
+Ilse said: "Marya is right: love is the world's overwhelming need. The
+way to love is to serve; and if we serve we must renounce something."
+
+They locked arms and began to pace the empty room.
+
+"What should I renounce?" asked Palla faintly.
+
+Ilse smiled that wise, wholesome smile of hers:
+
+"Suppose you renounce your own omniscience, darling," she suggested.
+
+"I do not think myself omniscient," retorted the girl, colouring.
+
+"No? Well, darling, from where then do you derive your authority to
+cancel the credentials of the Most High?"
+
+"What!"
+
+"On what authority except your own omniscience do you so confidently
+preach the non-existence of omnipotence?"
+
+Palla turned her flushed face in sensitive astonishment under the
+gentle mockery.
+
+Ilse said: "Love has many names; and so has God. And all are good. If,
+to you, God means that little flame within you, then that is good. And
+so, to others, according to their needs.... And it is the same with
+love.... So, if for the man you love, love can be written only as a
+phrase--if the word love be only one element in a trinity of which the
+other two are Law and Wedlock--does it really matter, darling?"
+
+"You mean I--I am to renounce my--creed?"
+
+Ilse shook her head: "Who cares? The years develop and change
+everything--even creeds. Do you think your lover would care whether,
+at twenty-odd, you worship the flaming godhead itself, or whether
+you guard in spirit that lost spark from it which has become
+entangled with your soul?--whether you really do believe the man-made
+law that licenses your mating; or whether you reject it as a silly
+superstition? To a business man, convention is merely a safe
+procedure which, ignored, causes disaster--he knows that whenever
+he ignores it--as when he drives a car bearing no license; and the
+police stop him."
+
+"I never expected to hear this from you, Ilse."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"You are unmarried."
+
+"No, Palla."
+
+The girl stared at her: "Did you _marry_ Jack?" she gasped.
+
+"Yes. In the hospital."
+
+"Oh, Ilse!----"
+
+"He asked me."
+
+"But--" her mouth quivered and she bent her head and placed her hand
+on Ilse's arm for guidance, because the starting tears were
+blinding her now. And at last she found her voice: "I meant I am so
+thankful--darling--it's been a--a nightmare----"
+
+"It would have been one to me if I had refused him. Except that Jack
+wished it, I did not care.... But I have lately learned--some
+things."
+
+"You--you consented because he wished it?"
+
+"Of course. Is not that our law?"
+
+"Do you so construe the Law of Love and Service? Does it permit us to
+seek protection under false pretences; to say yes when we mean no; to
+kneel before a God we do not believe in; to accept immunity under a
+law we do not believe in?"
+
+"If all this concerned only one's self, then, no! Or, if the man
+believed as we do, no! But even then--" she shook her head slowly,
+"unless _all_ agree, it is unfair."
+
+"Unfair?"
+
+"Yes, it is unfair if you have a baby. Isn't it, darling? Isn't it
+unfair and tyrannical?"
+
+"You mean that a child should not arbitrarily be placed by its parents
+at what it might later consider a disadvantage?"
+
+"Of course I mean just that. Do you know, Palla, what Jack once said
+of us? He said--rather brutally, I thought--that you and I were
+immaturely un-moral and pitiably unbaked; and that the best thing for
+both of us was to marry and have a few children before we tried to do
+any more independent thinking."
+
+Palla's reply was: "He was such a dear!" But what she said did not
+seem absurd to either of them.
+
+Ilse added: "You know yourself, darling, what a relief it was to you
+to learn that I had married Jack. I think you even said something
+like, 'Thank God,' when you were choking back the tears."
+
+Palla flushed brightly: "I meant--" but her voice ended in a sob.
+Then, all of a sudden, she broke down--went all to pieces there in the
+dim and empty little drawing-room--down on her knees, clinging to
+Ilse's skirts....
+
+She wished to go to her room alone; and so Ilse, watching her climb
+the stairs as though they led to some dread calvary, opened the front
+door and went her lonely way, drawing the mourning veil around her
+face and throat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+
+Leila Vance, lunching with Elorn Sharrow at the Ritz, spoke of
+Estridge:
+
+"There seem to be so many of these well-born men who marry women we
+never heard of."
+
+"Perhaps we ought to have heard of them," suggested Elorn, smilingly.
+"The trouble may lie with us."
+
+"It does, dear. But it's something we can't help, unless we change
+radically. Because we don't stand the chance we once did. We never
+have been as attractive to men as the other sort. But once men thought
+they couldn't marry the other sort. Now they think they can. And they
+do if they have to."
+
+"What other sort?" asked Elorn, not entirely understanding.
+
+"The sort of girl who ignores the customs which make us what we are.
+We don't stand a chance with professional women any more. We don't
+compare in interest to girls who are arbiters of their own destinies.
+
+"Take the stage as an illustration. Once the popularity of women who
+made it their profession was due partly to glamour, partly because
+that art drew to it and concentrated the very best-looking among us.
+But it's something else now that attracts men; it's the attraction of
+women who are doing something--clever, experienced, interesting, girls
+who know how to take care of themselves and who are not afraid to give
+to men a frank and gay companionship outside those conventional
+limits which circumscribe us."
+
+Elorn nodded.
+
+"It's quite true," said Leila. "The independent professional girl
+to-day, whatever art or business engages her, is the paramount
+attraction to men.
+
+"A few do sneak back to us after a jolly caper in the open--a few
+timid ones, or snobs of sorts--thrifty, perhaps, or otherwise
+material, or cautious. But that's about all we get as husbands in
+these devilish days of general feminine _bouleversement_. And it's a
+sad and instructive fact, Elorn. But there seems to be nothing to do
+about it."
+
+Elorn said musingly: "The main thing seems to be that men admire a
+girl's effort to get somewhere--when she happens to be good-looking."
+
+"It's a cynical fact, dear; they certainly do. And now that they
+realise they have to marry these girls if they want them--why, they
+do."
+
+Elorn dissected her ice. "You know Stanley Wardner," she remarked.
+
+"Mortimer Wardner's son?"
+
+Elorn nodded. "He became a queer kind of sculptor. I think it is
+called a Concentrationist. Well, he's concentrated for life, now."
+
+"Whom did he marry?" asked Leila, laughing.
+
+"A girl named Questa Terrett. You never heard of her, did you?"
+
+"No. And I can imagine the moans and groans of the Mortimer
+Wardners."
+
+"I have heard so. She lives--_they_ live now, together, in Abdingdon
+Square, where she possesses a studio and nearly a dozen West Highland
+terriers."
+
+"What else does she do?" inquired Leila, still laughing.
+
+"She writes cleverly when she needs an income; otherwise, she produces
+obscure poems with malice aforethought, and laughs in her sleeve, they
+say, when the precious-minded rave."
+
+Leila reverted to Estridge:
+
+"I had no idea he was married," she said. "Palla Dumont introduced his
+widow to me the other day--a most superb and beautiful creature. But,
+oh dear I--can you fancy her having once served as a girl-soldier in
+the Russian Battalion of Death!"
+
+The slightest shadow crossed Elorn's face.
+
+"By the way," added Leila, following quite innocently her trend of
+thought, "Helen Shotwell tells me that her son is going back to the
+army if he can secure a commission."
+
+"Yes, I believe so," said Elorn serenely.
+
+Leila went on: "I fancy there'll be a lot of them. A taste of service
+seems to spoil most young men for a piping career of peace."
+
+"He cares nothing for his business."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Real estate. He is with my father, you know."
+
+"Of course. I remember--" She suddenly seemed to recollect something
+else, also--not, perhaps, quite certain of it, but instinctively
+playing safe. So she refrained from saying anything about this young
+man's recent devotion to her friend, Palla Dumont, although that was
+the subject which she had intended to introduce.
+
+And, smiling to herself, she thought it a close call, because she had
+meant to ask Elorn whether she knew why the Shotwell boy had so
+entirely deserted her little friend Palla.
+
+The Shotwell boy himself happened to be involved at that very moment,
+in matters concerning a friend of Mrs. Vance's little friend Palla--in
+fact, he had been trying, for the last half hour, to find this friend
+of Palla's on the telephone. The friend in question was Alonzo D.
+Pawling. And he was being vigorously paged at the Hotel Rajah.
+
+As for Jim, he remained seated in the private office of Angelo Puma,
+whither he had been summoned in professional capacity by one Skidder,
+the same being Elmer, and partner of the Puma aforesaid.
+
+The door was locked; the room in disorder. Safe, letter-files,
+cupboards, desks had been torn open and their contents littered the
+place.
+
+Skidder, in an agony of perspiring fright, kept running about the room
+like a distracted squirrel. Jim watched him, darkly preoccupied with
+other things, including the whereabouts of Mr. Pawling.
+
+"You say," he said to Skidder, "that Mr. Pawling will confirm what you
+have told me?"
+
+"John D. Pawling knows damn well I own this plant!"
+
+Jim shook his head: "I'm sorry, but that isn't sufficient. I can only
+repeat to you that there is no point in calling me in at present. You
+have no legal right to offer this property for sale. It belongs,
+apparently, to the creditors of your firm. What you require first of
+all is a lawyer----"
+
+"I don't want a lawyer and I don't want publicity before I get
+something out of this dirty mess that scoundrel left behind!" cried
+Skidder, snapping his eyes like mad and swinging his arms. "I got to
+get something, haven't I? Isn't this property mine? Can't I sell it?"
+
+"Apparently not, under the terms of your agreement with Puma,"
+replied Jim, wearily. "However, I'm willing to hear what Mr. Pawling
+has to say."
+
+"You mean to tell me, Puma fixed it so I'm stuck with all his debts?
+You mean to say my own personal property is subject to seizure to
+satisfy----"
+
+"I certainly do mean just that, Mr. Skidder. But I'm not a lawyer----"
+
+"I tell you I want to get something for myself before I let loose any
+lawyers on the premises! I'll make it all right with you----"
+
+"It's out of the question. We wouldn't touch the property----"
+
+"I'll take a quarter of its value in spot cash! I'll give you ten
+thousand to put it through to-day!"
+
+"Why can't you understand that what you suggest would amount to
+collusion?"
+
+"What I propose is to get a slice of what's mine!" yelled Skidder,
+fairly dancing with fury. "D'yeh think I'm going to let that crooked
+wop, Puma, do this to me just like that! D'yeh think he's going to get
+away with all my money and all Pawling's money and leave me planted on
+my neck while about a million other guys come and sell me out and fill
+their pants pockets with what's mine?"
+
+Jim said: "If Mr. Pawling is the very rich man you say he is, he's not
+going to let the defalcation of this fellow, Puma, destroy such a
+paying property."
+
+"Damn it, I don't want him to buy it in for himself and freeze me out!
+I can't stop him, either; Puma's got all my money except what's in
+this parcel. And you betcha life I hang onto this, creditors or no
+creditors, and Pawling to the contrary! He knows damn well it belongs
+to me. Try him again at the Rajah----"
+
+"They're paging him. I left the number. But I tell you the proper
+thing for you to do is to go to a lawyer, and then to the police,"
+repeated Jim. "There's nothing else to do. This fellow, Puma, may have
+run for the Mexican border, or he may still be in the United States.
+Without a passport he couldn't very easily get on any trans-Atlantic
+boat or any South American boat either. The proper procedure is to
+notify the police----"
+
+"Nix on the police!" shouted Skidder. "That'll start the land-slide,
+and the whole shooting-match will go. I want _this_ property. If the
+papers show it's subject to the firm's liabilities, then that dirty
+skunk altered the thing. It's forgery.
+
+"I never was fool enough to lump this parcel in with our assets. Not
+me. It's forgery; that's what it is, and this parcel belongs to me,
+privately----"
+
+"See an attorney," repeated Jim patiently. "You can't keep a thing
+like this out of the papers, Mr. Skidder. Why, here's a man, Angelo
+Puma, who pounces on every convertible asset of his firm, stuffs a
+valise full of real money, and beats it for parts unknown.
+
+"That's a matter for the police. You can't hope to hide it for more
+than a day or two longer. Your firm is bankrupt through the rascality
+of a partner. He's gone with all the money he could scrape together.
+He converted everything into cash; he lied, swindled, stole, and
+skipped. And what he didn't take must remain to satisfy the firm's
+creditors. You can't conceal conditions, slyly pocket what Puma has
+left and then call in an attorney. That's criminal. You have your
+contracts to fulfil; you have a studio full of people whose salaries
+are nearly due; you have running expenses; you have notes to meet; you
+have obligations to face when a dozen or so contractors for your new
+theatre come to you on Saturday----"
+
+"You mean that's all up to me?" shrieked Skidder, squinting horribly
+at a framed photograph of Puma. And suddenly he ran at it and hurled
+it to the floor and began to kick it about with strange, provincial
+maledictions:
+
+"Dern yeh, yeh poor blimgasted thing! I'll skin yeh, yeh dumb-faced,
+ring-boned, two-edged son-of-a-skunk!----"
+
+The telephone's clamour silenced him. Jim answered:
+
+"Who? Oh, long-distance. All right." And he waited. Then, again: "Who
+wants him?... Yes, he's here in the office, now.... Yes, he'll come to
+the 'phone."
+
+And to Skidder: "Shadow Hill wants to speak to you."
+
+"I won't go. By God, if this thing is out!--Who the hell is it wants
+to speak to me? Wait! Maybe it's Alonzo D. Pawling!----"
+
+"Shall I inquire?" And he asked for further information over the wire.
+Then, presently, and turning again to Skidder:
+
+"You'd better come to the wire. It seems to be the Chief of Police who
+wants you."
+
+Skidder's unhealthy skin became ghastly. He came over and took the
+instrument:
+
+"What d'ye want, Chief? Sure it's me, Elmer.... Hey? Who? Alonzo D.
+Pawling? My God, is he dead? Took _pizen_! W-what for! He's a rich
+man, ain't he?... Speculated?... You say he took the bank's funds?
+Trust funds? What!" he screeched--"put 'em into _my_ company! He's a
+liar! ... I don't care what letters he left!... Well, all right
+then. Sure, I'll get a lawyer----"
+
+"Tell him to hold that wire!" cut in Jim; and took the receiver from
+Skidder's shaking fingers.
+
+"Is the Shadow Hill Trust Company insolvent?" he asked. "You say that
+the bank closed its doors this morning? Have you any idea of its
+condition? Looted? Is it entirely cleaned out? Is there no chance for
+depositors? I wish to inquire about the trust funds, bonds and other
+investments belonging to a friend of mine, Miss Dumont.... Yes, I'll
+wait."
+
+He turned a troubled and sombre gaze toward Skidder, who sat there
+pasty-faced, with sagging jaw, staring back at him. And presently:
+
+"Yes.... Yes, this is Mr. Shotwell, a friend of Miss Dumont....
+Yes.... Yes.... Yes.... I see.... Yes, I shall try to communicate with
+her immediately.... Yes, I suppose the news will be published in the
+evening papers.... Certainly.... Yes, I have no doubt that she will go
+at once to Shadow Hill.... Thank you.... Yes, it does seem rather
+hopeless.... I'll try to find her and break it to her.... Thank you.
+Good-bye."
+
+He hung up the receiver, took his hat and coat, his eyes fixed
+absently on Skidder.
+
+"You'd better beat it to your attorney," he remarked, and went out.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+He could not find Palla. She was not at the Red Cross, not at the
+canteen, not at the new Hostess House.
+
+He telephoned Ilse for information, but she was not at home.
+
+Twice he called at Palla's house, leaving a message the last time
+that she should telephone him at the club on her arrival.
+
+He went to the club and waited there, trying to read. At a quarter to
+six o'clock no message from her had come.
+
+Again he telephoned Ilse; she had not returned. He even telephoned to
+Marya, loath to disturb her; but she, also, was not at home.
+
+The chances that he could break the news to Palla before she read it
+in the evening paper were becoming negligible. He had done his best to
+forestall them. But at six the evening papers arrived at the club. And
+in every one of them was an account of the defalcation and suicide of
+the Honorable Alonzo D. Pawling, president of the Shadow Hill Trust
+Company. But nothing yet concerning the defalcation and disappearance
+of Angelo Puma.
+
+Jim had no inclination to eat, but he tried to at seven-thirty, still
+waiting and hoping for a message from Palla.
+
+He tried her house again about half past eight. This time the maid
+answered that Miss Dumont had telephoned from down town that she would
+dine out and go afterward to the Combat Club. And that if Mr. Shotwell
+desired to see her he should call at her house after ten o'clock.
+
+So Jim hastened to the cloak-room, got his hat and coat, found the
+starter, secured a taxi, bought an evening paper and stuffed it into
+his pocket, and started out to find Palla at the Combat Club. For it
+seemed evident to him that she had not yet read the evening paper; and
+he hoped he might yet encounter her in time to prepare her for news
+which, according to the newspapers, appeared even blacker than he had
+supposed it might be.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+
+As he left the taxi in front of the dirty brick archway and flight of
+steps leading to the hall, where he expected to find Palla, he noticed
+a small crowd of wrangling foreigners gathered there--men and
+women--and a policeman posted near, calm and indifferent, juggling his
+club at the end of its leather thong.
+
+Jim paused to inquire if there had been any trouble there that
+evening.
+
+"Well," said the policeman, "there's two talking-clubs that chew
+the rag in that joint. It's the Reds' night, but wan o' the ladies
+of the other club showed up--Miss Dumont--and the Reds yonder was all
+for chasing her out. So we run in a couple of 'em--that feller
+Sondheim and another called Bromberg. They're wanted, anyhow, in
+Philadelphia."
+
+"Is there a meeting inside?"
+
+"Sure. The young lady went in to settle it peaceful like; and she's
+inside now jawin' at them Reds to beat a pink tea."
+
+"Do you apprehend any violence?" asked Jim uneasily.
+
+The policeman juggled his club and eyed him. "I--guess--not," he
+drawled. And, to the jabbering, wrangling crowd on pavement and steps:
+"--Hey, you! Go in or stay out, one or the other, now! Step lively;
+you're blockin' the sidewalk."
+
+A number of people mounted the steps and went in with Jim. As the
+doors to the hall opened, a flare of smoky light struck him, and he
+pushed his way into the hall, where a restless, murmuring audience,
+some seated, others standing, was watching a number of men and women
+on the rostrum.
+
+There seemed to be more wrangling going on there--knots of people
+disputing and apparently quite oblivious of the audience.
+
+And almost immediately he caught sight of Palla on the platform. But
+even before he could take a step forward in the crowded aisle, he saw
+her force her way out of an excited group of people and come to the
+edge of the platform, lifting a slim hand for silence.
+
+"Put her out!" shouted some man's voice. A dozen other voices bawled
+out incoherencies; Palla waited; and after a moment or two there were
+no further interruptions.
+
+"Please let me say what I have to say," she said in that shy and
+gentle way she had when facing hostile listeners.
+
+"Speak louder!" yelled a young man. "Come on, silk-stockings!--spit it
+out and go home to mother!"
+
+"I wish I could," she said.
+
+Her rejoinder was so odd and unexpected that stillness settled over
+the place.
+
+"But all I can do," she added, in an even, colourless voice, "is to go
+home. And I shall do that after I have said what I have to say."
+
+At that moment there was a commotion in the rear of the hall. A dozen
+policemen filed into the place, pushing their way right and left and
+ranging themselves along the wall. Their officer came into the aisle:
+
+"If there's any disorder in this place to-night, I'll run in the whole
+bunch o' ye!" he said calmly.
+
+"All right. Hit out, little girl!" cried the young man who had
+interrupted before. "We gotta lot of business to fix up after you've
+gone to bed, so get busy!"
+
+"I, also, have some business to fix up," she said in the same sweet,
+emotionless voice, "--business of setting myself right by admitting
+that I have been wrong.
+
+"Because, on this spot where I am standing, I have spoken against
+the old order of things. I have said that there is no law excepting
+only the law of Love and Service. I have said that there is no God
+other than the deathless germ of deity within each one of us. I have
+said that the conventions and beliefs and usages and customs of
+civilisation were old, outworn, and tyrannical; and that there was
+no need to regard them or to obey the arbitrary laws based on them.
+
+"In other words, I have preached disorder while attempting to combat
+it: I have preached revolution while counselling peace; I have
+preached bigotry where I have demanded toleration.
+
+"For there is no worse bigot than the free-thinker who demands that
+the world subscribe to his creed; no tyrant like the under-dog when he
+becomes the upper one; no autocracy to compare with mob rule!
+
+"You can not obtain freedom for all by imposing that creed upon
+anybody by the violence of revolutionary ukase!
+
+"You can not wreck any edifice until all who enjoy ownership in it
+agree to its demolition. You can not build for all unless each
+voluntarily comes forward to aid with stone and mortar.
+
+"Anarchy leaves the majority roofless. What is the use of saying, 'Let
+them perish'? What is the use of trying to rebuild the world that way?
+You can't do it, even if you set fire to the world and start your
+endless war of human murder.
+
+"If you were the majority you would not need to do it. But you are the
+minority, and there are too many against you.
+
+"Only by infinite pains and patience can you alter the social
+structure to better it. Cautious and wary replacement is the only
+method, not exploding a mine beneath the keystone.
+
+"The world has won out from barbarism so far. It must continue to
+emerge by degrees. And if beliefs and laws and customs be obsolete,
+only by general agreement may they be modified without danger to all.
+Not the violent revolt of one or a dozen or a thousand can alter what
+has, so far, nourished and sustained civilisation.
+
+"That is the Prussian belief. Bolshevism was sired by Karl Marx and
+was hatched out in the shaggy gloom of the Prussian wilderness.
+
+"It does not belong anywhere else; it does not belong on the plains of
+Russia or in her forests or on her mountains. It is a Prussian
+thing--a misbegotten monster born of a vile and decadent race,--a
+horrible parasite, like that one which carries typhus, infects as it
+spreads from the degraded race that hatched it, crawling from country
+to country and leaving behind it dead minds, dead hearts, dead souls,
+and rotting flesh.
+
+"For order and disorder can not both reign paramount on this planet!
+The one shall slay the other. And Bolshevism is disorder--a violent
+and tyrannical and autocratic attempt to utterly destroy the vast
+majority for the benefit of the microscopic minority.
+
+"You can not do it, you Terrorists! Prussia tried terrorism on the
+world. Where is she to-day? You can not teach by frightfulness. You
+can not scare beliefs out of anybody.
+
+"Method, order, education--there is no other chance for any
+propagandist to-day.
+
+"I have stood here night after night proclaiming that my personal
+conception of right and wrong, of truth and falsehood, of law and
+morals was the only intelligent one, and that I should ignore and
+disregard any other opinion.
+
+"What I preached was Bolshevism! And I was such a fool I didn't know
+it. But that's what I preached. For it is an incitement to disorder to
+proclaim one's self above obedience to what has been established as a
+law to govern all.
+
+"It is an insidious counsel to violence, revolution, Bolshevism and
+utter anarchy to say to people that they should disregard any law
+formed by all for the common weal.
+
+"If the marriage law seems unnecessary, unjust, then only by common
+consent can it be altered; and until it is altered, any who disregard
+it strike at civilisation!
+
+"If the laws governing capital and labour seem cruel, stupid,
+tyrannical, only by general consent can they be altered safely.
+
+"You of the Bolsheviki can not come among us dripping with human
+blood, showing us your fangs, and expect from us anything except a
+fusillade.
+
+"And your propaganda, also, is not human. It is Prussian. Do you
+suppose, you foreign-born, that you can come here among this free
+people and begin your operations by cursing our laws and institutions
+and telling us we are not free?
+
+"Because we tolerate you, do you suppose we don't know that in most of
+the larger cities there are now organised Soviets, similar to those
+in Russia, that anarchists are now conducting schools, and that the
+radical propaganda which has taken on new life since the signing of
+the armistice is gaining headway in those parts of the country where
+there are large foreign-born populations?
+
+"Do you suppose we don't know Prussianism when we see it, after these
+last four years?
+
+"Do you suppose we have not read the _Staats-Zeitung_ editorial of
+December 8, which in part was as follows:
+
+"'Hundreds of thousands of our boys are standing now over there in the
+old homeland, which for nineteen months was enemy country and is that
+still, but which, as President Wilson promised, will soon be a land of
+peace again, rich in diligent work, rich in true and good people....
+As the whole happy life of this blessed region presents a picture to
+the spectator, it is to be wondered whether his (the American
+soldier's) memory will awaken on what he read of this country
+(Germany) at home long ago, whether he will feel a slight blush of
+shame in his cheeks and anger for those who, not from their own
+knowledge but from doubtful sources, branded a whole great people,
+70,000,000, as barbarians, huns, murderers of children and church
+robbers. And whether he (the American soldier) will at the same time
+make a pledge in his heart to combat those lies and rumours when he is
+back home again, and to tell the truth about those (the Germans)
+living behind those mountains.'"
+
+Palla's face flushed and she came close to the edge of the platform:
+
+"I have been warned that if I came here to-night I'd have trouble. The
+anonymous writers who send me letters talk about bombs.
+
+"Do you imagine because you murdered Vanya Tchernov in Philadelphia
+the other day that you can frighten anybody dumb?
+
+"I tell you you don't know what you're doing. You're dazed and scared
+and bewildered by finding yourselves suddenly in the open world after
+all those lurking years in hiding. As a forest wolf, his eyes dazzled
+by the sun, runs blindly across a field of new mown hay, dodging where
+there is nothing to dodge, leaping over shadows, so you, emerging from
+darkness, start out across the fertile world, the sun of civilisation
+blinding you so that you run as though stupefied and frightened,
+shying at straws, dodging zephyrs, leaping a pool of dew as though it
+were the Volga.
+
+"What are you afraid of? You have nothing to fear except yourselves
+out here in the sunny open!
+
+"Behold your enemies--yourselves!--selfish, defiant, full of false
+council, of envy, of cowardice, of treachery.
+
+"For there would be no sorrow, no injustice in the world if
+we--each one of us--were true to our better selves! You know it! You
+can not come out of darkness and range the open world like wolves!
+Civilisation will kill you!
+
+"But you can come out of your long twilight bearing yourselves like
+men--and find, by God's grace, that you _are_ men!--that you are
+fashioned like other men to stand upright in the light without
+blinking and slinking and dodging into cover.
+
+"For the haymakers will not climb and stone you; the herds will not
+stampede; no watch-dogs of civilisation will attack you if you come
+out into the fields looking like men, behaving like men, asking to
+share the world's burdens like men, and like men giving brain and
+brawn to make more pleasant and secure the only spot in the solar
+system dedicated by the Most High to the development of mankind!"
+
+There was a dead silence in the place.
+
+Palla slowly lifted her head and raised her right hand.
+
+"I desire," she said in a low, grave voice, "to acknowledge here my
+belief in law, in order, and in a divine, creative, and responsible
+wisdom. And in ultimate continuation."
+
+She turned away as a demonstration began, and Jim saw her putting on
+her coat. There was some scattering applause, but considerable
+disorder where men in the audience began to harangue each other and
+shake dirty fingers under one another's noses. Two personal encounters
+and one hair-pulling were checked by bored policemen: a girl got up
+and began to shout that she was a striking garment worker and that she
+had neither money, time, nor inclination to wait until some amateur
+silk-stocking felt like raising her wages.
+
+On the platform Karl Kastner had come forward, and his icy, incisive,
+menacing voice cut the growing tumult.
+
+"You haff heard with patience thiss so silly prattle of a rich young
+girl--" he began. "Now it is a poor man who speaks to you out of a
+heart full of bitterness against this law and order which you haff
+heard so highly praised.
+
+"For this much-praised law and order it hass to-night assassinated
+free speech; it has arrested our comrades, Nathan Bromberg and Max
+Sondheim; it hass fill our hall with policemen. And I wonder if
+there iss, perhaps, a little too much law and order in the world,
+und iff _vielleicht_, there may be too many policemen as vell as
+capitalist-little-girls in thiss hall.
+
+"Und, sometimes, too, I am wondering why iss it ve do not kill a
+few----"
+
+"That'll do!" interrupted the sergeant of police, striding down the
+aisle. "Come on, now, Karl; you done it that time."
+
+An angry roar arose all around him; he nodded to his men:
+
+"Run in any cut-ups," he said briefly; climbed up to the rostrum, and
+laid his hand on Kastner's arm.
+
+At the same moment a stunning explosion shook the place and plunged it
+into darkness. Out of the smoke-choked blackness burst an uproar of
+shrieks and screams; plaster and glass fell everywhere; police
+whistles sounded; a frantic, struggling mass of humanity fought for
+escape.
+
+As Jim reeled out into the lobby, he saw Palla leaning against the
+wall, with blood on her face.
+
+Before the first of the trampling horde emerged he had caught her by
+the arm and had led her down the steps to the street.
+
+"They've blown up the--the place," she stammered, wiping her face with
+her gloved hand in a dazed sort of way.
+
+"Are you badly hurt?" he asked unsteadily.
+
+"No, I don't think so----"
+
+He had led her as far as the avenue, now echoing with the clang of
+fire engines and the police patrol. And out of the darkness, from
+everywhere, swarmed the crowd that only a great city can conjure
+instantly and from nowhere.
+
+Blood ran down her face from a cut over her temple. A tiny triangular
+bit of glass still glittered in the wound; and he removed it and gave
+her his handkerchief.
+
+"Was Ilse there, too?" he asked.
+
+"No. Nobody went to-night except myself.... Why were you there, Jim?"
+
+"Why in God's name did _you_ go there all alone among those Reds!"
+
+She shook her head wearily:
+
+"I had to.... What a horrible thing to happen!... I am so tired, Jim.
+Could you get me home?"
+
+He found a taxi nearer Broadway and directed the driver to stop at a
+drug-store. Here he insisted that the tiny cut on Palla's temple be
+properly attended to. But it proved a simple matter; there was no
+glass in it, and the bleeding ceased before they reached her house.
+
+At the door he took leave of her, deeming it no time to subject her to
+any further shock that night; but she retained her hold on his arm.
+
+"I want you to come in, Jim."
+
+"You said you were tired; and you've had a terrible shock----"
+
+"That is why I need you," she said in a low voice. Then, looking up at
+him with a pale smile: "I want you--just once more."
+
+They went in together. Her maid, hearing the opening door, appeared
+and took her away; and Jim turned into the living-room. A lighted lamp
+on the piano illuminated his own framed photograph--that was the first
+thing he noticed--the portrait of himself in uniform, flanked on
+either side by little vases full of blue forget-me-nots.
+
+He started to lift one to his face, but reaction had set in and his
+hands were shaking. And he turned away and stood staring into the
+empty fireplace, passionately possessed once more by the eternal
+witchery of this young girl, and under the spell again of the
+enchanted place wherein she dwelt.
+
+The very air breathed her magic; every familiar object seemed to be
+stealthily conspiring in the subdued light to reaccomplish his
+subjection.
+
+Her maid appeared to say that Miss Dumont would be ready in a few
+minutes. She came, presently, in a clinging chamber-gown--a pale
+golden affair with misty touches of lace.
+
+He arranged cushions for her: she lighted a cigarette for him; and he
+sank down beside her in the old place.
+
+Both were still a little shaken. He said that he believed the
+explosion had come from the outside, and that the principal damage had
+been done next door, in Mr. Puma's office.
+
+She nodded assent, listlessly, evidently preoccupied with something
+else.
+
+After a few moments she looked up at him.
+
+"This is the second day of February," she said. "Within the last month
+Jack Estridge died, and Vanya died.... To-day another man died--a man
+I have known from childhood.... His name was Pawling. And his death
+has ruined me."
+
+"When--when did you learn that?" he asked, astounded.
+
+"This morning. My housekeeper in Shadow Hill telephoned me that Mr.
+Pawling had killed himself, that the bank was closed, and that
+probably there was nothing left for those who had funds deposited
+there."
+
+"You knew that this morning?" he asked, amazed.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you--you still had courage to go to your Red Cross, to your
+canteen and Hostess House--to that horrible Red Flag Club--and face
+those beasts and make the--the perfectly magnificent speech you
+made!----"
+
+"Did--did _you_ hear it!" she faltered.
+
+"Every word."
+
+For a few moments she sat motionless and very white in her knowledge
+that this man had heard her confess her own conversion.
+
+Her brain whirled: she was striving to think steadily trying to find
+the right way to reassure him--to forestall any impulsive chivalry
+born of imaginary obligation.
+
+"Jim," she said in a colorless voice, "there are so many worse things
+than losing money. I think Mr. Pawling's suicide shocked me much more
+than the knowledge that I should be obliged to earn my own living like
+millions of other women.
+
+"Of course it scared me for a few minutes. I couldn't help that. But
+after I got over the first unpleasant--feeling, I concluded to go
+about my business in life until it came time for me to adjust myself
+to the scheme of things."
+
+She smiled without effort: "Besides, it's not really so bad. I have a
+house in Shadow Hill to which I can retreat when I sell this one; and
+with a tiny income from the sale of this house, and with what I can
+earn, I ought to be able to support myself very nicely."
+
+"So you--expect to sell?"
+
+"Yes, I must. Even if I sell my house and land in Connecticut I cannot
+afford this house any longer."
+
+"I see."
+
+She smiled, keeping her head and her courage high without apparent
+effort:
+
+"It's another job for you," she said lightly. "Will you be kind enough
+to put this house on your list?"
+
+"If you wish."
+
+"Thank you, Jim, I do indeed. And the sooner you can sell it for me
+the better."
+
+He said: "And the sooner you marry me the better, Palla."
+
+At that she flushed crimson and made a quick gesture as though to
+check him; but he went on: "I heard what you said to those filthy
+swine to-night. It was the pluckiest, most splendid thing I ever heard
+and saw. And I have seen battles. Some. But I never before saw a woman
+take her life in her hands and go all alone into a cage of the same
+dangerous, rabid beasts that had slain a friend of hers within the
+week, and find courage to face them and tell them they _were_
+beasts!--and more than that!--find courage to confess her own
+mistakes--humble herself--acknowledge what she had abjured--bear
+witness to the God whom once she believed abandoned her!"
+
+She strove to open her lips in protest--lifted her disconcerted eyes
+to his--shrank away a little as his hand fell over hers.
+
+"I've never faltered," he said. "It damned near killed me.... But I'd
+have gone on loving you, Palla, all my life. There never could have
+been anybody except you. There was never anybody before you. Usually
+there has been in a man's life. There never was in mine. There never
+will be."
+
+His firm hand closed on hers.
+
+"I'm such an ordinary, every day sort of fellow," he said wistfully,
+"that, after I began to realise how wonderful you are, I've been
+terribly afraid I wasn't up to you.
+
+"Even if I have cursed out your theories and creeds, it almost seemed
+impertinent for me to do it, because you really have so many talents
+and accomplishments, so much knowledge, so infinite a capacity for
+things of the mind, which are rather out of my mental sphere. And I've
+wondered sometimes, even if you ever consented to marry me, whether
+such a girl as you are could jog along with a business man who likes
+the arts but doesn't understand them very well and who likes some of
+his fellow men but not all of them and whose instinct is to punch
+law-breakers in the nose and not weep over them and lead them to the
+nearest bar and say, 'Go to it, erring brother!'"
+
+"Jim!"
+
+For all the while he had been drawing her nearer as he was speaking.
+And she was in his arms now, laughing a little, crying a little, her
+flushed face hidden on his shoulder.
+
+He drew a deep breath and, holding her imprisoned, looked down at
+her.
+
+"Will you marry me, Palla?"
+
+"Oh, Jim, do you want me now?"
+
+"Now, darling, but not this minute, because a clergyman must come
+first."
+
+It was cruel of him, as well as vigorously indelicate. Her hot blush
+should have shamed him; her conversion should have sheltered her.
+
+But the man had had a hard time, and the bitterness was but just
+going.
+
+"Will you marry me, Palla?"
+
+After a long while her stifled whisper came: "You are brutal. Do you
+think I would do anything else--now?"
+
+"No. And you never would have either."
+
+Lying there close in his arms, she wondered. And, still wondering, she
+lifted her head and looked up into his eyes--watching them as they
+neared her own--still trying to see them as his lips touched hers.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+He was the sort of man who got hungry when left too long unfed. It was
+one o'clock. They had gone out to the refrigerator together, his arm
+around her supple waist, her charming head against his shoulder--both
+hungry but sentimental.
+
+"And don't you really think," she said for the hundredth time, "that
+we ought to sell this house?"
+
+"Not a bit of it, darling. We'll run it if we have to live on cereal
+and do our own laundry."
+
+"You mean I'll have to do that?"
+
+"I'll help after business hours."
+
+"You wonderful boy!"
+
+There seemed to be some delectable things in the ice chest.
+
+They sat side by side on the kitchen table, blissfully nourishing each
+other. Birds do it. Love-smitten youth does it.
+
+"To think," he said, "that you had the nerve to face those beasts and
+tell them what you thought of them!"
+
+"Darling!" she remonstrated, placing an olive between his lips.
+
+"You should have the Croix de Guerre," he said indistinctly.
+
+"All I aspire to is a very plain gold ring," she said, smiling at him
+sideways.
+
+And she slipped her hand into his.
+
+"_Are_ you going back into the army, Jim?" she asked.
+
+"Who said that?" he demanded.
+
+"I--I heard it repeated."
+
+"Not now," he said. "Unless--" His eyes narrowed and he sat swinging
+his legs with an absent air and puckered brows.
+
+And after a while the same aloof look came into her brown eyes, and
+she swung her slim feet absently.
+
+Perhaps their remote gaze was fixed on visions of a nearing future,
+brilliant with happiness, gay with children's voices; perhaps they saw
+farther than that, where the light grew sombre and where a shadowed
+sky lowered above a blood-red flood, rising imperceptibly, yet ever
+rising--a stealthy, crawling crimson tide spreading westward across
+the world.
+
+
+
+
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+At the Mercy of Tiberius. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Auction Block, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Aunt Jane of Kentucky. By Eliza C. Hall.
+
+Awakening of Helena Richie. By Margaret Deland.
+
+
+Bab: a Sub-Deb. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
+
+Barrier, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Barbarians. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Bargain True, The. By Nalbro Bartley.
+
+Bar 20. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Bar 20 Days. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Bars of Iron, The. By Ethel M. Dell.
+
+Beasts of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
+
+Beloved Traitor, The. By Frank L. Packard.
+
+Beltane the Smith. By Jeffery Farnol.
+
+Betrayal, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Beyond the Frontier. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Big Timber. By Bertrand W. Sinclair.
+
+Black Is White. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Blind Man's Eyes, The. By Wm. MacHarg and Edwin Balmer.
+
+Bob, Son of Battle. By Alfred Ollivant.
+
+Boston Blackie. By Jack Boyle.
+
+Boy with Wings, The. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Brandon of the Engineers. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Broad Highway, The. By Jeffery Farnol.
+
+Brown Study, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Bruce of the Circle A. By Harold Titus.
+
+Buck Peters, Ranchman. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Business of Life, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
+Copyright Fiction
+
+Cabbages and Kings. By O. Henry.
+
+Cabin Fever. By B. M. Bower.
+
+Calling of Dan Matthews, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Cape Cod Stories. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Cap'n Abe, Storekeeper. By James A. Cooper.
+
+Cap'n Dan's Daughter. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Cap'n Eri. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Cap'n Jonah's Fortune. By James A. Cooper.
+
+Cap'n Warren's Wards. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Chain of Evidence, A. By Carolyn Wells.
+
+Chief Legatee, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Cinderella Jane. By Marjorie B. Cooke.
+
+Cinema Murder, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+City of Masks, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Cleek of Scotland Yard. By T. W. Hanshew.
+
+Cleek, The Man of Forty Faces. By Thomas W. Hanshew.
+
+Cleek's Government Cases. By Thomas W. Hanshew.
+
+Clipped Wings. By Rupert Hughes.
+
+Clue, The. By Carolyn Wells.
+
+Clutch of Circumstance, The. By Marjorie Benton Cooke.
+
+Coast of Adventure, The. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Coming of Cassidy, The. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Coming of the Law, The. By Chas. A. Seltzer.
+
+Conquest of Canaan, The. By Booth Tarkington.
+
+Conspirators, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Court of Inquiry, A. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Cow Puncher, The. By Robert J. C. Stead.
+
+Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure. By Rex Beach.
+
+Cross Currents. By Author of "Pollyanna."
+
+Cry in the Wilderness, A. By Mary E. Waller.
+
+
+Danger, And Other Stories. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Dark Hollow, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Dark Star, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Daughter Pays, The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
+
+Day of Days, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+Depot Master, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Desired Woman, The. By Will N. Harben.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
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+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
+Copyright Fiction
+
+Destroying Angel, The. By Louis Jos. Vance.
+
+Devil's Own, The. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Double Traitor, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+
+Empty Pockets. By Rupert Hughes.
+
+Eyes of the Blind, The. By Arthur Somers Roche.
+
+Eye of Dread, The. By Payne Erskine.
+
+Eyes of the World, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Extricating Obadiah. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+
+Felix O'Day. By F. Hopkinson Smith.
+
+54-40 or Fight. By Emerson Hough.
+
+Fighting Chance, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Fighting Shepherdess, The. By Caroline Lockhart.
+
+Financier, The. By Theodore Dreiser.
+
+Flame, The. By Olive Wadsley.
+
+Flamsted Quarries. By Mary E. Wallar.
+
+Forfeit, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Four Million, The. By O. Henry.
+
+Fruitful Vine, The. By Robert Hichens.
+
+Further Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The. By Frank L. Packard.
+
+
+Girl of the Blue Ridge, A. By Payne Erskine.
+
+Girl from Keller's, The. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Girl Philippa, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Girls at His Billet, The. By Berta Ruck.
+
+God's Country and the Woman. By James Oliver Curwood.
+
+Going Some. By Rex Beach.
+
+Golden Slipper, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Golden Woman, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Greater Love Hath No Man. By Frank L. Packard.
+
+Greyfriars Bobby. By Eleanor Atkinson.
+
+Gun Brand, The. By James B. Hendryx.
+
+
+Halcyone. By Elinor Glyn.
+
+Hand of Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer.
+
+Havoc. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Heart of the Desert, The. By Honoré Willsie.
+
+Heart of the Hills, The. By John Fox, Jr.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
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+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
+Copyright Fiction
+
+Heart of the Sunset. By Rex Beach.
+
+Heart of Thunder Mountain, The. By Edfrid A. Bingham.
+
+Her Weight in Gold. By Geo. B. McCutcheon.
+
+Hidden Children, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Hidden Spring, The. By Clarence B. Kelland.
+
+Hillman, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Hills of Refuge, The. By Will N. Harben.
+
+His Official Fiancee. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Honor of the Big Snows. By James Oliver Curwood.
+
+Hopalong Cassidy. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Hound from the North, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+House of the Whispering Pines, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker. By S. Weir Mitchell, M.D.
+
+
+I Conquered. By Harold Titus.
+
+Illustrious Prince, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+In Another Girl's Shoes. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Indifference of Juliet, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Infelice. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Initials Only. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Inner Law, The. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Innocent. By Marie Corelli.
+
+Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer.
+
+In the Brooding Wild. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Intriguers, The. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Iron Trail, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Iron Woman, The. By Margaret Deland.
+
+I Spy. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
+
+
+Japonette. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Jean of the Lazy A. By B. M. Bower.
+
+Jeanne of the Marshes. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Jennie Gerhardt. By Theodore Dreiser.
+
+Judgment House, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+
+Keeper of the Door, The. By Ethel M. Dell.
+
+Keith of the Border. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Kent Knowles: Ouahaug. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Kingdom of the Blind, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
+Copyright Fiction
+
+King Spruce. By Holman Day.
+
+King's Widow, The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
+
+Knave of Diamonds, The. By Ethel M. Dell.
+
+
+Ladder of Swords. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+Lady Betty Across the Water. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.
+
+Land-Girl's Love Story, A. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Landloper, The. By Holman Day.
+
+Land of Long Ago, The. By Eliza Calvert Hall.
+
+Land of Strong Men, The. By A. M. Chisholm.
+
+Last Trail, The. By Zane Grey.
+
+Laugh and Live. By Douglas Fairbanks.
+
+Laughing Bill Hyde. By Rex Beach.
+
+Laughing Girl, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Law Breakers, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Lifted Veil, The. By Basil King.
+
+Lighted Way, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Lin McLean. By Owen Wister.
+
+Lonesome Land. By B. M. Bower.
+
+Lone Wolf, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+Long Ever Ago. By Rupert Hughes.
+
+Lonely Stronghold, The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
+
+Long Live the King. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
+
+Long Roll, The. By Mary Johnston.
+
+Lord Tony's Wife. By Baroness Orczy.
+
+Lost Ambassador. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Lost Prince, The. By Frances Hodgson Burnett.
+
+Lydia of the Pines. By Honoré Willsie.
+
+
+Maid of the Forest, The. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Maid of the Whispering Hills, The. By Vingie E. Roe.
+
+Maids of Paradise, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Major, The. By Ralph Connor.
+
+Maker of History, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Malefactor, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Man from Bar 20, The. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Man in Grey, The. By Baroness Orczy.
+
+Man Trail, The. By Henry Oyen.
+
+Man Who Couldn't Sleep, The. By Arthur Stringer.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
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+AT MODERATE PRICES
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+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
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+Man with the Club Foot, The. By Valentine Williams.
+
+Mary-'Gusta. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Mary Moreland. By Marie Van Vorst.
+
+Mary Regan. By Leroy Scott.
+
+Master Mummer, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Men Who Wrought, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Mischief Maker, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Missioner, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Miss Million's Maid. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Molly McDonald. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Money Master, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+Money Moon, The. By Jeffery Farnol.
+
+Mountain Girl, The. By Payne Erskine.
+
+Moving Finger, The. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
+
+Mr. Bingle. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Mr. Pratt. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Mr. Pratt's Patients. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Mrs. Belfame. By Gertrude Atherton.
+
+Mrs. Red Pepper. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+My Lady Caprice. By Jeffrey Farnol.
+
+My Lady of the North. By Randall Parrish.
+
+My Lady of the South. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Mystery of the Hasty Arrow, The. By Anna K. Green.
+
+
+Nameless Man, The. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
+
+Ne'er-Do-Well, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Nest Builders, The. By Beatrice Forbes-Robertson Hale.
+
+Net, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+New Clarion. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Night Operator, The. By Frank L. Packard.
+
+Night Riders, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Nobody. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+
+Okewood of the Secret Service. By the Author of "The Man with the Club
+Foot."
+
+One Way Trail, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Open, Sesame. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
+
+Otherwise Phyllis. By Meredith Nicholson.
+
+Outlaw, The. By Jackson Gregory.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
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+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
+Copyright Fiction
+
+Paradise Auction. By Nalbro Bartley.
+
+Pardners. By Rex Beach.
+
+Parrot & Co. By Harold MacGrath.
+
+Partners of the Night. By Leroy Scott.
+
+Partners of the Tide. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Passionate Friends, The. By H. G. Wells.
+
+Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail, The. By Ralph Connor.
+
+Paul Anthony, Christian. By Hiram W. Hays.
+
+Pawns Count, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+People's Man, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Perch of the Devil. By Gertrude Atherton.
+
+Peter Ruff and the Double Four. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Pidgin Island. By Harold MacGrath.
+
+Place of Honeymoon, The. By Harold MacGrath.
+
+Pool of Flame, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+Postmaster, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Prairie Wife, The. By Arthur Stringer.
+
+Price of the Prairie, The. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
+
+Prince of Sinners, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Promise, The. By J. B. Hendryx.
+
+Proof of the Pudding, The. By Meredith Nicholson.
+
+
+Rainbow's End, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Ranch at the Wolverine, The. By B. M. Bower.
+
+Ranching for Sylvia. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Ransom. By Arthur Somers Roche.
+
+Reason Why, The. By Elinor Glyn.
+
+Reclaimers, The. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
+
+Red Mist, The. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Red Pepper Burns. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Red Pepper's Patients. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary, The. By Anne Warner.
+
+Restless Sex, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer.
+
+Return of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
+
+Riddle of Night, The. By Thomas W. Hanshew.
+
+Rim of the Desert, The. By Ada Woodruff Anderson.
+
+Rise of Roscoe Paine, The. By J. C. Lincoln.
+
+Rising Tide, The. By Margaret Deland.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
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+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
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+Rocks of Valpré, The. By Ethel M. Dell.
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+Rogue by Compulsion, A. By Victor Bridges.
+
+Room Number 3. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Rose in the Ring, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Rose of Old Harpeth, The. By Maria Thompson Daviess.
+
+Round the Corner in Gay Street. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+
+Second Choice. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Second Violin, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Secret History. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.
+
+Secret of the Reef, The. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Seven Darlings, The. By Gouverneur Morris.
+
+Shavings. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Shepherd of the Hills, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Sherry. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Side of the Angels, The. By Basil King.
+
+Silver Horde, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Sin That Was His, The. By Frank L. Packard.
+
+Sixty-first Second, The. By Owen Johnson.
+
+Soldier of the Legion, A. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.
+
+Son of His Father, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Son of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
+
+Source, The. By Clarence Buddington Kelland.
+
+Speckled Bird, A. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Spirit in Prison, A. By Robert Hichens.
+
+Spirit of the Border, The. (New Edition.) By Zane Grey.
+
+Spoilers, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Steele of the Royal Mounted. By James Oliver Curwood.
+
+Still Jim. By Honoré Willsie.
+
+Story of Foss River Ranch, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Story of Marco, The. By Eleanor H. Porter.
+
+Strange Case of Cavendish, The. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Strawberry Acres. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Sudden Jim. By Clarence B. Kelland.
+
+
+Tales of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Tarzan of the Apes. By Edgar R. Burroughs.
+
+Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
+
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+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
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+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
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+Tempting of Tavernake, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
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+Tess of the D'Urbervilles. By Thos. Hardy.
+
+Thankful's Inheritance. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+That Affair Next Door. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+That Printer of Udell's. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Their Yesterdays. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Thirteenth Commandment, The. By Rupert Hughes.
+
+Three of Hearts, The. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Three Strings, The. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
+
+Threshold, The. By Marjorie Benton Cooke.
+
+Throwback, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
+
+Tish. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
+
+To M. L. G.; or, He Who Passed. Anon.
+
+Trail of the Axe, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Trail to Yesterday, The. By Chas. A. Seltzer.
+
+Treasure of Heaven, The. By Marie Corelli.
+
+Triumph, The. By Will N. Harben.
+
+T. Tembarom. By Frances Hodgson Burnett.
+
+Turn of the Tide. By Author of "Pollyanna."
+
+Twenty-fourth of June, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Twins of Suffering Creek, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Two-Gun Man, The. By Chas. A. Seltzer.
+
+
+Uncle William. By Jeannette Lee.
+
+Under Handicap. By Jackson Gregory.
+
+Under the Country Sky. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Unforgiving Offender, The. By John Reed Scott.
+
+Unknown Mr. Kent, The. By Roy Norton.
+
+Unpardonable Sin, The. By Major Rupert Hughes.
+
+Up From Slavery. By Booker T. Washington.
+
+
+Valiants of Virginia, The. By Hallie Ermine Rives.
+
+Valley of Fear, The. By Sir A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Vanished Messenger, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Vanguards of the Plains. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
+
+Vashti. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Virtuous Wives. By Owen Johnson.
+
+Visioning, The. By Susan Glaspell.
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+Waif-o'-the-Sea. By Cyrus Townsend Brady.
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+Wall of Men, A. By Margaret H. McCarter.
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+Watchers of the Plans, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Way Home, The. By Basil King.
+
+Way of an Eagle, The. By E. M. Dell.
+
+Way of the Strong, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Way of These Women, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+We Can't Have Everything. By Major Rupert Hughes.
+
+Weavers, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+When a Man's a Man. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+When Wilderness Was King. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Where the Trail Divides. By Will Lillibridge.
+
+Where There's a Will. By Mary R. Rinehart.
+
+White Sister, The. By Marion Crawford.
+
+Who Goes There? By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Why Not. By Margaret Widdemer.
+
+Window at the White Cat, The. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
+
+Winds of Chance, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Wings of Youth, The. By Elizabeth Jordan.
+
+Winning of Barbara Worth, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Wire Devils, The. By Frank L. Packard.
+
+Winning the Wilderness. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
+
+Wishing Ring Man, The. By Margaret Widdemer.
+
+With Juliet in England. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Wolves of the Sea. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Woman Gives, The. By Owen Johnson.
+
+Woman Haters, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Woman in Question, The. By John Reed Scott.
+
+Woman Thou Gavest Me, The. By Hall Caine.
+
+Woodcarver of 'Lympus, The. By Mary E. Waller.
+
+Wooing of Rosamond Fayre, The. By Berta Ruck.
+
+World for Sale, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+
+Years for Rachel, The. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Yellow Claw, The. By Sax Rohmer.
+
+You Never Know Your Luck. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+
+Zeppelin's Passenger, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crimson Tide, by Robert W. Chambers
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+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Crimson Tide, by Robert W. Chambers.</title>
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+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crimson Tide, by Robert W. Chambers
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Crimson Tide
+
+Author: Robert W. Chambers
+
+Illustrator: A. I. Keller
+
+Release Date: September 1, 2009 [EBook #29880]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIMSON TIDE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class='figtag'>
+<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a>
+</div>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' width='365' height='472' /><br />
+<p class='caption'>
+&ldquo;I HATE IT AS YOU HATED THE BEASTS WHO SLEW YOUR FRIEND&rdquo;<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:2.4em;margin-top:20px;margin-bottom:20px;'>THE CRIMSON TIDE</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:40px;'>A NOVEL</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:40px;'>By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</p>
+<p class='tp' >Author of<br />&ldquo;The Moonlit Way.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;The Laughing Girl,&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;The Restless Sex,&rdquo; etc.</p>
+
+<div style='margin:40px auto; text-align:center;'>
+<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.png' />
+</div>
+
+<p class='tp' >WITH FRONTISPIECE BY</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;margin-bottom:40px;'>A. I. KELLER</p>
+
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>A. L. BURT COMPANY</p>
+
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;margin-bottom:20px;'>Publishers&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;New York</p>
+
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Published by arrangement with D. Appleton and Company</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;font-variant:small-caps;margin-top:20px;'>copyright, 1919, by</p>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:20px;'>ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Copyright, 1919, by</p>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:20px;font-size:smaller;font-variant:small-caps;'>The International Magazine Company</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;margin-bottom:20px;'>PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;margin-top:20px;'>To</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;'>MARGARET ILLINGTON BOWES</p>
+<p class='tp' >AND</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;'>EDWARD J. BOWES</p>
+
+<div style='margin:10px auto 20px auto; text-align:center;'>
+<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-ded.png' />
+</div>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<table summary=''><tr><td>
+<p class='center'>I</p>
+<p class='cg'>I&rsquo;d rather walk with Margaret,<br />
+I&rsquo;d rather talk with Margaret,<br />
+And anchor in some sylvan nook<br />
+And fish Dream Lake with magic hook<br />
+Than sit indoors and write this book.<br />
+</p>
+<p class='center'>II</p>
+<p class='cg'>An author&rsquo;s such an ass, alas!<br />
+To watch the world through window glass<br />
+When out of doors the skies are fair<br />
+And pretty girls beyond compare&ndash;&ndash;<br />
+Like Margaret&ndash;&ndash;are strolling there.<br />
+</p>
+<p class='center'>III</p>
+<p class='cg'>I&rsquo;d rather walk with E. J. Bowes,<br />
+I&rsquo;d rather talk with E. J. Bowes,<br />
+In woodlands where the sunlight gleams<br />
+Across the golden Lake of Dreams<br />
+Than drive a quill across these reams.<br />
+</p>
+<p class='center'>IV</p>
+<p class='cg'>If I could have my proper wish<br />
+With these two friends I&rsquo;d sit and fish<br />
+Where sheer cliffs wear their mossy hoods<br />
+And Dream Lake widens in the woods,<br />
+But Fate says &ldquo;No! Produce your goods!&rdquo;<br />
+</p>
+<p class='center'>ENVOI</p>
+<p class='cg'>Inspect my goods and choose a few<br />
+Dear Margaret, and Edward, too;<br />
+Then sink them in the Lake of Dreams<br />
+In dim, gold depths where sunshine streams<br />
+Down from the sky&rsquo;s unclouded blue,<br />
+And I&rsquo;ll be much obliged to you.<br />
+</p>
+<p class='ralign'>R. W. C.</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xi' name='page_xi'></a>xi</span></div>
+<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>FOREWORD</p>
+<p>An American ambulance going south stopped on
+the snowy road; the driver, an American named
+Estridge, got out; his companion, a young
+woman in furs, remained in her seat.</p>
+<p>Estridge, with the din of the barrage in his ears,
+went forward to show his papers to the soldiers who
+had stopped him on the snowy forest road.</p>
+<p>His papers identified him and the young woman;
+and further they revealed the fact that the ambulance
+contained only a trunk and some hand luggage; and
+called upon all in authority to permit John Henry
+Estridge and Miss Palla Dumont to continue without
+hindrance the journey therein described.</p>
+<p>The soldiers&ndash;&ndash;Siberian riflemen&ndash;&ndash;were satisfied and
+seemed friendly enough and rather curious to obtain
+a better look at this American girl, Miss Dumont, described
+in the papers submitted to them as &ldquo;American
+companion to Marie, third daughter of Nicholas
+Romanoff, ex-Tzar.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>An officer came up, examined the papers, shrugged.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if authority is to be given this
+American lady to join the Romanoff family, now under
+detention, it is not my affair.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But he, also, appeared to be perfectly good natured
+about the matter, accepting a cigarette from Estridge
+and glancing at the young woman in the ambulance
+as he lighted it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know,&rdquo; he remarked, &ldquo;if it would interest you
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xii' name='page_xii'></a>xii</span>
+and the young lady, the Battalion of Death is over
+yonder in the birch woods.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The woman&rsquo;s battalion?&rdquo; asked Estridge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. They make their d&eacute;but to-day. Would you
+like to see them? They&rsquo;re going forward in a few
+minutes, I believe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge nodded and walked back to the ambulance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The woman&rsquo;s battalion is over in those birch woods,
+Miss Dumont. Would you care to walk over and see
+them before they leave for the front trenches?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl in furs said very gravely:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I wish to see women who are about to go into
+battle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She rose from the seat, laid a fur-gloved hand on his
+offered arm, and stepped down onto the snow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To serve,&rdquo; she said, as they started together
+through the silver birches, following a trodden way,
+&ldquo;is not alone the only happiness in life: it is the only
+reason for living.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know you think so, Miss Dumont.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You also must believe so, who are here as a volunteer
+in Russia.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a little more selfish with me. I&rsquo;m a medical
+student; it&rsquo;s a liberal education for me even to drive
+an ambulance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There is only one profession nobler than that practised
+by the physician, who serves his fellow men,&rdquo;
+she said in a low, dreamy voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Which profession do you place first?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The profession of those who serve God alone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The priesthood?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. And the religious orders.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nuns, too?&rdquo; he demanded with the slightest hint
+of impatience in his pleasant voice.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xiii' name='page_xiii'></a>xiii</span></div>
+<p>The girl noticed it, looked up at him and smiled
+slightly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Had my dear Grand Duchess not asked for me, I
+should now he entering upon my novitiate among the
+Russian nuns.... And she, too, I think, had there
+been no revolution. She was quite ready a year ago.
+We talked it over. But the Empress would not permit
+it. And then came the trouble about the Deaconesses.
+That was a grave mistake&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She checked herself, then:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do not mean to criticise the Empress, you understand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Poor lady,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;such gentle criticism would
+seem praise to her now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They were walking through a pine belt, and in the
+shadows of that splendid growth the snow remained
+icy, so that they both slipped continually and she took
+his arm for security.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I somehow had not thought of you, Miss Dumont,
+as so austerely inclined,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>She smiled: &ldquo;Because I&rsquo;ve been a cheerful companion&ndash;&ndash;even
+gay? Well, my gaiety made my heart
+sing with the prospect of seeing again my dearest
+friend&ndash;&ndash;my closest spiritual companion&ndash;&ndash;my darling
+little Grand Duchess.... So I have been, naturally
+enough, good company on our three days&rsquo; journey.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He smiled: &ldquo;I never suspected you of such extreme
+religious inclinations,&rdquo; he insisted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Extreme?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, a novice&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; he hesitated. Then, &ldquo;And
+you mean, ultimately, to take the black veil?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course. I shall take it some day yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He turned and looked at her, and the man in him
+felt the pity of it as do all men when such fresh,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xiv' name='page_xiv'></a>xiv</span>
+virginal youth as was Miss Dumont&rsquo;s turns an enraptured
+face toward that cloister door which never again opens
+on those who enter.</p>
+<p>Her arm rested warmly and confidently within his;
+the cold had made her cheeks very pink and had crisped
+the tendrils of her brown hair under the fur toque.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If,&rdquo; she said happily, &ldquo;you have found in me a
+friend, it is because my heart is much too small for all
+the love I bear my fellow beings.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a quaint thing to say,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s really true. I care so deeply, so keenly, for
+my fellow beings whom God made, that there seemed
+only one way to express it&ndash;&ndash;to give myself to God and
+pass my life in His service who made these fellow creatures
+all around me that I love.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that is one way of looking
+at it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It seemed to be the only way for me. I came to
+it by stages.... And first, as a child, I was impressed
+by the loveliness of the world and I used to sit
+for hours thinking of the goodness of God. And then
+other phases came&ndash;&ndash;socialistic cravings and settlement
+work&ndash;&ndash;but you know that was not enough. My heart
+was too full to be satisfied. There was not enough
+outlet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What did you do then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I studied: I didn&rsquo;t know what I wanted, what I
+needed. I seemed lost; I was obsessed with a desire to
+aid&ndash;&ndash;to be of service. I thought that perhaps if I
+travelled and studied methods&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She looked straight ahead of her with a sad little
+reflective smile:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have passed by many strange places in the world....
+And then I saw the little Grand Duchess at the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xv' name='page_xv'></a>xv</span>
+Charity Bazaar.... We seemed to love each other
+at first glance.... She asked to have me for her
+companion.... They investigated.... And so I
+went to her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl&rsquo;s face became sombre and she bent her dark
+eyes on the snow as they walked.</p>
+<p>All the world was humming and throbbing with the
+thunder of the Russian guns. Flakes continually
+dropped from vibrating pine trees. A pale yellow
+haze veiled the sun.</p>
+<p>Suddenly Miss Dumont lifted her head:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If anything ever happens to part me from my
+friend,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I hope I shall die quickly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you and she so devoted?&rdquo; he asked gravely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Utterly. And if we can not some day take the
+vows together and enter the same order and the same
+convent, then the one who is free to do so is so pledged....
+I do not think that the Empress will consent to
+the Grand Duchess Marie taking the veil.... And
+so, when she has no further need of me, I shall make
+my novitiate.... There are soldiers ahead, Mr. Estridge.
+Is it the woman&rsquo;s battalion?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He, also, had caught sight of them. He nodded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is the Battalion of Death,&rdquo; he said in a low voice.
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s see what they look like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl-soldiers stood about carelessly, there in the
+snow among the silver birches and pines. They looked
+like boys in overcoats and boots and tall wool caps,
+leaning at ease there on their heavy rifles. Some were
+only fifteen years of age. Some had been servants,
+some saleswomen, stenographers, telephone operators,
+dressmakers, workers in the fields, students at the university,
+dancers, laundresses. And a few had been
+born into the aristocracy.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xvi' name='page_xvi'></a>xvi</span></div>
+<p>They came, too, from all parts of the huge, sprawling
+Empire, these girl-soldiers of the Battalion of
+Death&ndash;&ndash;and there were Cossack girls and gypsies
+among them&ndash;&ndash;girls from Finland, Courland, from the
+Urals, from Moscow, from Siberia&ndash;&ndash;from North,
+South, East, West.</p>
+<p>There were Jewesses from the Pale and one Jewess
+from America in the ranks; there were Chinese girls,
+Poles, a child of fifteen from Trebizond, a Japanese
+girl, a French peasant lass; and there were Finns, too,
+and Scandinavians&ndash;&ndash;all with clipped hair under the
+astrakhan caps&ndash;&ndash;sturdy, well shaped, soldierly girls
+who handled their heavy rifles without effort and carried
+a regulation equipment as though it were a sheaf
+of flowers.</p>
+<p>Their commanding officer was a woman of forty.
+She lounged in front of the battalion in the snow, consulting
+with half a dozen officers of a man&rsquo;s regiment.</p>
+<p>The colour guard stood grouped around the battalion
+colours, where its white and gold folds swayed languidly
+in the breeze, and clots of virgin snow fell upon
+it, shaken down from the pines by the cannonade.</p>
+<p>Estridge gazed at them in silence. In his man&rsquo;s
+mind one thought dominated&ndash;&ndash;the immense pity of it
+all. And there was a dreadful fascination in looking
+at these girl soldiers, whose soft, warm flesh was so
+soon to be mangled by shrapnel and slashed by bayonets.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good heavens,&rdquo; he muttered at last under his
+breath. &ldquo;Was this necessary?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The men ran,&rdquo; said Miss Dumont.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was the filthy boche propaganda that demoralised
+them,&rdquo; rejoined Estridge. &ldquo;I wonder&ndash;&ndash;<i>are</i>
+women more level headed? Is propaganda wasted on
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xvii' name='page_xvii'></a>xvii</span>
+these girl soldiers? Are they really superior to the
+male of the species?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think,&rdquo; said Miss Dumont softly, &ldquo;that their spiritual
+intelligence is deeper.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They see more clearly, morally?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.... I think so sometimes.... We
+women, who are born capable of motherhood, seem to
+be fashioned also to realise Christ more clearly&ndash;&ndash;and
+the holy mother who bore him.... I don&rsquo;t know if
+that&rsquo;s the reason&ndash;&ndash;or if, truly, in us a little flame
+burns more constantly&ndash;&ndash;the passion which instinctively
+flames more brightly toward things of the spirit than of
+the flesh.... I think it is true, Mr. Estridge, that,
+unless taught otherwise by men, women&rsquo;s inclination
+is toward the spiritual, and the ardour of her passion
+aspires instinctively to a greater love until the lesser
+confuses and perplexes her with its clamorous importunity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Woman&rsquo;s love for man you call the lesser love?&rdquo; he
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, it is, compared to love for God,&rdquo; she said
+dreamily.</p>
+<p>Some of the girl-soldiers in the Battalion of Death
+turned their heads to look at this young girl in furs,
+who had come among them on the arm of a Red Cross
+driver.</p>
+<p>Estridge was aware of many bib brown eyes, many
+grey eyes, some blue ones fixed on him and on his companion
+in friendly or curious inquiry. They made him
+think of the large, innocent eyes of deer or channel
+cattle, for there was something both sweet and wild
+as well as honest in the gaze of these girl-soldiers.</p>
+<p>One, a magnificent blond six-foot creature with the
+peaches-and-cream skin of Scandinavia and the clipped
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xviii' name='page_xviii'></a>xviii</span>
+gold hair of the northland, smiled at Miss Dumont,
+displaying a set of superb teeth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You have come to see us make our first charge?&rdquo;
+she asked in Russian, her sea-blue eyes all a-sparkle.</p>
+<p>Miss Dumont said &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; very seriously, looking at
+the girl&rsquo;s equipment, her blanket roll, gas-mask, boots
+and overcoat.</p>
+<p>Estridge turned to another girl-soldier:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And if you are made a prisoner?&rdquo; he enquired in
+a low voice. &ldquo;Have you women considered that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nechevo,&rdquo; smiled the girl, who had been a Red
+Cross nurse, and who wore two decorations. She
+touched the red and black dashes of colour on her
+sleeve significantly, then loosened her tunic and drew
+out a tiny bag of chamois. &ldquo;We all carry poison,&rdquo;
+she said smilingly. &ldquo;We know the boche well enough
+to take that precaution.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Another girl nodded confirmation. They were perfectly
+cheerful about it. Several others drew near and
+showed their little bags of poison slung around their
+necks inside their blouses. Many of them wore holy
+relics and medals also.</p>
+<p>Miss Dumont took Estridge&rsquo;s arm again and looked
+over at the big blond girl-soldier, who also had been
+smilingly regarding her, and who now stepped forward
+to meet them halfway.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When do you march to the first trenches?&rdquo; asked
+Miss Dumont gravely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; said the blond goddess, &ldquo;so you are English?&rdquo;
+And she added in English: &ldquo;I am Swedish. You have
+arrived just in time. I t&rsquo;ink we go forward immediately.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God go with you, for Russia,&rdquo; said Miss Dumont
+in a clear, controlled voice.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xix' name='page_xix'></a>xix</span></div>
+<p>But Estridge saw that her dark eyes were suddenly
+brilliant with tears. The big blond girl-soldier saw
+it, too, and her splendid blue eyes widened. Then,
+somehow, she had stepped forward and taken Miss Dumont
+in her strong arms; and, holding her, smiled and
+gazed intently at her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You must not grieve for us,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;We are
+not afraid. We are happy to go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know,&rdquo; said Palla Dumont; and took the girl-soldier&rsquo;s
+hands in hers. &ldquo;What is your name?&rdquo; she
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ilse Westgard. And yours?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Palla Dumont.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;English? No?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;American.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! One of our dear Americans! Well, then, you
+shall tell your countrymen that you have seen many
+women of many lands fighting rifle in hand, so that the
+boche shall not strangle freedom in Russia. Will you
+tell them, Palla?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I ever return.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You shall return. I, also, shall go to America.
+I shall seek for you there, pretty comrade. We shall
+become friends. Already I love you very dearly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She kissed Palla Dumont on both cheeks, holding her
+hands tightly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell me,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;why you are in Russia, and
+where you are now journeying?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla looked at her steadily: &ldquo;I am the American
+companion to the Grand Duchess Marie; and I am
+journeying to the village where the Imperial family is
+detained, because she has obtained permission for me
+to rejoin her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a short silence; the blue eyes of the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xx' name='page_xx'></a>xx</span>
+Swedish girl had become frosty as two midwinter stars.
+Suddenly they glimmered warm again as twin violets:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Kharasho!&rdquo; she said smiling. &ldquo;And do you love
+your little comrade duchess?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Next only to God.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is very beautiful, Palla. She is a child to
+be enlightened. Teach her the greater truth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She has learned it, Ilse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>She</i>?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. And, if God wills it, she, and I also, take the
+vows some day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The veil!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You! A nun!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If God accepts me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Swedish girl-soldier stood gazing upon her as
+though fascinated, crushing Palla&rsquo;s slim hands between
+her own.</p>
+<p>Presently she shook her head with a wearied smile:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;is one thing I can not understand&ndash;&ndash;the
+veil. No. I can understand <i>this</i>&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; turning
+her head and glancing proudly around her at her
+girl comrades. &ldquo;I can comprehend this thing that I
+am doing. But not what you wish to do, Palla. Not
+such service as you offer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish to serve the source of all good. My heart
+is too full to be satisfied by serving mankind alone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl-soldier shook her head: &ldquo;I try to understand.
+I can not. I am sorry, because I love you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I love you, Ilse. I love my fellows.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>After another silence:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You go to the imperial family?&rdquo; demanded Ilse
+abruptly.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxi' name='page_xxi'></a>xxi</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish to see you again. I shall try.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The battalion marched a few moments later.</p>
+<p>It was rather a bad business. They went over the
+top with a cheer. Fifty answered roll call that night.</p>
+<p>However, the hun had learned one thing&ndash;&ndash;that
+women soldiers were inferior to none.</p>
+<p>Russia learned it, too. Everywhere battalions were
+raised, uniformed, armed, equipped, drilled. In the
+streets of cities the girl-soldiers became familiar
+sights: nobody any longer turned to stare at them.
+There were several dozen girls in the officers&rsquo; school,
+trying for commissions. In all the larger cities there
+were infantry battalions of girls, Cossack troops, machine
+gun units, signallers; they had a medical corps
+and transport service.</p>
+<p>But never but once again did they go into action.
+And their last stand was made facing their own people,
+the brain-crazed Reds.</p>
+<p>And after that the Battalion of Death became only
+a name; and the girl-soldiers bewildered fugitives,
+hunted down by the traitors who had sold out to the
+Germans at Brest-Litovsk.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxiii' name='page_xxiii'></a>xxiii</span></p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>PREFACE</p>
+<p>A door opened; the rush of foggy air set the
+flames of the altar candles blowing wildly.
+There came the clank of armed men.</p>
+<p>Then, in the dim light of the chapel, a novice sprang
+to her feet, brushing the white veil from her pallid
+young face.</p>
+<p>At that the ex-Empress, still kneeling, lifted her
+head from her devotions and calmly turned it, looking
+around over her right shoulder.</p>
+<p>The file of Red infantry advanced, shuffling slowly
+forward as though feeling their way through the candle-lit
+dusk across the stone floor. Their accoutrements
+clattered and clinked in the intense stillness. A
+slovenly officer, switching a thin, naked sword in his
+ungloved fist, led them. Another officer, carrying a
+sabre and marching in the rear, halted to slam and
+lock the heavy chapel door; then he ran forward to
+rejoin his men, while the chapel still reverberated with
+the echoes of the clanging door.</p>
+<p>A chair or two fell, pushed aside by the leading soldiers
+and hastily kicked out of the way as the others
+advanced more swiftly now. For there seemed to be
+some haste. These men were plainly in a hurry, whatever
+their business there might be.</p>
+<p>The Tzesarevitch, kneeling beside his mother, got
+up from his knees with visible difficulty. The Empress
+also rose, leisurely, supporting herself by one hand
+resting on the prie-dieu.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxiv' name='page_xxiv'></a>xxiv</span></div>
+<p>Then several young girls, who had been kneeling behind
+her at their devotions, stood up and turned to
+stare at the oncoming armed men, now surrounding
+them.</p>
+<p>The officer carrying the naked sword, and reeking
+with fumes of brandy, counted these women in a
+loud, thick voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re all present&ndash;&ndash;one!
+two! three! four! five! six!&ndash;&ndash;the whole accursed brood!&rdquo;
+pointing waveringly with his sword from one to another.</p>
+<p>Then he laughed stupidly, leering out of his inflamed
+eyes at the five women who all wore the garbs of the
+Sisters of Mercy, their white coiffes and tabliers contrasting
+sharply with the sombre habits of the Russian
+nuns who had gathered in the candle-lit dusk behind
+them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you wish?&rdquo; demanded the ex-Empress in a
+fairly steady voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Answer to your names!&rdquo; retorted the officer brutally.
+The other officer came up and began to fumble
+for a note book in the breast of his dirty tunic. When
+he found it he licked the lead of his pencil and squinted
+at the ex-Empress out of drunken eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alexandra Feodorovna!&rdquo; he barked in her face.
+&ldquo;If you&rsquo;re here, say so!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She remained calm, mute, cold as ice.</p>
+<p>A soldier behind her suddenly began to shout:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the German woman. That&rsquo;s the friend of
+the Staretz Novykh! That&rsquo;s Sascha! Now we&rsquo;ve got
+her, the thing to do is to shoot her&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mark her present,&rdquo; interrupted the officer in command.
+&ldquo;No ceremony, now. Mark the cub Romanoff
+present. Mark &rsquo;em all&ndash;&ndash;Olga, Tatyana, Marie,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxv' name='page_xxv'></a>xxv</span>
+Anastasia!&ndash;&ndash;no matter which is which&ndash;&ndash;they&rsquo;re all Romanoffs&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But the same soldier who had interrupted before
+bawled out again: &ldquo;They&rsquo;re not Romanoffs! There
+are no German Romanoffs. There are no Romanoffs
+in Russia since a hundred and fifty years&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The little Tzesarevitch, Alexis, red with anger,
+stepped forward to confront the man, his frail hands
+fiercely clenched. The officer in command struck him
+brutally across the breast with the flat of his sword,
+shoved him aside, strode toward the low door of the
+chapel crypt and jerked it open.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Line them up!&rdquo; he bawled. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll settle this Romanoff
+dispute once for all! Shove them into line!
+Hurry up, there!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But there seemed to be some confusion between the
+nuns and the soldiers, as the latter attempted to separate
+the ex-Empress and the young Grand Duchesses
+from the sisters.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s all that trouble about!&rdquo; cried the officer
+commanding. &ldquo;Drive back those nuns, I tell you!
+They&rsquo;re Germans, too! They&rsquo;re Sascha&rsquo;s new Deaconesses!
+Kick &rsquo;em out of the way!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then the novice, who had cried out in fear when the
+Red infantry first entered the chapel, forced her way
+out into the file formed by the Empress and her daughters.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a frightful mistake!&rdquo; she cried, laying one
+hand on the arm of a young girl dressed, like the others,
+as a Sister of Mercy. &ldquo;This woman is Miss Dumont,
+my American companion! Release her! <b>I</b> am
+the Grand Duchess Marie!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl, whose arm had been seized, looked at the
+young novice over her shoulder in a dazed way; then,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxvi' name='page_xxvi'></a>xxvi</span>
+suddenly her lovely face flushed scarlet; tears sprang
+to her eyes; and she said to the infuriated officer:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is not true, Captain! I am the Grand Duchess
+Marie. She is trying to save me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What the devil is all this row!&rdquo; roared the officer,
+who now came tramping and storming among the prisoners,
+switching his sword to and fro with ferocious
+impatience.</p>
+<p>The little Sister of Mercy, frightened but resolute,
+pointed at the novice, who still clutched her by the
+arm: &ldquo;It is not true what she tells you,&rdquo; she repeated.
+&ldquo;I am the Grand Duchess Marie, and this novice is my
+American companion, Miss Dumont, who loves me devotedly
+and who now attempts to sacrifice herself in
+my place&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I <i>am</i> the Grand Duchess Marie!&rdquo; interrupted the
+novice excitedly. &ldquo;This young girl dressed like a Sister
+of Mercy is only my American companion&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Damnation!&rdquo; yelled the officer. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take you
+both, then!&rdquo; But the girl in the Sister of Mercy&rsquo;s
+garb turned and violently pushed the novice from her
+so that she stumbled and fell on her knees among the
+nuns.</p>
+<p>Then, confronting the officer: &ldquo;You Bolshevik
+dog,&rdquo; she said contemptuously, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t you even know
+the daughter of your dead Emperor when you see
+her!&rdquo; And she struck him across the face with her
+prayer book.</p>
+<p>As he recoiled from the blow a soldier shouted:
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s your proof! There&rsquo;s your insolent Romanoff
+for you! To hell with the whole litter! Shoot them!&rdquo;
+Instantly a savage roar from the Reds filled that dim
+place; a soldier violently pushed the young Tzesarevitch
+into the file behind the Empress and held him
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxvii' name='page_xxvii'></a>xxvii</span>
+there; the Grand Duchess Olga was flung bodily after
+him; the other children, in their hospital dresses, were
+shoved brutally toward their places, menaced by butt
+and bayonet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;March!&rdquo; bawled the officer in command.</p>
+<p>But now, among the dark-garbed nuns, a slender
+white figure was struggling frantically to free herself:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You red dogs!&rdquo; she cried in an agonised voice.
+&ldquo;Let that English woman go! It is I you want! Do
+you hear! I mock at you! I mock at your resolution!
+Boje Tzaria Khrani! Down with the Bolsheviki!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A soldier turned and fired at her; the bullet smashed
+an ikon above her head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am the Grand Duchess Marie!&rdquo; she sobbed. &ldquo;I
+demand my place! I demand my fate! Let that
+American girl go! Do you hear what I say? Red
+beasts! Red beasts! I am the Grand Duchess!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The officer who closed the file turned savagely and
+shook his heavy cavalry sabre at her: &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come back
+in a moment and cut your throat for you!&rdquo; he yelled.</p>
+<p>Then, in the file, and just as the last bayonets were
+vanishing through the crypt door, one of the young
+girls turned and kissed her hand to the sobbing novice&ndash;&ndash;a
+pretty gesture, tender, gay, not tragic, even almost
+mischievously triumphant.</p>
+<p>It was the adieu of the Grand Duchess Tatyana to
+the living world&ndash;&ndash;her last glimpse of it through the
+flames of the altar candles gilding the dead Christ on
+his jewelled cross&ndash;&ndash;the image of that Christ she was
+so soon to gaze upon when those lovely, mischievous
+young eyes of hers unclosed in Paradise....</p>
+<p>The door of the crypt slammed. A terrible silence
+reigned in the chapel.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxviii' name='page_xxviii'></a>xxviii</span></div>
+<p>Then the novice uttered a cry, caught the foot of
+the cross with desperate hands, hung there convulsively.</p>
+<p>To her the Mother Superior turned, weeping. But
+at her touch the girl, crazed with grief, lifted both
+hands and tore from her own face the veil of her novitiate
+just begun;&ndash;&ndash;tore her white garments from
+her shoulders, crying out in a strangled voice that if a
+Christian God let such things happen then He was no
+God of hers&ndash;&ndash;that she would never enter His service&ndash;&ndash;that
+the Lord Christ was no bridegroom for her;
+and, her novitiate was ended&ndash;&ndash;ended together with
+every vow of chastity, of humility, of poverty, of even
+common humanity which she had ever hoped to take.</p>
+<p>The girl was now utterly beside herself; at one moment
+flaming and storming with fury among the terrified,
+huddling nuns; the next instant weeping, stamping
+her felt-shod foot in ungovernable revolt at this
+horror which any God in any heaven could permit.</p>
+<p>And again and again she called out on Christ to
+stop this thing and prove Himself a real God to a pagan
+world that mocked Him.</p>
+<p>Dishevelled, her rent veil in tatters on her naked
+shoulders, she sprang across the chapel to the crypt
+door, shook it, tore at it, seized chair after chair and
+shattered them to splinters against the solid panels
+of oak and iron.</p>
+<p>Then, suddenly motionless, she crouched and listened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Mother of God!&rdquo; she panted, &ldquo;intervene now&ndash;&ndash;<i>now</i>!&ndash;&ndash;or
+never!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The muffled rattle of a rather ragged volley answered
+her prayer.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxix' name='page_xxix'></a>xxix</span></div>
+<p>Outside the convent a sentry&ndash;&ndash;a Kronstadt sailor&ndash;&ndash;stood.
+He also heard the underground racket. He
+nodded contentedly to himself. Other shots followed&ndash;&ndash;pistol
+shots&ndash;&ndash;singly.</p>
+<p>After a few moments a wisp of smoke from the crypt
+crept lazily out of the low oubliettes. The day was
+grey and misty; rain threatened; and the rifle smoke
+clung low to the withered grass, scarcely lifting.</p>
+<p>The sentry lighted a third cigarette, one eye on the
+barred oubliettes, from which the smoke crawled and
+spread out over the grass.</p>
+<p>After a while a sweating face appeared behind the
+bars and a half-stifled voice demanded why there was
+any delay about fetching quick-lime. And, still clinging
+to the bars with bloody fingers, he added:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a damned novice in the chapel. I promised
+to cut her throat for her. Go in and get her and
+bring her down here.&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>The novice was nowhere to be found.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>They searched the convent thoroughly; they went
+out into the garden and beat the shrubbery, kicking
+through bushes and saplings, their cocked rifles poised
+for a snap shot.</p>
+<p>Peasants, gathering there more thickly now, watched
+them stupidly; the throng increased in the convent
+grounds. Some Bolshevik soldiers pushed through the
+rapidly growing crowd and ran toward a birch wood
+east of the convent. Beyond the silvery fringe of
+birches, larger trees of a heavy, hard-wood forest
+loomed. Among these splendid trees a number of
+beeches were being felled on both sides of the road.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you see a White Nun run this way?&rdquo; demanded
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxx' name='page_xxx'></a>xxx</span>
+the soldiers of the wood-cutters. The latter shook
+their heads:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing has passed,&rdquo; they said seriously, &ldquo;except
+some Ural Cossacks riding north like lost souls in a
+hurricane.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>An officer of the Red battalion, who had now hastened
+up with pistol swinging, flew into a frightful
+rage:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cossacks!&rdquo; he bellowed. &ldquo;You cowardly dogs,
+what do you mean by letting Kaledines&rsquo; horsemen gallop
+over you like that&ndash;&ndash;you with your saws and axes&ndash;&ndash;twenty
+lusty comrades to block the road and pull the
+Imperialists off their horses! Shame! For all I know
+you&rsquo;ve let a Romanoff escape alive into the world!
+That&rsquo;s probably what you&rsquo;ve done, you greasy louts!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The wood-cutters gaped stupidly; the Bolshevik officer
+cursed them again and gesticulated with his pistol.
+Other soldiers of the Red battalion ran up. One
+nudged the officer&rsquo;s elbow without saluting:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That other prisoner can&rsquo;t be found&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What! That Swedish girl!&rdquo; yelled the officer.</p>
+<p>Several soldiers began speaking excitedly:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;While we were in the cellar, they say she ran
+away&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Captain, while we were about that business in
+the crypt, Kaledines&rsquo; horsemen rode up outside&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who saw them?&rdquo; demanded the officer hoarsely.
+&ldquo;God curse you, who saw them?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Some peasants had now come up. One of them
+began:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your <i>honour</i>, I saw Prince Kaledines&rsquo; riders&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Whose!</i>&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Hetman&rsquo;s&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your <i>honour</i>! <i>Prince</i> Kaledines! The Hetman!
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxi' name='page_xxxi'></a>xxxi</span>
+Damnation! Who do you think you are! Who do
+you think I am!&rdquo; burst out the Red officer in a fury.
+&ldquo;Get out of my way!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; He pushed the peasants
+right and left and strode away toward the convent.
+His soldiers began to straggle after him. One of them
+winked at the wood-cutters with his tongue in his cheek,
+and slung the rifle he carried over his right shoulder
+<i>en bandouli&egrave;re</i>, muzzle downward.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Tavarish is in a temper,&rdquo; he said with a jerk
+of his thumb toward the officer. &ldquo;We arrested that
+Swedish girl in the uniform of the woman&rsquo;s battalion.
+One shoots that breed on sight, you know. But we
+were in such a hurry to finish with the Romanoffs&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;
+He shrugged: &ldquo;You see, comrades, we should have
+taken her into the crypt and shot her along with the
+Romanoffs. That&rsquo;s how one loses these birds&ndash;&ndash;they&rsquo;re
+off if you turn your back to light a cigarette in the
+wind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>One of the wood-cutters said: &ldquo;Among Kaledines&rsquo;
+horsemen were two women. One was crop-headed like
+a boy, and half naked.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A White Nun?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God knows. She had some white rags hanging to
+her body, and dark hair clipped like a boy&rsquo;s.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&ndash;&ndash;was&ndash;&ndash;she!&rdquo; said the soldier with slow conviction.
+He turned and looked down the long perspective
+of the forest road. Only a raven stalked
+there all alone over the fallen leaves.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that was our White Nun.
+The Cossacks took her with them. They must have
+ridden fast, the horsemen of Kaledines.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like a swift storm. Like the souls of the damned,&rdquo;
+replied a peasant.</p>
+<p>The soldier shrugged: &ldquo;If there&rsquo;s still a Romanoff
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxii' name='page_xxxii'></a>xxxii</span>
+loose in the world, God save the world!... And that
+big heifer of a Swedish wench!&ndash;&ndash;she was a bad one,
+I tell you!&ndash;&ndash;Took six of us to catch her and ten to
+hold her by her ten fingers and toes! Hey! God
+bless me, but she stands six feet and is made of steel
+cased in silk&ndash;&ndash;all white, smooth and iron-hard&ndash;&ndash;the
+blond young snow-tiger that she is!&ndash;&ndash;the yellow-haired,
+six-foot, slippery beastess! God bless me&ndash;&ndash;God bless
+me!&rdquo; he muttered, staring down the wood-road to its
+vanishing point against the grey horizon.</p>
+<p>Then he hitched his slung rifle to a more comfortable
+position, turned, gazed at the convent across the
+fields, which his distant comrades were now approaching.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A German nest,&rdquo; he said aloud to himself, &ldquo;full of
+their damned Deaconesses! Hey! I&rsquo;ll be going along
+to see what&rsquo;s to be done with them, also!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He nodded to the wood-cutters:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Vermin-killing time,&rdquo; he remarked cheerily. &ldquo;After
+the dirty work is done, peace, land enough for everybody,
+ease and plenty and a full glass always at one&rsquo;s
+elbows&ndash;&ndash;eh, comrades?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He strode away across the fields.</p>
+<p>It had begun to snow.</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxiii' name='page_xxxiii'></a>xxxiii</span></div>
+<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>ARGUMENT</p>
+<p>The Cossacks sang as they rode:</p>
+<table summary=''><tr><td>
+<p class='center'>I</p>
+<p class='cg'>&ldquo;Life is against us<br />
+We are born crying:<br />
+Life that commenced us<br />
+Leaves us all dying.<br />
+<span class='indent7'>&nbsp;</span>We were born crying;<br />
+<span class='indent7'>&nbsp;</span>We shall die sighing.<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Shall we sit idle?<br />
+Follow Death&rsquo;s dance!<br />
+Pick up your bridle,<br />
+Saddle and lance!<br />
+Cossacks, advance!&rdquo;</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+<p>They were from the Urals: they sat their shaggy
+little grey horses, lance in hand, stirrup deep in saddle
+paraphernalia&ndash;&ndash;kit-bags, tents, blankets, trusses of
+straw, a dead fowl or two or a quarter of beef. And
+from every saddle dangled a balalaika and the terrible
+Cossack whip.</p>
+<p>The steel of their lances flashed red in the setting
+sun; snow whirled before the wind in blinding pinkish
+clouds, powdering horse and rider from head to heel.</p>
+<p>Again one rider unslung his balalaika, struck it,
+looking skyward as he rode:</p>
+<table summary=''><tr><td>
+<p class='cg'>&ldquo;Stars in your courses,<br />
+This is our answer;<br />
+Women and horses,<br />
+Singer and dancer<br />
+<span class='indent9'>&nbsp;</span>Fall to the lancer!<br />
+<span class='indent9'>&nbsp;</span>That is your answer!
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxiv' name='page_xxxiv'></a>xxxiv</span><br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Though the Dark Raider<br />
+Rob us of joy&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;<br />
+Death, the Invader,<br />
+Come to destroy&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;<br />
+<i>Nichevo! Stoi!</i>&rdquo;</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+<p>They rode into a forest, slowly, filing among the
+silver birches, then trotting out amid the pines.</p>
+<p>The Swedish girl towered in her saddle, dwarfing
+the shaggy pony. She wore her grey wool cap, overcoat,
+and boots. Pistols bulged in the saddle holsters;
+sacks of grain and a bag of camp tins lay across pommel
+and cantle.</p>
+<p>Beside her rode the novice, swathed to the eyes in a
+sheepskin greatcoat, and a fur cap sheltering her
+shorn head.</p>
+<p>Her lethargy&ndash;&ndash;a week&rsquo;s reaction from the horrors of
+the convent&ndash;&ndash;had vanished; and a feverish, restless
+alertness had taken its place.</p>
+<p>Nothing of the still, white novice was visible now in
+her brilliant eyes and flushed cheeks.</p>
+<p>Her tragic silence had given place to an unnatural
+loquacity; her grief to easily aroused mirth; and the
+dark sorrow in her haunted eyes was gone, and they
+grew brown and sunny and vivacious.</p>
+<p>She talked freely with her comrade, Ilse Westgard;
+she exchanged gossip and banter with the Cossacks,
+argued with them, laughed with them, sang with them.</p>
+<p>At night she slept in her sheepskin in Ilse Westgard&rsquo;s
+vigorous arms; morning, noon and evening she
+filled the samovar with snow beside Cossack fires, or
+in the rare cantonments afforded in wretched villages,
+where whiskered and filthy mujiks cringed to the Cossacks,
+whispering to one another: &ldquo;There is no end
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxv' name='page_xxxv'></a>xxxv</span>
+to death; there is no end to the fighting and the dying,
+God bless us all. There is no end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In the glare of great fires in muddy streets she
+stood, swathed in her greatcoat, her cap pushed back,
+looking like some beautiful, impudent boy, while the
+Cossacks sang &ldquo;Lada oy Lada!&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;and let their slanting
+eyes wander sideways toward her, till her frank
+laughter set the singers grinning and the <i>gusli</i> was
+laid aside.</p>
+<p>And once, after a swift gallop to cross a railroad
+and an exchange of shots with the Red guards at long
+range, the sotnia of the Wild Division rode at evening
+into a little hamlet of one short, miserable street, and
+shouted for a fire that could be seen as far as Moscow.</p>
+<p>That night they discovered vodka&ndash;&ndash;not much&ndash;&ndash;enough
+to set them singing first, then dancing. The
+troopers danced together in the fire-glare&ndash;&ndash;clumsily,
+in their boots, with interims of the <i>pas seul</i> savouring
+of the capers of those ancient Mongol horsemen in the
+<i>Hezars</i> of Genghis Khan.</p>
+<p>But no dancing, no singing, no clumsy capers were
+enough to satisfy these riders of the Wild Division,
+now made boisterous by vodka and horse-meat. Gossip
+crackled in every group; jests flew; they shouted
+at the peasants; they roared at their own jokes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Comrade novice!&ndash;&ndash;Pretty boy with a shorn head!&rdquo;
+they bawled. &ldquo;Harangue us once more on law and
+love.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stood with legs apart and thumbs hooked in her
+belt, laughing at them across the fire. And all around
+crowded the wretched <i>mujiks</i>, peering at her through
+shaggy hair, out of little wolfish eyes.</p>
+<p>A Cossack shouted: &ldquo;My law first! Land for all!
+That is what we have, we Cossacks! Land for the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxvi' name='page_xxxvi'></a>xxxvi</span>
+people, one and all&ndash;&ndash;land for the <i>mujik</i>; land for the
+bourgeois; land for the aristocrat! That law solves
+all, clears all questions, satisfies all. It is the Law
+of Peace!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A Cossack shoved a soldier-deserter forward into
+the firelight. He wore a patch of red on his sleeve.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Answer, comrade! Is that the true law? Or have
+you and your comrades made a better one in Petrograd?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The deserter, a little frightened, tried to grin: &ldquo;A
+good law is, kill all generals,&rdquo; he said huskily. &ldquo;Afterward
+we shall have peace.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A roar of laughter greeted him; these dark, thickset
+Cossacks with slanting eyes were from the Urals.
+What did they care how many generals were killed?
+Besides, their hetman had already killed himself.</p>
+<p>Their officer moved out into the firelight&ndash;&ndash;a reckless
+rider but a dull brain&ndash;&ndash;and stood lashing at his
+snow-crusted boots with the silver-mounted quirt.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like gendarmes,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we Cossacks are forever
+doing the dirty work of other people. Why? It
+begins to sicken me. Why are we forever executing
+the law! What law? Who made it? The Tzar. And
+he is dead, and what is the good of the law he made?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why should free Cossacks be policemen any more
+when there is no law?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We played gendarme for the Monarchists. We
+answered the distress call of the Cadets and the bourgeoisie!
+Where are they? Where is the law they
+made?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He stood switching his dirty boots and swinging
+his heavy head right and left with the stupid, lowering
+menace of a bull.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then came the Mensheviki with their law,&rdquo; he bellowed
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxvii' name='page_xxxvii'></a>xxxvii</span>
+suddenly. &ldquo;Again we became policemen, galloping
+to their whistle. Where are they? Where is
+their law?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He spat on the snow, twirled his quirt.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There is only one law to govern the land,&rdquo; he
+roared. &ldquo;It is the law of hands off and mind your
+business! It&rsquo;s a good law.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A good law for those who already have something,&rdquo;
+cried a high, thin voice from the throng of peasants.</p>
+<p>The Cossacks, who all possessed their portion of
+land, yelled with laughter. One of them called out to
+the Swedish girl for her opinion, and the fair young
+giantess strode gracefully out into the fire-ring, her
+cap in her hand and the thick blond ringlets shining
+like gold on her beautiful head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen! Listen to this soldier of the Death Battalion!&rdquo;
+shouted the Cossacks in great glee. &ldquo;She
+will tell us what the law should be!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She laughed: &ldquo;We fought for it&ndash;&ndash;we women soldiers,&rdquo;
+she said. &ldquo;And the law we fought for was
+made when the first tyrant fell.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is the law: Freedom of mind; liberty of choice;
+an equal chance for all; no violence; only orderly debate
+to determine the will of the land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A Cossack said loudly: &ldquo;<i>Da volna!</i> Those who
+have nothing would take, then, from those who have!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think not!&rdquo; cried another,&ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;not in the Urals!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thunderous laughter from their comrades and cries
+of, &ldquo;Palla! Let us hear our pretty boy, who has made
+for the whole world a law.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla Dumont, her slender hands thrust deep in her
+great coat sleeves, and standing like a nun lost in
+mystic revery, looked up with gay audacity&ndash;&ndash;not like
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxviii' name='page_xxxviii'></a>xxxviii</span>
+a nun at all, now, save for the virginal allure that
+seemed a part of the girl.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There is only one law, Tavarishi,&rdquo; she said, turning
+slightly from her hips as she spoke, to include those behind
+her in the circle: &ldquo;and that law was not made
+by man. That law was born, already made, when the
+first man was born. It has never changed. It comprehends
+everything; includes everything and everybody;
+it solves all perplexity, clears all doubts, decides
+all questions.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is a living law; it exists; it is the key to every
+problem; and it is all ready for you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl&rsquo;s face had altered; the half mischievous
+audacity in defiance of her situation&ndash;&ndash;the gay, impudent
+confidence in herself and in these wild comrades
+of hers, had given place to something more serious,
+more ardent&ndash;&ndash;the youthful intensity that smiles
+through the flaming enchantment of suddenly discovered
+knowledge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is the oldest of all laws,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;It was born
+perfect. It is yours if you accept it. And this law
+is the Law of Love.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A peasant muttered: &ldquo;One gives where one loves.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl turned swiftly: &ldquo;That is the soul of the
+Law!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;to give! Is there any other happiness,
+Tavarishi? Is there any other peace? Is
+there need of any other law?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you that the Law of Love slays greed! And
+when greed dies, war dies. And hunger, and misery
+die, too!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of what use is any government and its lesser laws
+and customs, unless it is itself governed by that paramount
+Law?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of what avail are your religions, your churches,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxxix' name='page_xxxix'></a>xxxix</span>
+your priests, your saints, relics, ikons&ndash;&ndash;all your candles
+and observances&ndash;&ndash;unless dominated by that Law?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of what use is your God unless that Law of Love
+also governs Him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stood gazing at the firelit faces, the virginal
+half-smile on her lips.</p>
+<p>A peasant broke the silence: &ldquo;Is she a new saint,
+then?&rdquo; he said distinctly.</p>
+<p>A Cossack nodded to her, grinning respectfully:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We always like your sermons, little novice,&rdquo; he
+said. And, to the others: &ldquo;Nobody wishes to deny
+what she says is quite true&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;he scratched his head,
+still grinning&ndash;&ndash;&ldquo;only&ndash;&ndash;while there are Kurds in the
+world&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And Bolsheviki!&rdquo; shouted another.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;True! And Turks! God bless us, Tavarishi,&rdquo; he
+added with a wry face, &ldquo;it takes a stronger stomach
+to love these beasts than is mine&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In the sudden shout of laughter the girl, Palla,
+looked around at her comrade, Ilse.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Until each accepts the Law of Love,&rdquo; said the
+Swedish girl-soldier, laughing, &ldquo;it can not be a law.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have accepted it,&rdquo; said Palla gaily; but her childishly
+lovely mouth was working, and she clenched her
+hands in her sleeves to control the tremor.</p>
+<p>Silent, the smile still stamped on her tremulous lips,
+she stood for a few moments, fighting back the deep
+emotions enveloping her in surging fire&ndash;&ndash;the same
+ardent and mystic emotions which once had consumed
+her at the altar&rsquo;s foot, where she had knelt, a novice,
+dreaming of beatitudes ineffable.</p>
+<p>If that vision, for her, was ended&ndash;&ndash;its substance but
+the shadow of a dream&ndash;&ndash;the passion that created it,
+the fire that purified it, the ardent heart that needed
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xl' name='page_xl'></a>xl</span>
+love&ndash;&ndash;love sacred, love unalloyed&ndash;&ndash;needed love still,
+burned for it, yearning to give.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>As she lifted her head and looked around her with
+dark eyes still a little dazed, there was a sudden commotion
+among the <i>mujiks</i>; a Cossack called out something
+in a sharp voice; their officer walked hastily out
+into the darkness; a shadowy rider spurred ahead of
+him.</p>
+<p>Suddenly a far voice shouted: &ldquo;Who goes there!
+<i>Stoi!</i>&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then red flashes came out of the night; Cossacks ran
+for their horses; Ilse appeared with Palla&rsquo;s pony as
+well as her own, and halted to listen, the fearless smile
+playing over her face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mount!&rdquo; cried many voices at once. &ldquo;The Reds!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla flung herself astride her saddle; Ilse galloped
+beside her, freeing her pistols; everywhere in the starlight
+the riders of the Wild Division came galloping,
+loosening their long lances as they checked their horses
+in close formation.</p>
+<p>Then, with scarcely a sound in the unbroken snow,
+they filed away eastward at a gentle trot, under the
+pale lustre of the stars.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span></p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<h1>THE CRIMSON TIDE</h1>
+<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'>
+<a name='CHAPTER_I' id='CHAPTER_I'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>
+</div>
+<p>On the 7th of November, 1917, the Premier of
+the Russian Revolutionary Government was a
+hunted fugitive, his ministers in prison, his
+troops scattered or dead. Three weeks later, the irresponsible
+Reds had begun their shameful career of
+treachery, counselled by a pallid, black-eyed man with
+a muzzle like a mouse&ndash;&ndash;one L. D. Bronstein, called
+Trotzky; and by two others&ndash;&ndash;one a bald, smooth-shaven,
+rotund little man with an expression that made
+men hesitate, and features not trusted by animals and
+children.</p>
+<p>The Red Parliament called him Vladimir Ulianov,
+and that&rsquo;s what he called himself. He had proved to
+be reticent, secretive, deceitful, diligent, and utterly
+unhuman. His lower lip was shaped as though something
+dripped from it. Blood, perhaps. His eyes
+were brown and not entirely unattractive. But God
+makes the eyes; the mouth is fashioned by one&rsquo;s self.</p>
+<p>The world knew him as Lenine.</p>
+<p>The third man squinted. He wore a patch of sparse
+cat-hairs on his chin and upper lip.</p>
+<p>His head was too big; his legs too short, but they
+were always in a hurry, always in motion. He had a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span>
+persuasive and ardent tongue, and practically no
+mind. The few ideas he possessed inclined him to violence&ndash;&ndash;always
+the substitute for reason in this sort of
+agitator. It was this ever latent violence that proved
+persuasive. His name was Krylenko. His smile was
+a grin.</p>
+<p>These three men betrayed Christ on March 3d, 1918.</p>
+<p>On the Finland Road, outside of Petrograd, the
+Red ragamuffins held a perpetual carmagnole, and all
+fugitives danced to their piping, and many paid for
+the music.</p>
+<p>But though White Guards and Red now operated in
+respectively hostile gangs everywhere throughout the
+land, and the treacherous hun armies were now in full
+tide of their Baltic invasion, there still remained ways
+and means of escape&ndash;&ndash;inconspicuous highways and unguarded
+roads still open that led out of that white
+hell to the icy but friendly seas clashing against the
+northward coasts.</p>
+<p>Diplomats were inelegantly &ldquo;beating it.&rdquo; A kindly
+but futile Ambassador shook the snow of Petrograd
+from his galoshes and solemnly and laboriously vanished.
+Mixed bands of attach&eacute;s, consular personnel,
+casuals, emissaries, newspaper men, and mission specialists
+scattered into unfeigned flight toward those
+several and distant sections of &ldquo;God&rsquo;s Country,&rdquo; divided
+among civilised nations and lying far away somewhere
+in the outer sunshine.</p>
+<p>Sometimes White Guards caught these fugitives;
+sometimes Red Guards; and sometimes the hun nabbed
+them on the general hunnish principle that whatever
+is running away is fair game for a pot shot.</p>
+<p>Even the American Red Cross was &ldquo;suspect&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;treachery
+being alleged in its relations with Roumania;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span>
+and hun and Bolshevik became very troublesome&ndash;&ndash;so
+troublesome, in fact, that Estridge, for example, was
+having an impossible time of it, arrested every few
+days, wriggling out of it, only to be collared again and
+detained.</p>
+<p>Sometimes they questioned him concerning gun-running
+into Roumania; sometimes in regard to his part
+in conducting the American girl, Miss Dumont, to the
+convent where the imperial family had been detained.</p>
+<p>That the de facto government had requested him to
+undertake this mission and to employ an American
+Red Cross ambulance in the affair seemed to make no
+difference.</p>
+<p>He continued to be dogged, spied on, arrested, detained,
+badgered, until one evening, leaving the Smolny,
+he encountered an American&ndash;&ndash;a slim, short man who
+smiled amiably upon him through his glasses, removed
+a cigar from his lips, and asked Estridge what was the
+nature of his evident and visible trouble.</p>
+<p>So they walked back to the hotel together and settled
+on a course of action during the long walk. What
+this friend in need did and how he did it, Estridge
+never learned; but that same evening he was instructed
+to pack up, take a train, and descend at a certain
+station a few hours later.</p>
+<p>Estridge followed instructions, encountered no interference,
+got off at the station designated, and
+waited there all day, drinking boiling tea.</p>
+<p>Toward evening a train from Petrograd stopped at
+the station, and from the open door of a compartment
+Estridge saw his chance acquaintance of the previous
+day making signs to him to get aboard.</p>
+<p>Nobody interfered. They had a long, cold, unpleasant
+night journey, wedged in between two soldiers
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span>
+wearing arm-bands, who glowered at a Russian
+general officer opposite, and continued to mutter to
+each other about imperialists, bourgeoisie, and cadets.</p>
+<p>At every stop they were inspected by lantern light,
+their papers examined, and sometimes their luggage
+opened. But these examinations seemed to be perfunctory,
+and nobody was detained.</p>
+<p>In the grey of morning the train stopped and some
+soldiers with red arm-bands looked in and insulted the
+general officer, but offered no violence. The officer
+gave them a stony glance and closed his cold, puffy
+eyes in disdain. He was blond and looked like a German.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>At the next stop Estridge received a careless nod
+from his chance acquaintance, gathered up his luggage
+and descended to the frosty platform.</p>
+<p>Nobody bothered to open their bags; their papers
+were merely glanced at. They had some steaming tea
+and some sour bread together.</p>
+<p>A little later a large sleigh drove up behind the station;
+their light baggage was stowed aboard, they
+climbed in under the furs.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; remarked his calm companion to Estridge,
+&ldquo;we&rsquo;re all right if the Reds, the Whites and the boches
+don&rsquo;t shoot us up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What are the chances?&rdquo; inquired Estridge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Excellent, excellent,&rdquo; said his companion cheerily,
+&ldquo;I should say we have about one chance in ten to get
+out of this alive. I&rsquo;ll take either end&ndash;&ndash;ten to one
+we don&rsquo;t get out&ndash;&ndash;ten to two we&rsquo;re shot up and not
+killed&ndash;&ndash;ten to three we are arrested but not killed&ndash;&ndash;one
+to ten we pull through with whole skins.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span></div>
+<p>Estridge smiled. They remained silent, probably
+preoccupied with the hazards of their respective fortunes.
+It grew colder toward noon.</p>
+<p>The young man seated beside Estridge in the sleigh
+smoked continually.</p>
+<p>He was attached to one of the American missions
+sent into Russia by an optimistic administration&ndash;&ndash;a
+mission, as a whole, foredoomed to political failure.</p>
+<p>In every detail, too, it had already failed, excepting
+only in that particular part played by this young man,
+whose name was Brisson.</p>
+<p>He, however, had gone about his occult business in
+a most amazing manner&ndash;&ndash;the manner of a Yankee who
+knows what he wants and what his country ought to
+want if it knew enough to know it wanted it.</p>
+<p>He was the last American to leave Petrograd: he
+had taken his time; he left only when he was quite ready
+to leave.</p>
+<p>And this was the man, now seated beside Estridge,
+who had coolly and cleverly taken his sporting chance
+in remaining till the eleventh hour and the fifty-ninth
+minute in the service of his country. Then, as the
+twelfth hour began to strike, he bluffed his way
+through.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>During the first two or three days of sleigh travel,
+Brisson learned all he desired to know about Estridge,
+and Estridge learned almost nothing about Brisson
+except that he possessed a most unholy genius for
+wriggling out of trouble.</p>
+<p>Nothing, nobody, seemed able to block this young
+man&rsquo;s progress. He bluffed his way through White
+Guards and Red; he squirmed affably out of the
+clutches of wandering Cossacks; he jollied officials of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span>
+all shades of political opinion; but he always continued
+his journey from one &eacute;tape to the next. Also, he
+was continually lighting one large cigar after another.
+Buttoned snugly into his New York-made arctic clothing,
+and far more comfortable at thirty below zero than
+was Estridge in Russian costume, he smoked comfortably
+in the teeth of the icy gale or conversed soundly
+on any topic chosen. And the range was wide.</p>
+<p>But about himself and his mission in Russia he never
+conversed except to remark, once, that he could buy
+better Russian clothing in New York than in Petrograd.</p>
+<p>Indeed, his only concession to the customs of the
+country was in the fur cap he wore. But it was the
+galoshes of Manhattan that saved his feet from freezing.
+He had two pair and gave one to Estridge.</p>
+<p>During several hundreds of miles in sleighs, Brisson&rsquo;s
+constant regret was the absence of ferocious
+wolves. He desired to enjoy the whole show as depicted
+by the geographies. He complained to Estridge
+quite seriously concerning the lack of enterprise
+among the wolves.</p>
+<p>But there seemed to be no wolves in Russia sufficiently
+polite to oblige him; so he comforted himself
+by patting his stomach where, sewed inside his outer
+underclothing, reposed documents destined to electrify
+the civilised world with proof infernal of the treachery
+of those three men who belong in history and in
+hell to the fraternity which includes Benedict Arnold
+and Judas.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>One late afternoon, while smoking his large cigar
+and hopefully inspecting the neighbouring forest for
+wolves, this able young man beheld a sotnia of Ural
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span>
+Cossacks galloping across the snow toward the flying
+sleigh, where he and Estridge sat so snugly ensconced.</p>
+<p>There was, of course, only one thing to do, and that
+was to halt. Kaledines had blown his brains out, but
+his riders rode as swiftly as ever. So the sleigh
+stopped.</p>
+<p>And now these matchless horsemen of the Wild Division
+came galloping up around the sleigh. Brilliant
+little slanting eyes glittered under shaggy head-gear;
+broad, thick-lipped mouths split into grins at sight of
+the two little American flags fluttering so gaily on
+the sleigh.</p>
+<p>Then two booted and furred riders climbed out of
+their saddles, and, under their sheepskin caps, Brisson
+saw the delicate features of two young women, one a
+big, superb, blue-eyed girl; the other slim, dark-eyed,
+and ivory-pale.</p>
+<p>The latter said in English: &ldquo;Could you help us?
+We saw the flags on your sleigh. We are trying to
+leave the country. I am American. My name is
+Palla Dumont. My friend is Swedish and her name
+is Ilse Westgard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get in, any way,&rdquo; said Brisson briskly. &ldquo;We can&rsquo;t
+be in a worse mess than we are. I imagine it&rsquo;s the
+same case with you. So if we&rsquo;re all going to smash,
+it&rsquo;s pleasanter, I think, to go together.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At that the Swedish girl laughed and aided her
+companion to enter the sleigh.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good-bye!&rdquo; she called in her clear, gay voice to the
+Cossacks. &ldquo;When we come back again we shall ride
+with you from Vladivostok to Moscow and never see
+an enemy!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When the young women were comfortably ensconced
+in the sleigh, the riders of the Wild Division crowded
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span>
+their horses around them and shook hands with them
+English fashion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When you come back,&rdquo; they cried, &ldquo;you shall find
+us riding through Petrograd behind Korniloff!&rdquo; And
+to Brisson and Estridge, in a friendly manner: &ldquo;Come
+also, comrades. We will show you a monument made
+out of heads and higher than the Kremlin. That
+would be a funny joke and worth coming back to see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Brisson said pleasantly that such an exquisite jest
+would be well worth their return to Russia.</p>
+<p>Everybody seemed pleased; the Cossacks wheeled
+their shaggy mounts and trotted away into the woods,
+singing. The sleigh drove on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is very jolly,&rdquo; said Brisson cheerfully. &ldquo;Wherever
+we&rsquo;re bound for, now, we&rsquo;ll all go together.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is not America the destination of your long journey?&rdquo;
+inquired the big, blue-eyed girl.</p>
+<p>Brisson chuckled: &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but bullets sometimes
+shorten routes and alter destinations. I think
+you ought to know the worst.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If that&rsquo;s the worst, it&rsquo;s nothing to frighten one,&rdquo;
+said the Swedish girl. And her crystalline laughter
+filled the icy air.</p>
+<p>She put one persuasive arm around her slender,
+dark-eyed comrade:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To meet God unexpectedly is nothing to scare one,
+is it, Palla?&rdquo; she urged coaxingly.</p>
+<p>The other reddened and her eyes flashed: &ldquo;What
+God do you mean?&rdquo; she retorted. &ldquo;If I have anything
+to say about my destination after death I shall
+go wherever love is. And it does not dwell with the
+God or in the Heaven that we have been taught to desire
+and hope for.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Swedish girl patted her shoulder and smiled
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span>
+in good humoured deprecation at Brisson and Estridge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God let her dearest friend die under the rifles of
+the Reds,&rdquo; she explained cheerfully, &ldquo;and my little
+comrade can not reconcile this sad affair with her faith
+in Divine justice. So she concludes there isn&rsquo;t any such
+thing. And no Divinity.&rdquo; She shrugged: &ldquo;That is
+what shakes the faith in youth&ndash;&ndash;the seeming indifference
+of the Most High.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla Dumont sat silent. The colour had died out
+in her cheeks, her dark, indifferent eyes became fixed.</p>
+<p>Estridge opened the fur collar of his coat and pulled
+back his fur cap.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you remember me?&rdquo; he said to Ilse Westgard.</p>
+<p>The girl laughed: &ldquo;Yes, I remember you, now!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>To Palla Dumont he said: &ldquo;And do <i>you</i> remember?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At that she looked up incuriously; leaned forward
+slowly; gazed intently at him; then she caught both
+his hands in hers with a swift, sobbing intake of
+breath.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You are John Estridge,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You took me
+to her in your ambulance!&rdquo; She pressed his hands
+almost convulsively, and he felt her trembling under
+the fur robe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it true,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;that ghastly tragedy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All died?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge turned to Brisson: &ldquo;Miss Dumont was
+companion to the Grand Duchess Marie,&rdquo; he said in
+brief explanation.</p>
+<p>Brisson nodded, biting his cigar.</p>
+<p>The Swedish girl-soldier said: &ldquo;They were devoted&ndash;&ndash;the
+little Grand Duchess and Palla.... It
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span>
+was horrible, there in the convent cellar&ndash;&ndash;those young
+girls&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; She gazed out across the snow; then,</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Reds who did it had already made me prisoner....
+They arrested me in uniform after the decree
+disbanding us.... I was on my way to join
+Kaledines&rsquo; Cossacks&ndash;&ndash;a rendezvous.... Well,
+the Reds left me outside the convent and went in to do
+their bloody work. And I gnawed the rope and ran
+into the chapel to hide among the nuns. And there I
+saw a White Nun&ndash;&ndash;quite crazed with grief&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I had heard the volley that killed her,&rdquo; said Palla,
+in explanation, to nobody in particular. She sat staring
+out across the snow with dry, bright eyes.</p>
+<p>Brisson looked askance at her, looked significantly
+at the Swedish girl, Ilse Westgard: &ldquo;And what happened
+then?&rdquo; he inquired, with the pleasant, impersonal
+manner of a physician.</p>
+<p>Ilse said: &ldquo;Palla had already begun her novitiate.
+But what happened in those terrible moments changed
+her utterly.... I think she went mad at the
+moment.... Then the Superior came to me
+and begged me to hide Palla because the Bolsheviki
+had promised to return and cut her throat when they
+had finished their bloody business in the crypt....
+So I caught her up in my arms and I ran out into the
+convent grounds. And at that very moment, God be
+thanked, a sotnia of the Wild Division rode up looking
+for me. And they had led horses with them. And we
+were in the saddle and riding like maniacs before I
+could think. That is all, except, an hour ago we saw
+your sleigh.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You have been hiding with the Cossacks ever since!&rdquo;
+exclaimed Estridge to Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is her history,&rdquo; replied Ilse, &ldquo;and mine. And,&rdquo;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span>
+she added cheerfully but tenderly, &ldquo;my little comrade,
+here, is very, very homesick, very weary, very deeply and
+profoundly unhappy in the loss of her closest friend...
+and perhaps in the loss of her faith in God.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am tranquil and I am not unhappy,&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;said Palla.
+&ldquo;And if I ever win free of this murderous country I
+shall, for the first time in my life, understand what
+the meaning of life really is. And shall know how
+to live.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You thought you knew how to live when you took
+the white veil,&rdquo; said Ilse cheerfully. &ldquo;Perhaps, after
+all, you may make other errors before you learn the
+truth about it all. Who knows? You might even care
+to take the veil again&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never!&rdquo; cried Palla in a clear, hard little voice,
+tinged with the scorn and anger of that hot revolt
+which sometimes shakes youth to the very source of
+its vitality.</p>
+<p>Ilse said very calmly to Estridge: &ldquo;With me it is
+my reason and not mere hope that convinces me of
+God&rsquo;s existence. I try to reason with Palla because
+one is indeed to be pitied who has lost belief in God&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You are mistaken,&rdquo; said Palla drily; &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;one merely
+becomes one&rsquo;s self when once the belief in that sort
+of God is ended.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse turned to Brisson: &ldquo;That,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;is what
+seems so impossible for some to accept&ndash;&ndash;so terrible&ndash;&ndash;the
+apparent indifference, the lack of explanation&ndash;&ndash;God&rsquo;s
+dreadful reticence in this thunderous whirlwind
+of prayer that storms skyward day and night from
+our martyred world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla, listening, sat forward and said to Brisson:
+&ldquo;There is only one religion and it has only two precepts&ndash;&ndash;love
+and give! The rest&ndash;&ndash;the forms, observances,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span>
+creeds, ceremonies, threats, promises, are man-made
+trash!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If man&rsquo;s man-made God pleases him, let him worship
+him. That kind of deity does not please me. I
+no longer care whether He pleases me or not. He no
+longer exists as far as I am concerned.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Brisson, much interested, asked Palla whether the
+void left by discredited Divinity did not bewilder her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There is no void,&rdquo; said the girl. &ldquo;It is already
+filled with my own kind of God, with millions of Gods&ndash;&ndash;my
+own fellow creatures.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your fellow beings?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You think your fellow creatures can fill that void?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They have filled it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Brisson nodded reflectively: &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; he said politely,
+&ldquo;you intend to devote your life to the cult of your
+fellow creatures.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I do not,&rdquo; said the girl tranquilly, &ldquo;but I
+intend to love them and live my life that way unhampered.&rdquo;
+She added almost fiercely: &ldquo;And I shall love
+them the more because of their ignorant faith in an
+all-seeing and tender and just Providence which does
+not exist! I shall love them because of their tragic
+deception and their helplessness and their heart-breaking
+unconsciousness of it all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse Westgard smiled and patted Palla&rsquo;s cheeks:
+&ldquo;All roads lead ultimately to God,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and yours
+is a direct route though you do not know it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you I have nothing in common with the God
+you mean,&rdquo; flashed out the girl.</p>
+<p>Brisson, though interested, kept one grey eye on
+duty, ever hopeful of wolves. It was snowing hard
+now&ndash;&ndash;a perfect geography scene, lacking only the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span>
+wolves; but the &eacute;tape was only half finished. There
+might be hope.</p>
+<p>The rather amazing conversation in the sleigh also
+appealed to him, arousing all his instincts of a veteran
+newspaper man, as well as his deathless curiosity&ndash;&ndash;that
+perpetual flame which alone makes any intelligence
+vital.</p>
+<p>Also, his passion for all documents&ndash;&ndash;those sewed
+under his underclothes, as well as these two specimens
+of human documents&ndash;&ndash;were now keeping his lively interest
+in life unimpaired.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Loss of faith,&rdquo; he said to Palla, and inclined toward
+further debate, &ldquo;must be a very serious thing for
+any woman, I imagine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t lost faith in love,&rdquo; she said, smilingly
+aware that he was encouraging discussion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you say you have lost faith in spiritual love&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I did not say so. I did not mean the other kind of
+love when I said that love is sufficient religion for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But spiritual love means Deity&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It does <i>not</i>! Can you imagine the all-powerful
+father watching his child die, horribly&ndash;&ndash;and never lifting
+a finger! Is that love? Is that power? <i>Is</i> that
+Deity?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To penetrate the Divine mind and its motives for
+not intervening is impossible for us&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is priest&rsquo;s prattle! Also, I care nothing now
+about Divine motives. Motives are human, not divine.
+So is policy. That is why the present Pope is unworthy
+of respect. He let his flock die. He deserted
+his Cardinal. He let the hun go unrebuked. He betrayed
+Christ. I care nothing about any mind weak
+enough, politic enough, powerless enough, to ignore
+love for motives!</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;One loves, or one does not love. Loving is giving&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;
+The girl sat up in the sleigh and the thickening
+snowflakes drove into her flushed face. &ldquo;Loving
+is giving,&rdquo; she repeated, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;giving life to love; giving
+<i>up</i> life for love&ndash;&ndash;giving! <i>giving!</i> always giving!&ndash;&ndash;always
+forgiving! That is love! That is the only
+God!&ndash;&ndash;the indestructible, divine God within each one
+of us!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Brisson appraised her with keen and scholarly
+eyes. &ldquo;Yet,&rdquo; he said pleasantly, &ldquo;you do not forgive
+God for the death of your friend. Don&rsquo;t you practise
+your faith?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl seemed nonplussed; then a brighter tint
+stained her cheeks under the ragged sheepskin cap.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forgive God!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;If there really existed
+that sort of God, what would be the use of forgiving
+what He does? He&rsquo;d only do it again. That is His
+record!&rdquo; she added fiercely, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;indifference to human
+agony, utter silence amid lamentations, stone deaf,
+stone dumb, motionless. It is not in me to fawn and
+lick the feet of such an image. No! It is not in me
+to believe it alive, either. And I do not! But I know
+that love lives: and if there be any gods at all, it must
+be that they are without number, and that their substance
+is of that immortality born inside us, and which
+we call love! Otherwise, to me, now, symbols, signs,
+saints, rituals, vows&ndash;&ndash;these things, in my mind, are all
+scrapped together as junk. Only, in me, the warm
+faith remains&ndash;&ndash;that within me there lives a god of
+sorts&ndash;&ndash;perhaps that immortal essence called a soul&ndash;&ndash;and
+that its only name is love. And it has given us
+only one law to live by&ndash;&ndash;the Law of Love!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Brisson&rsquo;s cigar had gone out. He examined it attentively
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span>
+and found it would be worth relighting when
+opportunity offered.</p>
+<p>Then he smiled amiably at Palla Dumont:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What you say is very interesting,&rdquo; he remarked.
+But he was too polite to add that it had been equally
+interesting to numberless generations through the many,
+many centuries during which it all had been said
+before, in various ways and by many, many people.</p>
+<p>Lying back in his furs reflectively, and deriving a
+rather cold satisfaction from his cigar butt, he let his
+mind wander back through the history of theocracy
+and of mundane philosophy, mildly amused to recognize
+an ancient theory resurrected and made passionately
+original once more on the red lips of this young
+girl.</p>
+<p>But the Law of Love is not destined to be solved
+so easily; nor had it ever been solved in centuries dead
+by Egyptian, Mongol, or Greek&ndash;&ndash;by priest or princess,
+prophet or singer, or by any vestal or acolyte
+of love, sacred or profane.</p>
+<p>No philosophy had solved the problem of human
+woe; no theory convinced. And Brisson, searching
+leisurely the forgotten corridors of treasured lore, became
+interested to realise that in all the history of
+time only the deeds and example of one man had invested
+the human theory of divinity with any real
+vitality&ndash;&ndash;and that, oddly enough, what this girl
+preached&ndash;&ndash;what she demanded of divinity&ndash;&ndash;had been
+both preached and practised by that one man alone&ndash;&ndash;Jesus
+Christ.</p>
+<p>Turning involuntarily toward Palla, he said: &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t
+you believe in Him, either?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She said: &ldquo;He was one of the Gods. But He was
+no more divine than any in whom love lives. Had He
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span>
+been more so, then He would still intervene to-day!
+He is powerless. He lets things happen. And we ourselves
+must make it up to the world by love. There is
+no other divinity to intervene except only our own
+hearts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But that was not, as the young girl supposed, her
+fixed faith, definite, ripened, unshakable. It was a phase
+already in process of fading into other phases, each
+less stable, less definite, and more dangerous than the
+other, leaving her and her ardent mind and heart
+always unconsciously drifting toward the simple, primitive
+and natural goal for which all healthy bodies
+are created and destined&ndash;&ndash;the instinct of the human
+being to protect and perpetuate the race by the great
+Law of Love.</p>
+<p>Brisson&rsquo;s not unkindly cynicism had left his lips
+edged with a slight smile. Presently he leaned back
+beside Estridge and said in a low voice:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Purely pathological. Ardent religious instinct
+astray and running wild in consequence of nervous dislocations
+due to shock. Merely over-storage of superb
+physical energy. Intellectual and spiritual wires overcrowded.
+Too many volts.... That girl ought
+to have been married early. Only a lot of children can
+keep her properly occupied. Only outlet for her kind.
+Interesting case. Contrast to the Swedish girl. Fine,
+handsome, normal animal that. She could pick me up
+between thumb and finger. Great girl, Estridge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She is really beautiful,&rdquo; whispered Estridge, glancing
+at Ilse.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. So is Mont Blanc. That sort of beauty&ndash;&ndash;the
+super-sort. But it&rsquo;s the other who is pathologically
+interesting because her wires are crossed and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span>
+there&rsquo;s a short circuit somewhere. Who comes in contact
+with her had better look out.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s wonderfully attractive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She is. But if she doesn&rsquo;t disentangle her wires
+and straighten out she&rsquo;ll burn out.... What&rsquo;s
+that ahead? A wolf!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was the rest house at the end of the &eacute;tape&ndash;&ndash;a
+tiny, distant speck on the snowy plain.</p>
+<p>Brisson leaned over and caught Palla&rsquo;s eye. Both
+smiled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;for a girl who doesn&rsquo;t believe in
+anything, you seem cheerful enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am cheerful because I <i>do</i> believe in everything
+and in everybody.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Brisson laughed: &ldquo;You shouldn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Great
+mistake. Trust in God and believe nobody&ndash;&ndash;that&rsquo;s the
+idea. Then get married and close your eyes and see
+what God will send you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl threw back her pretty head and laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marriage and priests are of no consequence,&rdquo; she
+said, &ldquo;but I adore little children!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_II' id='CHAPTER_II'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER II</h2>
+</div>
+<p>They were a weary, half-starved and travel-stained
+quartette when the Red Guards stopped
+them for the last time in Russia and passed
+them through, warning them that the White Guards
+would surely do murder if they caught them.</p>
+<p>The next day the White Guards halted them, but
+finally passed them through, counselling them to keep
+out of the way of the Red Guards if they wished to
+escape being shot at sight.</p>
+<p>In the neat, shiny, carefully scrubbed little city of
+Helsingfors they avoided the huns by some miracle&ndash;&ndash;one
+of Brisson&rsquo;s customary miracles&ndash;&ndash;but another little
+company of Americans and English was halted and detained,
+and one harmless Yankee among them was arrested
+and packed off to a hun prison.</p>
+<p>Also, a large and nervous party of fugitives of
+mixed nationalities and professions&ndash;&ndash;consuls, charg&eacute;s,
+attach&eacute;s, and innocent, agitated citizens&ndash;&ndash;was summarily
+grabbed and ordered into indefinite limbo.</p>
+<p>But Brisson&rsquo;s daily miracles continued to materialise,
+even in the land of the Finn. By train, by sleigh,
+by boat, his quartette floundered along toward safety,
+and finally emerged from the white hell of the Red
+people into the sub-arctic sun&ndash;&ndash;Estridge with painfully
+scanty luggage, Palla Dumont with none at all,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span>
+Ilse Westgard carrying only her Cossack saddle-bags,
+and Brisson with his damning papers still sewed inside
+his clothes, and owing Estridge ten dollars for not
+getting murdered.</p>
+<p>They all had become excellent comrades during those
+anxious days of hunger, fatigue and common peril, but
+they were also a little tired of one another, as becomes
+all friends when subjected to compulsory companionship
+for an unreasonable period.</p>
+<p>And even when one is beginning to fall in love, one
+can become surfeited with the beloved under such circumstances.</p>
+<p>Besides, Estridge&rsquo;s budding sentiment for Ilse Westgard,
+and her wholesome and girlish inclination for him,
+suffered an early chill. For the poor child had acquired
+trench pets from the Cossacks, and had passed
+on a few to Estridge, with whom she had been constantly
+seated on the front seat.</p>
+<p>Being the frankest thing in Russia, she told him
+with tears in her blue eyes; and they had a most horrid
+time of it before they came finally to a sanitary plant
+erected to attend to such matters.</p>
+<p>Episodes of that sort discourage sentiment; so does
+cold, hunger and discomfort incident on sardine-like
+promiscuousness.</p>
+<p>Nobody in the party desired to know more than they
+already knew concerning anybody else. In fact, there
+was little more to know, privacy being impossible.
+And the ever instinctive hostility of the two sexes,
+always and irrevocably latent, became vaguely apparent
+at moments.</p>
+<p>Common danger swept it away at times; but reaction
+gradually revealed again what is born under the
+human skin&ndash;&ndash;the paradox called sex-antipathy. And
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span>
+yet the men in the party would not have hesitated to
+sacrifice their lives in defence of these women, nor
+would the women have faltered under the same test.</p>
+<p>Brisson was the philosophical stoic of the quartette.
+Estridge groused sometimes. Palla, when she thought
+herself unnoticed, camouflaged her face in her furs and
+cried now and then. And occasionally Ilse Westgard
+tried the patience of the others by her healthy capacity
+for unfeigned laughter&ndash;&ndash;sometimes during danger-laden
+and inopportune moments, and once in the shocking
+imminence of death itself.</p>
+<p>As, for example, in a vile little village, full of vermin
+and typhus, some hunger-crazed peasants, armed with
+stolen rifles and ammunition, awoke them where they
+lay on the straw of a stable, cursed them for aristocrats,
+and marched them outside to a convenient wall,
+at the foot of which sprawled half a dozen blood-soaked,
+bayoneted and bullet-riddled landlords and land owners
+of the district.</p>
+<p>And things had assumed a terribly serious aspect
+when, to their foolish consternation, the peasants discovered
+that their purloined cartridges did not fit their
+guns.</p>
+<p>Then, in the very teeth of death, Ilse threw back
+her blond head and laughed. And there was no mistaking
+the genuineness of the girl&rsquo;s laughter.</p>
+<p>Some of their would-be executioners laughed too;&ndash;&ndash;the
+hilarity spread. It was all over; they couldn&rsquo;t
+shoot a girl who laughed that way. So somebody
+brought a samovar; tea was boiled; and they all went
+back to the barn and sat there drinking tea and swapping
+gossip and singing until nearly morning.</p>
+<p>That was a sample of their narrow escapes. But
+Brisson&rsquo;s only comment before he went to sleep was that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span>
+Estridge would probably owe him a dollar within the
+next twenty-four hours.</p>
+<p>They had a hair-raising time in Helsingfors. On
+one occasion, German officers forced Palla&rsquo;s door at
+night, and the girl became ill with fear while soldiers
+searched the room, ordering her out of bed and pushing
+her into a corner while they ripped up carpets
+and tore the place to pieces in a swinishly ferocious
+search for &ldquo;information.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But they did nothing worse to her, and, for some
+reason, left the hotel without disturbing Brisson, whose
+room adjoined and who sat on the edge of his bed with
+an automatic in each hand&ndash;&ndash;a dangerous opportunist
+awaiting events and calmly determined to do some recruiting
+for hell if the huns harmed Palla.</p>
+<p>She never knew that. And the worst was over now,
+and the Scandinavian border not far away. And in
+twenty-four hours they were over&ndash;&ndash;Brisson impatient
+to get his papers to Washington and planning to
+start for England on a wretched little packet-boat, in
+utter contempt of mines, U-boats, and the icy menace
+of the North Sea.</p>
+<p>As for the others, Estridge decided to cable and
+await orders in Copenhagen; Palla, to sail for home
+on the first available Danish steamer; Ilse, to go to
+Stockholm and eventually decide whether to volunteer
+once more as a soldier of the proletariat or to turn
+propagandist and carry the true gospel to America,
+where, she had heard, the ancient liberties of the great
+Democracy were becoming imperilled.</p>
+<p>The day before they parted company, these four
+people, so oddly thrown together out of the boiling
+cauldron of the Russian Terror, arranged to dine
+together for the last time.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span></div>
+<p>Theirs were the appetites of healthy wolves; theirs
+was the thirst of the marooned on waterless islands; and
+theirs, too, was the feverish gaiety of those who had
+escaped great peril by land and sea; and who were
+still physically and morally demoralized by the glare
+and the roar of the hellish conflagration which was
+still burning up the world around them.</p>
+<p>So they met in a private dining room of the hotel
+for dinner on the eve of separation.</p>
+<p>Brisson and Estridge had resurrected from their
+luggage the remains of their evening attire; Ilse and
+Palla had shopped; and they now included in a limited
+wardrobe two simple dinner gowns, among more vital
+purchases.</p>
+<p>There were flowers on the table, no great variety of
+food but plenty of champagne to make up&ndash;&ndash;a singular
+innovation in apology for short rations conceived by
+the hotel proprietor.</p>
+<p>There was a victrola in the corner, too, and this
+they kept going to stimulate their nerves, which
+already were sufficiently on edge without the added
+fillip of music and champagne.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As for me,&rdquo; said Brisson, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m in sight of nervous
+dissolution already;&ndash;&ndash;I&rsquo;m going back to my wife and
+children, thank God&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; he smiled at Palla. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m grateful
+to the God you don&rsquo;t believe in, dear little lady.
+And if He is willing, I&rsquo;ll report for duty in two weeks.&rdquo;
+He turned to Estridge:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What about you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve cabled for orders but I have none yet. If
+they&rsquo;re through with me I shall go back to New York
+and back to the medical school I came from. I hate
+the idea, too. Lord, how I detest it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; asked Palla nervously.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve had too much excitement. You have too&ndash;&ndash;and
+so have Ilse and Brisson. I&rsquo;m not keen for the
+usual again. It bores me to contemplate it. The
+thought of Fifth Avenue&ndash;&ndash;the very idea of going back
+to all that familiar routine, social and business, makes
+me positively ill. What a dull place this world will
+be when we&rsquo;re all at peace again!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We won&rsquo;t be at peace for a long, long while,&rdquo; said
+Ilse, smiling. She lifted a goblet in her big, beautifully
+shaped hand and drained it with the vigorous
+grace of a Viking&rsquo;s daughter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You think the war is going to last for years?&rdquo;
+asked Estridge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no; not this war. But the other,&rdquo; she explained
+cheerfully.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What other?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, the greatest conflict in the world; the social
+war. It&rsquo;s going to take many years and many battles.
+I shall enlist.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nonsense,&rdquo; said Brisson, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re not a Red!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl laughed and showed her snowy teeth: &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+one kind of Red&ndash;&ndash;not the kind that sold Russia to the
+boche&ndash;&ndash;but I&rsquo;m very, very red.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Everybody with a brain and a heart is more or
+less red in these days,&rdquo; nodded Palla. &ldquo;Everybody
+knows that the old order is ended&ndash;&ndash;done for. Without
+liberty and equal opportunity civilisation is a farce.
+Everybody knows it except the stupid. And they&rsquo;ll
+have to be instructed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said Brisson briskly, &ldquo;here&rsquo;s to the universal
+but bloodless revolution! An acre for everybody
+and a mule to plough it! Back to the soil and to hell
+with the counting house!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They all laughed, but their brimming glasses went
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span>
+up; then Estridge rose to re-wind the victrola. Palla&rsquo;s
+slim foot tapped the parquet in time with the American
+fox-trot; she glanced across the table at Estridge,
+lifted her head interrogatively, then sprang up and
+slid into his arms, delighted.</p>
+<p>While they danced he said: &ldquo;Better go light on that
+champagne, Miss Dumont.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think I can keep my head?&rdquo; she demanded
+derisively.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not if you keep up with Ilse. You&rsquo;re not built
+that way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish I were. I wish I were nearly six feet tall
+and beautiful in every limb and feature as she is. What
+wonderful children she could have! What magnificent
+hair she must have had before she sheared it for the
+Woman&rsquo;s Battalion! Now it&rsquo;s all a dense, short mass
+of gold&ndash;&ndash;she looks like a lovely boy who requires a
+barber.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your hair is not unbecoming, either,&rdquo; he remarked,
+&ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;short as it is, it&rsquo;s a mop of curls and very fetching.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it funny?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I sheared mine for the
+sake of Mother Church; Ilse cut off hers for the honour
+of the Army! Now we&rsquo;re both out of a job&ndash;&ndash;with
+only our cropped heads to show for the experience!&ndash;&ndash;and
+no more army and no more church&ndash;&ndash;at least,
+as far as I am concerned!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And she threw back hers with its thick, glossy curls
+and laughed, looking up at him out of her virginal
+brown eyes of a child.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry I cut my hair,&rdquo; she added presently. &ldquo;I
+look like a Bolshevik.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s growing very fast,&rdquo; he said encouragingly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes, it grows fast,&rdquo; she nodded indifferently.
+&ldquo;Shall we return to the table? I am rather thirsty.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span></div>
+<p>Ilse and Brisson were engaged in an animated conversation
+when they reseated themselves. The waiter
+arrived about that time with another course of poor
+food.</p>
+<p>Palla, disregarding Estridge&rsquo;s advice, permitted the
+waiter to refill her glass.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t eat that unappetising entr&eacute;e,&rdquo; she insisted,
+&ldquo;and champagne, they say, is nourishing and I&rsquo;m still
+hungry.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As you please,&rdquo; said Brisson; &ldquo;but you&rsquo;ve had two
+glasses already.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care,&rdquo; she retorted childishly; &ldquo;I mean to
+live to the utmost in future. For the first time in my
+silly existence I intend to be natural. I wonder what
+it feels like to become a little intoxicated?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It feels rotten,&rdquo; remarked Estridge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Really? <i>How</i> rotten?&rdquo; She laughed again, laid
+her hand on the goblet&rsquo;s stem and glanced across at
+him defiantly, mischievously. However, she seemed
+to reconsider the matter, for she picked up a cigarette
+and lighted it at a candle.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; she exclaimed with a wry face. &ldquo;It stings!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But she ventured another puff or two before placing
+it upon a saucer among its defunct fellows.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ugh!&rdquo; she complained again with a gay little shiver,
+and bit into a pear as though to wash out the contamination
+of unaccustomed nicotine.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where are you going when we all say good-bye?&rdquo;
+inquired Estridge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I? Oh, I&rsquo;m certainly going home on the first Danish
+boat&ndash;&ndash;home to Shadow Hill, where I told you I
+lived.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you have nobody but your aunt?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Only that one old lady.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t remain long at Shadow Hill,&rdquo; he predicted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very pretty there. Why don&rsquo;t you think I am
+likely to remain?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t remain,&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve slipped
+your cable. You&rsquo;re hoisting sail. And it worries me
+a little.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl laughed. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a pretty place, Shadow
+Hill, but it&rsquo;s dull. Everybody in the town is dull,
+stupid, and perfectly satisfied: everybody owns at least
+that acre which Ilse demands; there&rsquo;s no discontent at
+Shadow Hill, and no reason for it. I really couldn&rsquo;t
+bear it,&rdquo; she added gaily; &ldquo;I want to go where there&rsquo;s
+healthy discontent, wholesome competition, natural aspiration&ndash;&ndash;where
+things must be bettered, set right,
+helped. You understand? That is where I wish to be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Brisson heard her. &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you practise your loving
+but godless creed at Shadow Hill?&rdquo; he inquired, amused.
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you lavish love on the contented and well-to-do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Mr. Brisson,&rdquo; she replied with sweet irony,
+&ldquo;but where the poor and loveless fight an ever losing
+battle is still a better place for me to practise my
+godless creed and my Law of Love.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aha!&rdquo; he retorted, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;a brand new excuse for living
+in New York because all young girls love it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; she said with some little heat, &ldquo;I certainly
+do intend to live and not to stagnate! I intend to live
+as hard as I can&ndash;&ndash;live and enjoy life with all my
+might! Can one serve the world better than by loving
+it enough to live one&rsquo;s own life through to the last
+happy rags? Can one give one&rsquo;s fellow creatures a
+better example than to live every moment happily and
+proclaim the world good to live in, and mankind good
+to live with?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></div>
+<p>Ilse whispered, leaning near: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t take any more
+champagne, Palla.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl frowned, then looked serious: &ldquo;No, I won&rsquo;t,&rdquo;
+she said na&iuml;vely. &ldquo;But it is wonderful how eloquent
+it makes one feel, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And to Estridge: &ldquo;You know that this is quite
+the first wine I have ever tasted&ndash;&ndash;except at Communion.
+I was brought up to think it meant destruction.
+And afterward, wherever I travelled to study,
+the old prejudice continued to guide me. And after
+that, even when I began to think of taking the veil, I
+made abstinence one of my first preliminary vows....
+And <i>look</i> what I&rsquo;ve been doing to-night!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She held up her glass, tasted it, emptied it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I desired to shock you. I don&rsquo;t
+really want any more. Shall we dance? Ilse! Why
+don&rsquo;t you seize Mr. Brisson and make him two-step?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please seize me,&rdquo; added Brisson gravely.</p>
+<p>Ilse rose, big, fresh, smilingly inviting; Brisson inspected
+her seriously&ndash;&ndash;he was only half as tall&ndash;&ndash;then
+he politely encircled her waist and led her out.</p>
+<p>They danced as though they could not get enough
+of it&ndash;&ndash;exhilaration due to reaction from the long strain
+during dangerous days.</p>
+<p>It was already morning, but they danced on. Palla&rsquo;s
+delicate intoxication passed&ndash;&ndash;returned&ndash;&ndash;passed&ndash;&ndash;hovered
+like a rosy light in her brain, but faded always
+as she danced.</p>
+<p>There were snapping-crackers and paper caps; and
+they put them on and pelted each other with the drooping
+table flowers.</p>
+<p>Then Estridge went to the piano and sang an
+ancient song, called &ldquo;The Cork Leg&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;not very well&ndash;&ndash;but
+well intended and in a gay and inoffensive voice.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span></div>
+<p>But Ilse sang some wonderful songs which she had
+learned in the Battalion of Death.</p>
+<p>And that is what was being done when a waiter
+knocked and asked whether they might desire to order
+breakfast.</p>
+<p>That ended it. The hour of parting had arrived.</p>
+<p>No longer bored with one another, they shook hands
+cordially, regretfully.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>It was not a very long time, as time is computed,
+before these four met again.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_III' id='CHAPTER_III'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER III</h2>
+</div>
+<p>The dingy little Danish steamer <i>Elsinore</i> passed
+in at dawn, her camouflage obscured by sea-salt,
+her few passengers still prostrated from
+the long battering administered by the giant seas of the
+northern route.</p>
+<p>A lone Yankee soldier was aboard&ndash;&ndash;an indignant
+lieutenant of infantry named Shotwell&ndash;&ndash;sent home
+from a fighting regiment to instruct the ambitious
+rookie at Camp Upton.</p>
+<p>He had hailed his assignment with delight, thankfully
+rid himself of his cooties, reported in Paris, reported
+in London; received orders to depart via Denmark;
+and, his mission there fullfilled, he had sailed on
+the <i>Elsinore</i>, already disenchanted with his job and
+longing to be back with his regiment.</p>
+<p>And now, surly from sea-sickness, worried by peace
+rumours, but still believing that the war would last
+another year and hopeful of getting back before it
+ended, he emerged from his stuffy quarters aboard the
+<i>Elsinore</i> and gazed without enthusiasm at the minarets
+of Coney Island, now visible off the starboard
+bow.</p>
+<p>Near him, in pasty-faced and shaky groups, huddled
+his fellow passengers, whom he had not seen during
+the voyage except when lined up for life-drill.</p>
+<p>He had not wished to see them, either, nor, probably,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span>
+had they desired to lavish social attentions on him or
+upon one another.</p>
+<p>These pallid, discouraged voyagers were few&ndash;&ndash;not
+two dozen cabin passengers in all.</p>
+<p>Who they might be he had no curiosity to know; he
+had not exchanged ten words with any of them during
+the entire and nauseating voyage; he certainly did
+not intend to do so now.</p>
+<p>He favoured them with a savage glance and walked
+over to the port side&ndash;&ndash;the Jersey side&ndash;&ndash;where there
+seemed to be nobody except a tired Scandinavian
+sailor or two.</p>
+<p>In the grey of morning the Hook loomed up above
+the sea, gloomy as a thunder-head charged with lightning.</p>
+<p>After a while the batteries along the Narrows slipped
+into view. Farther on, camouflaged ships rode
+sullenly at anchor, as though ashamed of their frivolous
+and undignified appearance. A battleship was
+just leaving the Lower Bay, smoke pouring from every
+funnel. Destroyers and chasers rushed by them, headed
+seaward.</p>
+<p>Then, high over the shore mists and dimly visible
+through rising vapours, came speeding a colossal
+phantom.</p>
+<p>Vague as a shark&rsquo;s long shadow sheering translucent
+depths, the huge dirigible swept eastward and
+slid into the Long Island fog.</p>
+<p>And at that moment somebody walked plump into
+young Shotwell; and the soft, fragrant shock knocked
+the breath out of both.</p>
+<p>She recovered hers first:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry!&rdquo; she faltered. &ldquo;It was stupid. I was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span>
+watching the balloon and not looking where I was
+going. I&rsquo;m afraid I hurt you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He recovered his breath, saluted ceremoniously, readjusted
+his overseas cap to the proper angle.</p>
+<p>Then he said, civilly enough: &ldquo;It was my fault entirely.
+It was I who walked into you. I hope I didn&rsquo;t
+hurt you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They smiled, unembarrassed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That was certainly a big dirigible,&rdquo; he ventured.
+&ldquo;There are bigger Zeps, of course.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are there really?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes. But they&rsquo;re not much good in war, I
+believe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She turned her trim, small head and looked out
+across the bay; and Shotwell, who once had had a
+gaily receptive eye for pulchritude, thought her unusually
+pretty.</p>
+<p>Also, the steady keel of the <i>Elsinore</i> was making
+him feel more human now; and he ventured a further
+polite observation concerning the pleasures of homecoming
+after extended exile.</p>
+<p>She turned with a frank shake of her head: &ldquo;It seems
+heartless to say so, but I&rsquo;m rather sorry I&rsquo;m back,&rdquo;
+she said.</p>
+<p>He smiled: &ldquo;I must admit,&rdquo; he confessed, &ldquo;that I
+feel the same way. Of course I want to see my people.
+But I&rsquo;d give anything to be in France at this moment,
+and that&rsquo;s the truth!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl nodded her comprehension: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s quite
+natural,&rdquo; she remarked. &ldquo;One does not wish to come
+home until this thing is settled.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it exactly. It&rsquo;s like leaving an interesting
+play half finished. It&rsquo;s worse&ndash;&ndash;it&rsquo;s like leaving an absorbing
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span>
+drama in which you yourself are playing an
+exciting r&ocirc;le.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She glanced at him&ndash;&ndash;a quick glance of intelligent
+appraisal.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, it must have seemed that way to you. But
+I&rsquo;ve been merely one among a breathless audience....
+And yet I can&rsquo;t bear to leave in the very middle&ndash;&ndash;not
+knowing how it is to end. Besides,&rdquo; she added carelessly,
+&ldquo;I have nobody to come back to except a rather
+remote relative, so my regrets are unmixed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There ensued a silence. He was afraid she was
+about to go, but couldn&rsquo;t seem to think of anything
+to say to detain her.</p>
+<p>For the girl was very attractive to a careless and
+amiably casual man of his sort&ndash;&ndash;the sort who start
+their little journey through life with every intention
+of having the best kind of a time on the way.</p>
+<p>She was so distractingly pretty, so confidently negligent
+of convention&ndash;&ndash;or perhaps disdainful of it&ndash;&ndash;that
+he already was regretting that he had not met her at
+the beginning of the voyage instead of at the end.</p>
+<p>She had now begun to button up her ulster, as though
+preliminary to resuming her deck promenade. And he
+wanted to walk with her. But because she had chosen
+to be informal with him did not deceive him into thinking
+that she was likely to tolerate further informality
+on his part. And yet he had a vague notion that her
+inclinations were friendly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry,&rdquo; he said rather stupidly, &ldquo;that I didn&rsquo;t
+meet you in the beginning.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The slightest inclination of her head indicated that
+although possibly she might be sorry too, regrets were
+now useless. Then she turned up the collar of her
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span>
+ulster. The face it framed was disturbingly lovely.
+And he took a last chance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And so,&rdquo; he ventured politely, &ldquo;you have really
+been on board the <i>Elsinore</i> all this time!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She turned her charming head toward him, considered
+him a moment; then she smiled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been on board all the time.
+I didn&rsquo;t crawl aboard in mid-ocean, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl was frankly amused by the streak of boyishness
+in him&ndash;&ndash;the perfectly transparent desire of
+this young man to detain her in conversation. And,
+still amused, she leaned back against the rail. If he
+wanted to talk to her she would let him&ndash;&ndash;even help
+him. Why not?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that a wound chevron?&rdquo; she inquired, looking
+at the sleeve of his tunic.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he replied gratefully, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s a service stripe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And what does the little cord around your shoulder
+signify?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That my regiment was cited.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For bravery?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well&ndash;&ndash;that was the idea, I believe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you&rsquo;ve been in action.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Over the top?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How many times?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Several. Recently it&rsquo;s been more open work, you
+know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you were not hit?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She regarded him smilingly: &ldquo;You are like all soldiers
+have faced death,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You are not communicative.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span></div>
+<p>At that he reddened. &ldquo;Well, everybody else was
+facing it, too, you know. We all had the same experience.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not all,&rdquo; she said, watching him. &ldquo;Some died.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, of course.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl&rsquo;s face flushed and she nodded emphatically:
+&ldquo;Of course! And <i>that</i> is our Yankee secret;&ndash;&ndash;embodied
+in those two words&ndash;&ndash;&lsquo;of course.&rsquo; That is exactly why
+the boche runs away from our men. The boche doesn&rsquo;t
+know why he runs, but it is because you all say, &lsquo;of
+course!&ndash;&ndash;of course we&rsquo;re here to kill and get killed.
+What of it? It&rsquo;s in the rules of the game, isn&rsquo;t it?
+Very well; we&rsquo;re playing the game!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But the rules of the hun game are different. According
+to their rules, machine guns are not charged
+on. That is not according to plan. Oh, no! But it is
+in your rules of the game. So after the boche has
+killed a number of you, and you say, &lsquo;of course,&rsquo; and
+you keep coming on, it first bewilders the boche, then
+terrifies him. And the next time he sees you coming
+he takes to his heels.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Shotwell, amused, fascinated, and entirely surprised,
+began to laugh.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You seem to know the game pretty well yourself,&rdquo;
+he said. &ldquo;You are quite right. That is the idea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a wonderful game,&rdquo; she mused. &ldquo;I can understand
+why you are not pleased at being ordered home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s rather rotten luck when the outfit had just been
+cited,&rdquo; he explained.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh. I should think you <i>would</i> hate to come back!&rdquo;
+exclaimed the girl, with frank sympathy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I was glad at first, but I&rsquo;m sorry now. I&rsquo;m
+missing a lot, you see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why did they send you back?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;To instruct rookies!&rdquo; he said with a grimace.
+&ldquo;Rather inglorious, isn&rsquo;t it? But I&rsquo;m hoping I&rsquo;ll have
+time to weather this detail and get back again before
+we reach the Rhine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want to get back again, too,&rdquo; she reflected aloud,
+biting her lip and letting her dark eyes rest on the
+foggy statue of Liberty, towering up ahead.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What was your branch?&rdquo; he inquired.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I didn&rsquo;t do anything,&rdquo; she exclaimed, flushing.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been in Russia. And now I must find out at once
+what I can do to be sent to France.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The war caught you over there, I suppose,&rdquo; he
+hazarded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.... I&rsquo;ve been there since I was twenty.
+I&rsquo;m twenty-four. I had a year&rsquo;s travel and study
+and then I became the American companion of the
+little Russian Grand Duchess Marie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They all were murdered, weren&rsquo;t they?&rdquo; he asked,
+much interested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.... I&rsquo;m trying to forget&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I beg your pardon&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s quite all right. I, myself, mentioned it first;
+but I can&rsquo;t talk about it yet. It&rsquo;s too personal&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;
+She turned and looked at the monstrous city.</p>
+<p>After a silence: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s been a rotten voyage, hasn&rsquo;t
+it?&rdquo; he remarked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perfectly rotten. I was so ill I could scarcely keep
+my place during life-drill.... I didn&rsquo;t see you
+there,&rdquo; she added with a faint smile, &ldquo;but I&rsquo;m sure
+you were aboard, even if you seem to doubt that I
+was.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And then, perhaps considering that she had been
+sufficiently amiable to him, she gave him his cong&eacute; with
+a pleasant little nod.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Could I help you&ndash;&ndash;do anything&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; he began. But
+she thanked him with friendly finality.</p>
+<p>They sauntered in opposite directions; and he did
+not see her again to speak to her.</p>
+<p>Later, jolting toward home in a taxi, it occurred
+to him that it might have been agreeable to see such
+an attractively informal girl again. Any man likes
+informality in women, except among the women of his
+own household, where he would promptly brand it as
+indiscretion.</p>
+<p>He thought of her for a while, recollecting details
+of the episode and realising that he didn&rsquo;t even know
+her name. Which piqued him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Serves me right,&rdquo; he said aloud with a shrug of
+finality. &ldquo;I had more enterprise once.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then he looked out into the sunlit streets of Manhattan,
+all brilliant with flags and posters and swarming
+with prosperous looking people&ndash;&ndash;his own people.
+But to his war-enlightened and disillusioned eyes his
+own people seemed almost like aliens; he vaguely resented
+their too evident prosperity, their irresponsible
+immunity, their heedless preoccupation with the petty
+things of life. The acres of bright flags fluttering
+above them, the posters that made a gay back-ground
+for the scene, the sheltered, undisturbed routine of
+peace seemed to annoy him.</p>
+<p>An odd irritation invaded him; he had a sudden impulse
+to stop his taxi and shout, &ldquo;Fat-heads! Get into
+the game! Don&rsquo;t you know the world&rsquo;s on fire? Don&rsquo;t
+you know what a hun really is? You&rsquo;d better look
+out and get busy!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Fifth Avenue irritated him&ndash;&ndash;shops, hotels, clubs,
+motors, the well-dressed throngs began to exasperate
+him.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span></div>
+<p>On a side street he caught a glimpse of his own
+place of business; and it almost nauseated him to remember
+old man Sharrow, and the walls hung with
+plans of streets and sewers and surveys and photographs;
+and his own yellow oak desk&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good Lord!&rdquo; he thought. &ldquo;If the war ends, have
+I got to go back to that!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The family were at breakfast when he walked in on
+them&ndash;&ndash;only two&ndash;&ndash;his father and mother.</p>
+<p>In his mother&rsquo;s arms he suddenly felt very young
+and subdued, and very glad to be there.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where the devil did you come from, Jim?&rdquo; repeated
+his father, with twitching features and a grip on his
+son&rsquo;s strong hand that he could not bring himself to
+loosen.</p>
+<p>Yes, it was pretty good to get home, after all&ndash;&ndash; ... And
+he might not have come back at all. He
+realised it, now, in his mother&rsquo;s arms, feeling very
+humble and secure.</p>
+<p>His mother had realised it, too, in every waking hour
+since the day her only son had sailed at night&ndash;&ndash;that
+had been the hardest!&ndash;&ndash;at night&ndash;&ndash;and at an unnamed
+hour of an unnamed day!&ndash;&ndash;her only son&ndash;&ndash;gone in the
+darkness&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>On his way upstairs, he noticed a red service flag
+bearing a single star hanging in his mother&rsquo;s window.</p>
+<p>He went into his own room, looked soberly around,
+sat down on the lounge, suddenly tired.</p>
+<p>He had three days&rsquo; leave before reporting for duty.
+It seemed a miserly allowance. Instinctively he glanced
+at his wrist-watch. An hour had fled already.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The dickens!&rdquo; he muttered. But he still sat there.
+After a while he smiled to himself and rose leisurely to
+make his toilet.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Such an attractively informal girl,&rdquo; he thought regretfully.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry I didn&rsquo;t learn her name. Why didn&rsquo;t I?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Philosophy might have answered: &ldquo;But to what purpose?
+No young man expects to pick up a girl of his
+own kind. And he has no business with other kinds.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Shotwell was no philosopher.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>The &ldquo;attractively informal girl,&rdquo; on whom young
+Shotwell was condescending to bestow a passing regret
+while changing his linen, had, however, quite forgotten
+him by this time. There is more philosophy in women.</p>
+<p>Her train was now nearing Shadow Hill; she already
+could see the village in its early winter nakedness&ndash;&ndash;the
+stone bridge, the old-time houses of the well-to-do,
+Main Street full of automobiles and farmers&rsquo; wagons,
+a crowded trolley-car starting for Deepdale, the county
+seat.</p>
+<p>After four years the crudity of it all astonished her&ndash;&ndash;the
+stark vulgarity of Main Street in the sunshine,
+every mean, flimsy architectural detail revealed&ndash;&ndash;the
+dingy trolley poles, the telegraph poles loaded with
+unlovely wires and battered little electric light fixtures&ndash;&ndash;the
+uncompromising, unrelieved ugliness of street
+and people, of shop and vehicle, of treeless sidewalks,
+brick pavement, car rails, hydrants, and rusty gasoline
+pumps.</p>
+<p>Here was a people ignorant of civic pride, knowing
+no necessity for beauty, having no standards, no aspirations,
+conscious of nothing but the grosser material
+needs.</p>
+<p>The hopelessness of this American town&ndash;&ndash;and there
+were thousands like it&ndash;&ndash;its architectural squalor, its
+animal unconsciousness, shocked her after four years
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span>
+in lands where colour, symmetry and good taste are
+indigenous and beauty as necessary as bread.</p>
+<p>And the girl had been born here, too; had known no
+other home except when at boarding school or on shopping
+trips to New York.</p>
+<p>Painfully depressed, she descended at the station,
+where she climbed into one of the familiar omnibuses
+and gave her luggage check to the lively young driver.</p>
+<p>Several drummers also got in, and finally a farmer
+whom she recognised but who had evidently forgotten
+her.</p>
+<p>The driver, a talkative young man whom she remembered
+as an obnoxious boy who delivered newspapers,
+came from the express office with her trunk,
+flung it on top of the bus, gossiped with several station
+idlers, then leisurely mounted his seat and gathered
+up the reins.</p>
+<p>Rattling along the main street she became aware of
+changes&ndash;&ndash;a brand new yellow brick clothing store&ndash;&ndash;a
+dreadful Quick Lunch&ndash;&ndash;a moving picture theatre&ndash;&ndash;other
+monstrosities. And she saw familiar faces on
+the street.</p>
+<p>The drummers got out with their sample cases at
+the Bolton House&ndash;&ndash;Charles H. Bolton, proprietor.
+The farmer descended at the &ldquo;Par Excellence Market,&rdquo;
+where, as he informed the driver, he expected to dispose
+of a bull calf which he had finally decided &ldquo;to veal.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Which way, ma&rsquo;am?&rdquo; inquired the driver, looking
+in at her through the door and chewing gum very
+fast.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To Miss Dumont&rsquo;s on Shadow Street.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!...&rdquo; Then, suddenly he knew her.
+&ldquo;Say, wasn&rsquo;t you her niece?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I <i>am</i> Miss Dumont&rsquo;s niece,&rdquo; replied Palla, smiling.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! I didn&rsquo;t reckonise you. Used to leave the
+<i>Star</i> on your doorstep! Been away, ain&rsquo;t you? Home
+looks kinda good to you, even if it&rsquo;s kinda lonesome&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;
+He checked himself as though recollecting
+something else. &ldquo;Sure! You been over in Rooshia
+livin&rsquo; with the Queen! There was a piece in the <i>Star</i>
+about it. Gee!&rdquo; he added affably. &ldquo;That was pretty
+soft! Some life, I bet!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And he grinned a genial grin and climbed into his
+seat, chewing rapidly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He means to be friendly,&rdquo; thought the heart-sick
+girl, with a shudder.</p>
+<p>When Palla got out she spoke pleasantly to him as
+she paid him, and inquired about his father&ndash;&ndash;a shiftless
+old gaffer who used, sometimes, to do garden work
+for her aunt.</p>
+<p>But the driver, obsessed by the fact that she had
+lived with the &ldquo;Queen of Rooshia,&rdquo; merely grinned and
+repeated, &ldquo;Pretty soft,&rdquo; and, shouldering her trunk,
+walked to the front door, chewing furiously.</p>
+<p>Martha opened the door, stared through her spectacles.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Land o&rsquo; mercy!&rdquo; she gasped. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s Palla!&rdquo; Which,
+in Shadow Hill, is the manner and speech of the &ldquo;hired
+girl,&rdquo; whose &ldquo;folks&rdquo; are &ldquo;neighbours&rdquo; and not inferiors.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How do you do, Martha,&rdquo; said the girl smilingly;
+and offered her gloved hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m so&rsquo;s to be &rsquo;round&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; She wheeled on the
+man with the trunk: &ldquo;Here, <i>you</i>! Don&rsquo;t go-a-trackin&rsquo;
+mud all over my carpet like that! Wipe your feet
+like as if you was brought up respectful!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t I wipin&rsquo; em?&rdquo; retorted the driver, in an injured
+voice. &ldquo;Now then, Marthy, where does this here
+trunk go to?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Big room front&ndash;&ndash;wait, young fellow; you just
+follow me and be careful don&rsquo;t bang the banisters&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Half way up she called back over her shoulder: &ldquo;Your
+room&rsquo;s all ready, Palla&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; and suddenly remembered
+something else and stood aside on the landing until
+the young man with the trunk had passed her; then
+waited for him to return and get himself out of the
+house. Then, when he had gone out, banging the door,
+she came slowly back down the stairs and met Palla
+ascending.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where is my aunt?&rdquo; asked Palla.</p>
+<p>And, as Martha remained silent, gazing oddly down
+at her through her glasses:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My aunt isn&rsquo;t ill, is she?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, she ain&rsquo;t ill. H&rsquo;ain&rsquo;t you heard?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Heard what?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you get my letter?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Your</i> letter? Why did <i>you</i> write? What is the
+matter? Where is my aunt?&rdquo; asked the disturbed girl.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wrote you last month.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>What</i> did you write?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You never got it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I didn&rsquo;t! What has happened to my aunt?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She had a stroke, Palla.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What! Is&ndash;&ndash;is she dead!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Six weeks ago come Sunday.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl&rsquo;s knees weakened and she sat down suddenly
+on the stairs.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dead? My Aunt Emeline?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She had a stroke a year ago. It made her a little
+stiff in one leg. But she wouldn&rsquo;t tell you&ndash;&ndash;wouldn&rsquo;t
+bother you. She was that proud of you living as you
+did with all those kings and queens. &lsquo;No,&rsquo; sez she to me,
+&lsquo;no, Martha, I ain&rsquo;t a-goin&rsquo; to worry Palla. She and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span>
+the Queen have got their hands full, what with the
+wicked way those Rooshian people are behaving. No,&rsquo;
+sez she, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll git well by the time she comes home for
+a visit after the war&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Martha&rsquo;s spectacles became dim. She seated herself
+on the stairs and wiped them on her apron.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It came in the night,&rdquo; she said, peering blindly at
+Palla.... &ldquo;I wondered why she was late to breakfast.
+When I went up she was lying there with her
+eyes open&ndash;&ndash;just as natural&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s head dropped and she covered her face with
+both hands.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_IV' id='CHAPTER_IV'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+</div>
+<p>There remained, now, nothing to keep Palla in
+Shadow Hill.</p>
+<p>She had never intended to stay there, anyway;
+she had meant to go to France.</p>
+<p>But already there appeared to be no chance for that
+in the scheme of things. For the boche had begun to
+squeal for mercy; the frightened swine was squirting
+life-blood as he rushed headlong for the home sty
+across the Rhine; his death-stench sickened the world.</p>
+<p>Thicker, ranker, reeked the bloody abomination in
+the nostrils of civilisation, where Justice strode ahead
+through hell&rsquo;s own devastation, kicking the boche to
+death, kicking him through Belgium, through France,
+out of Light back into Darkness, back, back to his
+stinking sty.</p>
+<p>The rushing sequence of events in Europe since Palla&rsquo;s
+arrival in America bewildered the girl and held in abeyance
+any plan she had hoped to make.</p>
+<p>The whole world waited, too, astounded, incredulous
+as yet of the cataclysmic debacle, slowly realising that
+the super-swine were but swine&ndash;&ndash;maddened swine, devil
+driven. And that the Sea was very near.</p>
+<p>No romance ever written approached in wild extravagance
+the story of doom now unfolding in the daily
+papers.</p>
+<p>Palla read and strove to comprehend&ndash;&ndash;read, laid
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span>
+aside her paper, and went about her own business, which
+alone seemed dully real.</p>
+<p>And these new personal responsibilities&ndash;&ndash;now that her
+aunt was dead&ndash;&ndash;must have postponed any hope of an
+immediate departure for France.</p>
+<p>Her inheritance under her aunt&rsquo;s will, the legal details,
+the inventory of scattered acreage and real estate,
+plans for their proper administration, consultations
+with an attorney, conferences with Mr. Pawling, president
+of the local bank&ndash;&ndash;such things had occupied and
+involved her almost from the moment of her arrival
+home.</p>
+<p>At first the endless petty details exasperated her&ndash;&ndash;a
+girl fresh from the tremendous tragedy of things
+where, one after another, empires were crashing amid
+the conflagration of a continent. And she could not
+now keep her mind on such wretched little personal
+matters while her heart battered passionately at her
+breast, sounding the exciting summons to active service.</p>
+<p>To concentrate her thoughts on mortgages and deeds
+when she was burning to be on her way to France&ndash;&ndash;to
+confer power of attorney, audit bills for taxes, for
+up-keep of line fences, when she was mad to go to New
+York and find out how quickly she could be sent to
+France&ndash;&ndash;such things seemed more than a girl could
+endure.</p>
+<p>In Shadow Hill there was scarcely anything to remind
+her that the fate of the world was being settled
+for all time.</p>
+<p>Only for red service flags here and there, here and
+there a burly figure in olive-drab swaggering along
+Main Street, nothing except war-bread, the shortage
+of coal and sugar, and outrageous prices reminded her
+that the terrific drama was still being played beyond
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span>
+the ocean to the diapason of an orchestra thundering
+from England to Asia and from Africa to the Arctic.</p>
+<p>But already the eternal signs were pointing to the
+end. She read the <i>Republican</i> in the morning, the <i>Star</i>
+at night. Gradually it became apparent to the girl
+that the great conflagration was slowly dying down
+beyond the seas; that there was to be no chance of her
+returning; that there was to be no need of her services
+even if she were already equipped to render any, and
+now, certainly, no time for her to learn anything which
+might once have admitted her to comradeship in the
+gigantic conflict between man and Satan. She was too
+late. The world&rsquo;s tragedy was almost over.</p>
+<p>With the signing of the armistice, all dreams of
+service ended definitely for her.</p>
+<p>False news of the suspension of hostilities should
+have, in a measure, prepared her. Yet, the ultimately
+truthful news that the war was over made her almost
+physically ill. For the girl&rsquo;s ardent religious fervour
+had consumed her emotional energy during the incessant
+excitement of the past three years. But now, for this
+natural ardour, there was no further employment.
+There was no outlet for mind or heart so lately on fire
+with spiritual fervour. God was no more; her friend
+was dead. And now the war had ended. And nobody
+in the world had any need of her&ndash;&ndash;any need of this
+woman who needed the world&ndash;&ndash;and love&ndash;&ndash;spiritual perhaps,
+perhaps profane.</p>
+<p>The false peace demonstration, which set the bells
+of Shadow Hill clanging in the wintry air and the mill
+whistles blowing from distant villages, left her tired,
+dazed, indifferent. The later celebration, based on
+official news, stirred her spiritually even less. And she
+felt ill.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span></div>
+<p>There was a noisy night celebration on Main Street,
+but she had no desire to see it. She remained indoors
+reading the <i>Star</i> in the sitting room with Max, the cat.
+She ate no dinner. She cried herself to sleep.</p>
+<p>However, now that the worst had come&ndash;&ndash;as she
+na&iuml;vely informed the shocked Martha next morning&ndash;&ndash;she
+began to feel relieved in a restless, feverish way.</p>
+<p>A healthful girl accumulates much bodily energy over
+night; Palla&rsquo;s passionate little heart and her active
+mind completed a storage battery very quickly charged&ndash;&ndash;and
+very soon over-charged&ndash;&ndash;and an outlet was imperative.</p>
+<p>Always, so far in her brief career, she had had adequate
+outlets. As a child she found satisfaction in violent
+exercises; in flinging herself headlong into every
+outdoor game, every diversion among the urchins of
+her circle. As a school girl her school sports and her
+studies, and whatever social pleasures were offered, had
+left the safety valve open.</p>
+<p>Later, mistress of her mother&rsquo;s modest fortune, and
+grown to restless, intelligent womanhood, Palla had gone
+abroad with a married school-friend, Leila Vance.
+Under her auspices she had met nice people and had
+seen charming homes in England&ndash;&ndash;Colonel Vance
+being somebody in the county and even somebody in
+London&ndash;&ndash;a diffident, reticent, agriculturally inclined
+land owner and colonel of yeomanry. And long ago
+dead in Flanders. And his wife a nurse somewhere in
+France.</p>
+<p>But before the war a year&rsquo;s travel and study had
+furnished the necessary outlet to Palla Dumont. And
+then&ndash;&ndash;at a charity bazaar&ndash;&ndash;a passionate friendship had
+flashed into sacred flame&ndash;&ndash;a friendship born at sight
+between her and the little Grand Duchess Marie.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span></div>
+<p>War was beginning; Colonel Vance was dead; but
+imperial inquiry located Leila. And imperial inquiry
+was satisfied. And Palla became the American companion
+and friend of the youthful Grand Duchess Marie.
+For three years that blind devotion had been her outlet&ndash;&ndash;that
+and their mutual inclination for a life to be
+dedicated to God.</p>
+<p>What was to be her outlet now?&ndash;&ndash;now that the little
+Grand Duchess was dead&ndash;&ndash;now that God, as she had
+conceived him, had ceased to exist for her&ndash;&ndash;now that
+the war was ended, and nobody needed that warm young
+heart of hers&ndash;&ndash;that ardent little heart so easily set
+throbbing with the passionate desire to give.</p>
+<p>The wintry sunlight flooded the familiar sitting room,
+setting potted geraniums ablaze, gilding the leather
+backs of old books, staining prisms on the crystal chandelier
+with rainbow tints, and causing Max, the family
+cat, to blink until the vertical pupils of his amber eyes
+seemed to disappear entirely.</p>
+<p>There was some snow outside&ndash;&ndash;not very much&ndash;&ndash;a
+wild bird or two among the naked apple trees; green
+edges, still, where snowy lawn and flower border met.</p>
+<p>And there was colour in the leafless shrubbery, too&ndash;&ndash;wine-red
+stems of dogwood, ash-blue berry-canes, and
+the tangled green and gold of willows. And over all a
+pale cobalt sky, and a snow-covered hill, where, in the
+woods, crows sat cawing on the taller trees, and a slow
+goshawk sailed.</p>
+<p>A rich land, this, even under ice and snow&ndash;&ndash;a rich,
+rolling land hinting of fat furrows and heavy grain;
+and of spicy, old-time gardens where the evenings were
+heavy with the scent of phlox and lilies.</p>
+<p>Palla, her hands behind her back, seeming very childish
+and slim in her black gown, stood searching absently
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span>
+among the books for something to distract her&ndash;&ndash;something
+in harmony with the restless glow of hidden fires
+hot in her restless heart.</p>
+<p>But war is too completely the great destroyer, killing
+even the serener pleasures of the mind, corrupting normal
+appetite, dulling all interest except in what pertains
+to war.</p>
+<p>War is the great vandal, too, obliterating even that
+interest in the classic past which is born of respect
+for tradition. War slays all yesterdays, so that human
+interest lives only in the fierce and present moment, or
+blazes anew at thought of what may be to-morrow.</p>
+<p>Only the chronicles of the burning hour can hold
+human attention where war is. For last week is already
+a decade ago; and last year a dead century; but to-day
+is vital and to-morrow is immortal.</p>
+<p>It was so with Palla. Her listless eyes swept the
+ranks of handsome, old-time books&ndash;&ndash;old favourites
+bound in gold and leather, masters of English prose and
+poetry gathered and garnered by her grand-parents
+when books were rare in Shadow Hill.</p>
+<p>Not even the modern masters appealed to her&ndash;&ndash;masters
+of fiction acclaimed but yesterday; virile
+thinkers in philosophy, in science; enfranchised poets
+who had stridden out upon Olympus only yesterday
+to defy the old god&rsquo;s lightning with unshackled strophes&ndash;&ndash;and
+sometimes unbuttoned themes.</p>
+<p>But it was with Palla as with others; she drifted
+back to the morning paper, wherein lay the interest
+of the hour. And nothing else interested her or the
+world.</p>
+<p>Martha announced lunch. Max accompanied her
+on her retreat to the kitchen. Palla loitered, not
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span>
+hungry, nervous and unquiet under the increasing
+need of occupation for that hot heart of hers.</p>
+<p>After a while she went out to the dining room, ate
+enough, endured Martha to the verge, and retreated
+to await the evening paper.</p>
+<p>Her attorney, Mr. Tiddley, came at three. They
+discussed quit-claims, mortgages, deeds, surveys, and
+reported encroachments incident to the decay of ancient
+landmarks. And the conversation maddened her.</p>
+<p>At four she put on a smart mourning hat and her
+black furs, and walked down to see the bank president,
+Mr. Pawling. The subject of their conversation was
+investments; and it bored her. At five she returned
+to the house to receive a certain Mr. Skidder&ndash;&ndash;known
+in her childhood as Blinky Skidder, in frank recognition
+of an ocular peculiarity&ndash;&ndash;a dingy but jaunty
+young man with a sheep&rsquo;s nose, a shrewd upper lip,
+and snapping red-brown eyes, who came breezily in
+and said: &ldquo;Hello, Palla! How&rsquo;s the girl?&rdquo; And took
+off his faded mackinaw uninvited.</p>
+<p>Mr. Skidder&rsquo;s business had once been the exploitation
+of farmers and acreage; his specialty the persuasion
+of Slovak emigrants into the acquisition of doubtful
+land. But since the war, emigrants were few;
+and, as honest men must live, Mr. Skidder had branched
+out into improved real estate and city lots. But the
+pickings, even here, were scanty, and loans hard to
+obtain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve changed my mind,&rdquo; said Palla. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not
+going to sell this house, Blinky.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, for heaven&rsquo;s sake&ndash;&ndash;ain&rsquo;t you going to New
+York?&rdquo; he insisted, taken aback.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I am. But I&rsquo;ve decided to keep my house.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; said Mr. Skidder, snapping his eyes, &ldquo;is
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span>
+silly sentiment, not business. But please yourself
+Palla. I ain&rsquo;t saying a word. I ain&rsquo;t trying to tell
+you I can get a lot more for you than your house
+is worth&ndash;&ndash;what with values falling and houses empty
+and the mills letting men go because there ain&rsquo;t going
+to be any more war orders!&ndash;&ndash;but please yourself, Palla.
+I ain&rsquo;t saying a word to urge you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve said several,&rdquo; she remarked, smilingly.
+&ldquo;But I think I&rsquo;ll keep the house for the present, and
+I&rsquo;m sorry that I wasted your time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please yourself, Palla,&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;I guess
+you can afford to from all I hear. I guess you can
+do as you&rsquo;ve a mind to, now.... So you&rsquo;re
+fixing to locate in New York, eh?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Live in a flat?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What are you going to do in New York?&rdquo; he
+asked curiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t know. There&rsquo;ll be plenty to do,
+I suppose.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You bet,&rdquo; he said, blinking rapidly, &ldquo;there&rsquo;s
+always something doing in that little old town.&rdquo; He
+slapped his knee: &ldquo;Palla,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m thinking of
+going into the movie business.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Really?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;m considering it. Slovaks and bum farms
+are played out. There&rsquo;s no money in Shadow Hill&ndash;&ndash;or
+if there is, it&rsquo;s locked up&ndash;&ndash;or the income tax has
+paralysed it. No, I&rsquo;m through. There&rsquo;s nothing
+doing in land; no commissions. And I&rsquo;m considering
+a quick getaway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where do you expect to go?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Say, Palla, when you kiss your old home good-bye,
+there&rsquo;s only one place to go. Get me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;New York?&rdquo; she inquired, amused.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s me! There&rsquo;s a guy down there I used to
+correspond with&ndash;&ndash;a feller named Puma&ndash;&ndash;Angelo Puma&ndash;&ndash;not
+a regular wop, as you might say, but there&rsquo;s
+some wop in him, judging by his map&ndash;&ndash;or Mex&ndash;&ndash;or
+kike, maybe&ndash;&ndash;or something. Anyway, he&rsquo;s in the moving
+picture business&ndash;&ndash;The Ultra-Fillum Company. I
+guess there&rsquo;s a mint o&rsquo; money in fillums.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She nodded, a trifle bored.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I got a chance to go in with Angelo Puma,&rdquo; he
+said, snapping his eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Really?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know, Palla, I&rsquo;ve made a little money, too,
+since you been over there living with the Queen of
+Russia.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m very glad, Blinky.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, it ain&rsquo;t much. And,&rdquo; he added shrewdly, &ldquo;it
+ain&rsquo;t so paltry, neither. Thank the Lord, I made
+hay while the Slovaks lasted.... So,&rdquo; he
+added, getting up from his chair, &ldquo;maybe I&rsquo;ll see you
+down there in New York, some day&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He hesitated, his blinking eyes redly intent on her
+as she rose to her slim height.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say, Palla.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She looked at him inquiringly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ever thought of the movies?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As an investment?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well&ndash;&ndash;that, too. There&rsquo;s big money in it. But
+I meant&ndash;&ndash;I mean&ndash;&ndash;it strikes me you&rsquo;d make a bird of
+a movie queen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The suggestion mildly amused her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean it,&rdquo; he insisted. &ldquo;Grab it from me, Palla,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span>
+you&rsquo;ve got the shape, and you got the looks and you
+got the walk and the ways and the education. You
+got something peculiar&ndash;&ndash;like you had been born a
+rich swell&ndash;&ndash;I mean you kinda naturally act that way&ndash;&ndash;kinda
+cocksure of yourself. Maybe you got it living
+with that Queen&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla laughed outright.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So you think because I&rsquo;ve seen a queen I ought
+to know how to act like a movie queen?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, picking up his hat, &ldquo;maybe if I
+go in with Angelo Puma some day I&rsquo;ll see you again
+and we&rsquo;ll talk it over.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She shook hands with him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be good,&rdquo; he called back as she closed the front
+door behind him.</p>
+<p>The early winter night had fallen over Shadow
+Hill. Palla turned on the electric light, stood for
+a while looking sombrely at the framed photographs
+of her father and mother, then, feeling lonely, went
+into the kitchen where Martha was busy with preparations
+for dinner.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Martha,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to New York.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, for the land&rsquo;s sake&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and I&rsquo;m going day after to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What on earth makes you act like a gypsy, Palla?&rdquo;
+she demanded querulously, seasoning the soup and
+tasting it. &ldquo;Your pa and ma wasn&rsquo;t like that. They
+was satisfied to set and rest a mite after being away.
+But you&rsquo;ve been gone four years &rsquo;n more, and now
+you&rsquo;re up and off again, hippity-skip! clippity-clip!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m just going to run down to New York and look
+about. I want to look around and see what&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s <i>you</i>, Palla! That&rsquo;s what you allus was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span>
+doing as a child&ndash;&ndash;allus looking about you with your
+wide brown eyes, to see what you could see in the
+world!... You know what curiosity did to the
+cat?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pinched her paw in the mouse-trap.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be careful,&rdquo; said the girl, laughing.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_V' id='CHAPTER_V'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER V</h2>
+</div>
+<p>In touch with his unexciting business again, after
+many months of glorious absence, and seated once
+more at his abhorred yellow-oak desk, young Shotwell
+discovered it was anything except agreeable for
+him to gather up the ravelled thrums of civilian life
+after the thrilling taste of service over seas.</p>
+<p>For him, so long accustomed to excitement, the zest
+of living seemed to die with the signing of the armistice.</p>
+<p>In fact, since the Argonne drive, all luck seemed
+to have deserted him; for in the very middle of operations
+he had been sent back to the United States as
+instructor; and there the armistice had now caught
+him. Furthermore, then, before he realised what
+dreadful thing was happening to him, he had been
+politely assigned to that vague limbo supposedly inhabited
+by a mythical organisation known as The Officers&rsquo;
+Reserve Corps, and had been given indefinite leave
+of absence preliminary to being mustered out of the
+service of the United States.</p>
+<p>To part from his uniform was agonising, and he
+berated the fate that pried him loose from tunic and
+puttees. So disgusted was he that, although the Government
+allowed three months longer before discarding
+uniforms, he shed his in disgust for &ldquo;cits.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But James Shotwell, Jr., was not the only man bewildered
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span>
+and annoyed by the rapidity of events which
+followed the first days of demobilisation. Half a
+dozen other young fellows in the big real estate offices
+of Clarence Sharrow &amp; Co. found themselves yanked
+out of uniform and seated once more at their familiar,
+uninviting desks of yellow oak&ndash;&ndash;very young men,
+mostly, assigned to various camps of special three-month
+instruction; and now cruelly interrupted while
+scrambling frantically after commissions in machine-gun
+companies, field artillery, flying units, and tank
+corps.</p>
+<p>And there they were, back again at the old grind
+before they could realise their horrid predicament&ndash;&ndash;the
+majority already glum and restless under the
+reaction, and hating Shotwell, who, among them all,
+had been the only man to cross the sea.</p>
+<p>This war-worn and envied veteran of a few months,
+perfectly aware that his military career had ended,
+was now trying to accept the situation and habituate
+himself to the loathly technique of commerce.</p>
+<p>Out of uniform, out of humour, out of touch with
+the arts of peace; still, at times, all a-quiver with
+the nervous shock of his experience, it was very hard
+for him to speak respectfully to Mr. Sharrow.</p>
+<p>As instructor to rookie aspirants he would have been
+somebody: he had already been somebody as a lieutenant
+of infantry in the thunderous scheme of things
+in the Argonne.</p>
+<p>But in the offices of Clarence Sharrow &amp; Co. he
+was merely a rather nice-looking civilian subordinate,
+whose duties were to aid clients in the selection and
+purchase of residences, advise them, consult with them,
+make appointments to show them dwelling houses,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span>
+vacant or still tenanted, and in every stage of repair
+or decrepitude.</p>
+<p>On the wall beside his desk hung a tinted map of
+the metropolis. Upon a table at his elbow were piled
+ponderous tomes depicting the Bronx in all its beauty,
+and giving details of suburban sewers. Other volumes
+contained maps of the fashionable residential district,
+showing every consecrated block and the exact location
+as well as the linear dimensions of every awesome
+residence and back yard from Washington Square to
+Yorkville.</p>
+<p>By referring to a note-book which he carried in his
+breast pocket, young Shotwell could inform any grand
+lady or any pompous or fussy gentleman what was
+the &ldquo;asking price&rdquo; of any particular residence marked
+for sale upon the diagrams of the ponderous tomes.</p>
+<p>Also&ndash;&ndash;which is why Sharrow selected him for that
+particular job&ndash;&ndash;clients liked his good manners and
+his engaging ways.</p>
+<p>The average client buys a freshly painted house in
+preference to a well-built one, but otherwise clamours
+always for a bargain. The richer the client the louder
+the clamour. And to such demands Shotwell was always
+sympathetic&ndash;&ndash;always willing to inquire whether or not
+the outrageous price asked for a dwelling might possibly
+be &ldquo;shaded&rdquo; a little.</p>
+<p>It always could be shaded; but few clients knew
+that; and the majority, much flattered at their own
+business acumen, entertained kind feelings toward
+Sharrow &amp; Co. and sentiments almost cordial toward
+young Shotwell when the &ldquo;shading&rdquo; process had
+proved to be successful.</p>
+<p>But the black-eye dealt the residential district long
+ago had not yet cleared up. Real property of that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span>
+sort was still dull and inactive except for a flare-up
+now and then along Park Avenue and Fifth.</p>
+<p>War, naturally, had not improved matters; and, as
+far as the residential part of their business was concerned,
+Sharrow &amp; Co. transacted the bulk of it in
+leasing apartments and, now and then, a private house,
+usually on the West Side.</p>
+<p>That morning, in the offices of Sharrow &amp; Co., a
+few clients sat beside the desks of the various men
+who specialised in the particular brand of real estate
+desired: several neat young girls performed diligently
+upon typewriters; old man Sharrow stood at the door
+of his private office twirling his eyeglasses by the gold
+chain and urbanely getting rid of an undesirable visitor&ndash;&ndash;one
+Angelo Puma, who wanted some land for a
+moving picture studio, but was persuasively unwilling
+to pay for it.</p>
+<p>He was a big man, too heavy, youngish, with plump
+olive skin, black hair, lips too full and too red under
+a silky moustache, and eyes that would have been magnificent
+in a woman&ndash;&ndash;a Spanish dancer, for example&ndash;&ndash;rich,
+dark eyes, softly brilliant under curling lashes.</p>
+<p>He seemed to covet the land and the ramshackle
+stables on it, but he wanted somebody to take back
+a staggering mortgage on the property. And Mr.
+Sharrow shook his head gently, and twirled his eyeglasses.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For me,&rdquo; insisted Puma, &ldquo;I do not care. It is
+good property. I would pay cash if I had it. But I
+have not. No. My capital at the moment is tied
+up in production; my daily expenses, at present, require
+what cash I have. If your client is at all reasonable&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;He isn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said Sharrow. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s a Connecticut
+Yankee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For a moment Angelo Puma seemed crestfallen, then
+his brilliant smile flashed from every perfect tooth:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is very bad for me,&rdquo; he said, buttoning-his
+showy overcoat. &ldquo;Pardon me; I waste your time&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;
+pulling on his gloves. &ldquo;However, if your client should
+ever care to change his mind&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One moment,&rdquo; said Sharrow, whose time Mr. Puma
+had indeed wasted at intervals during the past year,
+and who heartily desired to be rid of property and
+client: &ldquo;Suppose you deal directly with the owner.
+We are not particularly anxious to carry the property;
+it&rsquo;s a little out of our sphere. Suppose I put
+you in direct communication with the owner.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Delighted,&rdquo; said Puma, flashing his smile and bowing
+from the waist; and perfectly aware that his
+badgering had bored this gentleman to the limit.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll write out his address for you,&rdquo; said Sharrow,
+&ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;one moment, please&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Angelo Puma waited, his glossy hat in one hand,
+his silver-headed stick and folded suede gloves in the
+other.</p>
+<p>Like darkly brilliant searchlights his magnificent
+eyes swept the offices of Sharrow &amp; Co.; at a glance
+he appraised the self-conscious typists, surmised possibilities
+in a blond one; then, as a woman entered from
+the street, he rested his gaze upon her. And he kept it
+there.</p>
+<p>Even when Sharrow came out of his private office
+with the slip of paper, Angelo Puma&rsquo;s eyes still remained
+fastened upon the young girl who had spoken
+to a clerk and then seated herself in a chair beside the
+desk of James Shotwell, Jr.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;The man&rsquo;s name,&rdquo; repeated Sharrow patiently, &ldquo;is
+Elmer Skidder. His address is Shadow Hill, Connecticut.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma turned to him as though confused, thanked
+him effusively, took the slip of paper, pulled on his
+gloves in a preoccupied way, and very slowly walked
+toward the street door, his eyes fixed on the girl who
+was now in animated conversation with young Shotwell.</p>
+<p>As he passed her she was laughing at something
+the young man had just said, and Puma deliberately
+turned and looked at her again&ndash;&ndash;looked her full in
+the face.</p>
+<p>She was aware of him and of his bold scrutiny, of
+course&ndash;&ndash;noticed his brilliant eyes, no doubt&ndash;&ndash;but paid
+no heed to him&ndash;&ndash;was otherwise preoccupied with this
+young man beside her, whom she had neither seen nor
+thought about since the day she had landed in New
+York from the rusty little Danish steamer <i>Elsinore</i>.</p>
+<p>And now, although he had meant nothing at all to
+her except an episode already forgotten, to meet him
+again had instantly meant something to her.</p>
+<p>For this man now represented to her a link with the
+exciting past&ndash;&ndash;this young soldier who had been fresh
+from the furnace when she had met him on deck as
+the <i>Elsinore</i> passed in between the forts in the grey
+of early morning.</p>
+<p>The encounter was exciting her a little, too, over-emphasising
+its importance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fancy!&rdquo; she repeated, &ldquo;my encountering you here
+and in civilian dress! Were you dreadfully disappointed
+by the armistice?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m ashamed to say I took it hard,&rdquo; he admitted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So did I. I had hoped so to go to France. And
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span>
+you&ndash;&ndash;oh, I <i>am</i> sorry for you. You were so disgusted
+at being detailed from the fighting line to Camp
+Upton! And now the war is over. What a void!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re very frank,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re supposed to
+rejoice, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, of course. I really do rejoice&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They both laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean it,&rdquo; she insisted. &ldquo;In my sober senses I
+am glad the war is over. I&rsquo;d be a monster if I were
+not glad. But&ndash;&ndash;<i>what</i> is going to take its place?
+Because we must have something, you know. One
+can&rsquo;t endure a perfect void, can one?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Again they laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was such a tremendous thing,&rdquo; she explained.
+&ldquo;I did want to be part of it before it ended. But of
+course peace is a tremendous thing, too&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And they both laughed once more.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Anybody overhearing us,&rdquo; she confided to him,
+&ldquo;would think us mere beasts. Of course you are glad
+the war is ended: that&rsquo;s why you fought. And I&rsquo;m
+glad, too. And I&rsquo;m going to rent a house in New
+York and find something to occupy this void I speak
+of. But isn&rsquo;t it nice that I should come to you about
+it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jolly,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And now at last I&rsquo;m going to
+learn your name.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh. Don&rsquo;t you know it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wanted to ask you, but there seemed to be no
+proper opportunity&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course. I remember. There seemed to be no
+reason.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was sorry afterward,&rdquo; he ventured.</p>
+<p>That amused her. &ldquo;You weren&rsquo;t really sorry, were
+you?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I really was. I thought of you&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean to say you remembered me after the
+ship docked?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. But I&rsquo;m very sure you instantly forgot me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I certainly did!&rdquo; she admitted, still much amused
+at the idea. &ldquo;One doesn&rsquo;t remember everybody one
+sees, you know,&rdquo; she went on frankly,&ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;particularly
+after a horrid voyage and when one&rsquo;s head is full of
+exciting plans. Alas! those wonderful plans of mine!&ndash;&ndash;the
+stuff that dreams are made of. And here I
+am asking you kindly to find me a modest house with
+a modest rental.... And by the way,&rdquo; she
+added demurely, &ldquo;my name is Palla Dumont.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; he said smilingly. &ldquo;Do you care to
+know mine?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know it. When I came in and told the clerk
+what I wanted, he said I should see Mr. Shotwell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;James Shotwell, Jr.,&rdquo; he said gravely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That <i>is</i> amiable. You don&rsquo;t treasure malice, do
+you? I might merely have known you as <i>Mr.</i> Shotwell.
+And you generously reveal all from James to Junior.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They were laughing again. Mr. Sharrow noticed
+them from his private office and congratulated himself
+on having Shotwell in his employment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When may I see a house?&rdquo; inquired Palla, settling
+her black-gloved hands in her black fox muff.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Immediately, if you like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How wonderful!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He took out his note-book, glanced through several
+pages, asked her carelessly what rent she cared to pay,
+made a note of it, and resumed his study of the note-book.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The East Side?&rdquo; he inquired, glancing at her with
+curiosity not entirely professional.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I prefer it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>From his note-book he read to her the descriptions
+and situations of several twenty-foot houses in the
+zone between Fifth and Third Avenues.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shall we go to see some of them, Mr. Shotwell?
+Have you, perhaps, time this morning?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m delighted,&rdquo; he said. Which, far from straining
+truth, perhaps restrained it.</p>
+<p>So he got his hat and overcoat, and they went out
+together into the winter sunshine.</p>
+<p>Angelo Puma, seated in a taxi across the street,
+observed them. He wore a gardenia in his lapel. He
+might have followed Palla had she emerged alone from
+the offices of Sharrow &amp; Co.</p>
+<p>Shotwell Junior had a jolly morning of it. And,
+if the routine proved a trifle monotonous, Palla, too,
+appeared to amuse herself.</p>
+<p>She inspected various types of houses, expensive
+and inexpensive, modern and out of date, well built
+and well kept and &ldquo;jerry-built&rdquo; and dirty.</p>
+<p>Prices and rents painfully surprised her, and she
+gave up any idea of renting a furnished house, and
+so informed Shotwell.</p>
+<p>So they restricted their inspection to three-story
+unfurnished and untenanted houses, where the neighbourhood
+was less pretentious and there was a better
+light in the rear.</p>
+<p>But they all were dirty, neglected, out of repair,
+destitute of decent plumbing and electricity.</p>
+<p>On the second floor of one of these Palla stood,
+discouraged, perplexed, gazing absently out, across a
+filthy back yard full of seedling ailanthus trees and
+rubbish, at the rear fire escapes on the tenements
+beyond.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span></div>
+<p>Shotwell, exploring the closely written pages of his
+note-book, could discover nothing desirable within the
+terms she was willing to make.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s one house on our books,&rdquo; he said at last,
+&ldquo;which came in only yesterday. I haven&rsquo;t had time to
+look at it. I don&rsquo;t even know where the keys are.
+But if you&rsquo;re not too tired&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla gave him one of her characteristic direct looks:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not too tired, but I&rsquo;m starved. I could go
+after lunch.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fine!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m hungry, too! Shall we go
+to Delmonico&rsquo;s?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl seemed a trifle nonplussed. She had not
+supposed that luncheon with clients was included in
+a real estate transaction.</p>
+<p>She was not embarrassed, nor did the suggestion
+seem impertinent. But she said:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I had expected to lunch at the hotel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He reddened a little. Guilt shows its colors.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Had you rather?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, no. I&rsquo;d rather lunch with you at Delmonico&rsquo;s
+and talk houses.&rdquo; And, a little amused at this young
+man&rsquo;s transparent guile, she added: &ldquo;I think it would
+be very agreeable for us to lunch together.&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>She came from the dressing-room fresh and flushed
+as a slightly chilled rose, rejoining him in the lobby,
+and presently they were seated in the palm room with
+a discreet and hidden orchestra playing, &ldquo;Oh! How I
+Hate To Get Up in the Morning,&rdquo; and rather busy
+with a golden Casaba melon between them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t this jolly!&rdquo; he said, expanding easily, as do
+all young men in the warmth of the informal.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Very. What an agreeable business yours seems
+to be, Mr. Shotwell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In what way?&rdquo; he asked innocently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, part of it is lunching with feminine clients,
+isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His close-set ears burned. She glanced up with
+mischief brilliant in her brown eyes. But he was busy
+with his melon. And, not looking at her:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you want to know me?&rdquo; he asked so clumsily
+that she hesitated to snub so defenceless a male.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know whether I wish to,&rdquo; she replied, smiling
+slightly. &ldquo;I hadn&rsquo;t aspired to it; I hadn&rsquo;t really considered
+it. I was thinking about renting a house.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He said nothing, but, as the painful colour remained
+in his face, the girl decided to be a little kinder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Anyway,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m enjoying myself. And I
+hope you are.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He said he was. But his voice and manner were so
+subdued that she laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fancy asking a girl such a question,&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;You shouldn&rsquo;t ask a woman whether she doesn&rsquo;t want
+to know you. It would be irregular enough, under
+the circumstances, to say that you wanted to know
+her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what I meant,&rdquo; he replied, wincing. &ldquo;Would
+you consider it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She could not disguise her amusement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; I&rsquo;ll consider it, Mr. Shotwell. I&rsquo;ll give it my
+careful attention. I owe you something, anyway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo; he asked uncertainly, prepared for further
+squelching.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know exactly what. But when a man remembers
+a woman, and the woman forgets the man,
+isn&rsquo;t something due him?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I think there is,&rdquo; he said so na&iuml;vely that Palla was
+unable to restrain her gaiety.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is a silly conversation,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;as silly
+as though I had accepted the cocktail you so thoughtfully
+suggested. We&rsquo;re both enjoying each other and
+we know it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Really!&rdquo; he exclaimed, brightening.</p>
+<p>His boyish relief&ndash;&ndash;everything that this young man
+said to her&ndash;&ndash;seemed to excite the girl to mirth. Perhaps
+she had been starved for laughter longer than
+is good for anybody. Besides, her heart was naturally
+responsive&ndash;&ndash;opened easily&ndash;&ndash;was easily engaged.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course I&rsquo;m inclined to like you,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;or
+I wouldn&rsquo;t be here lunching with you and talking nonsense
+instead of houses&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll talk houses!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; we&rsquo;ll <i>look</i> at them&ndash;&ndash;later.... Do you
+know it&rsquo;s a long, long time since I have laughed with
+a really untroubled heart?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, it isn&rsquo;t good for a girl. Sadness is a sickness&ndash;&ndash;a
+physical disorganisation that infects the mind.
+It makes a strange emotion of love, too, perverting
+it to that mysticism we call religion&ndash;&ndash;and wasting it....
+I suppose you&rsquo;re rather shocked,&rdquo; she said
+smilingly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.... But have you no religion?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well&ndash;&ndash;yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Which?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Protestant.... Are you Catholic?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl rested her cheek on her hand and dabbed
+absently at her orange ice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was once,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I was very religious&ndash;&ndash;in
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span>
+the accepted sense of the term.... It came rather
+suddenly;&ndash;&ndash;it seemed to be born as part of a sudden
+and close friendship with a girl&ndash;&ndash;began with that friendship,
+I think.... And died with it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She sat quite silent for a while, then a tremulous
+smile edged her lips:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I had meant to take the veil,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I did
+begin my novitiate.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, in Russia. There are a few foreign cloistered
+orders there.... But I had a tragic awakening....&rdquo;
+She bent her head and quoted softly, &ldquo;&lsquo;For the former
+things have passed away.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The orange ice was melting; she stirred it idly,
+watching it dissolve.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I had utterly misunderstood the
+scheme of things. Divinity is not a sad, a solemn,
+a solitary autocrat demanding selfish tribute, blind
+allegiance, inexorable self-abasement. It is not an insecure
+tyrant offering bribery for the cringing, frightened
+servitude demanded.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She looked up smilingly at the man: &ldquo;Nor, within us,
+is there any soul in the accepted meaning,&ndash;&ndash;no satellite
+released at death to revolve around or merge into
+some super-divinity. No!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For I believe,&ndash;&ndash;I <i>know</i>&ndash;&ndash;that the body&ndash;&ndash;every one&rsquo;s
+body&ndash;&ndash;is inhabited by a complete god, immortal, retaining
+its divine entity, beholden to no other deity save
+only itself, and destined to encounter in a divine democracy
+and through endless futures, unnumbered brother
+gods&ndash;&ndash;the countless divinities which have possessed and
+shall possess those tenements of mankind which we call
+our bodies.... You do not, of course, subscribe to
+such a faith,&rdquo; she added, meeting his gaze.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Well&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; He hesitated. She said:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Autocracy in heaven is as unthinkable, as unbelievable,
+and as obnoxious to me as is autocracy on earth.
+There is no such thing as divine right, here or elsewhere,&ndash;&ndash;no
+divine prerogatives for tyranny, for punishment,
+for cruelty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How did you happen to embrace such a faith?&rdquo; he
+asked, bewildered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was sick of the scheme of things. Suffering,
+cruelty, death outraged my common sense. It is not in
+me to say, &lsquo;Thy will be done,&rsquo; to any autocrat, heavenly
+or earthly. It is not in me to fawn on the hand that
+strikes me&ndash;&ndash;or that strikes any helpless thing! No!
+And the scheme of things sickened me, and I nearly
+died of it&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She clenched her hand where it rested on the table,
+and he saw her face flushed and altered by the fire
+within. Then she smiled and leaned back in her chair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In you,&rdquo; she said gaily, &ldquo;dwells a god. In me a
+goddess,&ndash;&ndash;a joyous one,&ndash;&ndash;a divine thing that laughs,&ndash;&ndash;a
+complete and free divinity that is gay and tender,
+that is incapable of tyranny, that loves all things both,
+great and small, that exists to serve&ndash;&ndash;freely, not for reward&ndash;&ndash;that
+owes allegiance and obedience only to the
+divine and eternal law within its own godhead. And
+that law is the law of love.... And that is my
+substitute for the scheme of things. Could you subscribe?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>After a silence he quoted: &ldquo;<i>Could you and I with
+Him conspire</i>&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She nodded: &ldquo;&lsquo;<i>To grasp this sorry scheme of things
+entire</i>&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rsquo; But there is no &lsquo;<i>Him</i>.&rsquo; It&rsquo;s you and I....
+Both divine.... Suppose we grasp it
+and &lsquo;<i>shatter it to bits</i>.&rsquo; Shall we?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;<i>And then remould it nearer to the heart&rsquo;s desire?</i>&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Remould it nearer to the logic of common sense.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Neither spoke for a few moments. Then she drew
+a swift, smiling breath.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re getting on rather rapidly, aren&rsquo;t we?&rdquo; she
+said. &ldquo;Did you expect to lunch with such a friendly,
+human girl? And will you now take her to inspect this
+modest house which you hope may suit her, and which,
+she most devoutly hopes may suit her, too?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This has been a perfectly delightful day,&rdquo; he said
+as they rose.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you want me to corroborate you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Could you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve had a wonderful time,&rdquo; she said lightly.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_VI' id='CHAPTER_VI'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+</div>
+<p>John Estridge, out of a job&ndash;&ndash;as were a million
+odd others now arriving from France by every
+transport&ndash;&ndash;met James Shotwell, Junior, one wintry
+day as the latter was leaving the real estate offices
+of Sharrow &amp; Co.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The devil,&rdquo; exclaimed Estridge; &ldquo;I supposed you, at
+least, were safe in the service, Jim! Isn&rsquo;t your regiment
+in Germany?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is,&rdquo; replied Shotwell wrathfully, shaking hands.
+&ldquo;Where do you come from, Jack?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;From hell&ndash;&ndash;via Copenhagen. In milder but misleading
+metaphor, I come from Holy Russia.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did the Red Cross fire you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, but they told me to run along home like a
+good boy and get my degree. I&rsquo;m not an M.D., you
+know. And there&rsquo;s a shortage. So I had to come.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Same here; I had to come.&rdquo; And Shotwell, for
+Estridge&rsquo;s enlightenment, held a post-mortem over the
+premature decease of his promising military career.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Too bad,&rdquo; commented the latter. &ldquo;It sure was exciting
+while it lasted&ndash;&ndash;our mixing it in the great game.
+There&rsquo;s pandemonium to pay in Russia, now;&ndash;&ndash;I rather
+hated to leave.... But it was either leave or be
+shot up. The Bolsheviki are impossible.... Are
+you walking up town?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They fell into step together.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll go back to the P. &amp; S., I suppose,&rdquo; ventured
+Shotwell.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. And you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m already nailed down to the old oaken desk.
+Sharrow&rsquo;s my boss, if you remember?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It must seem dull,&rdquo; said Estridge sympathetically.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rotten dull.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t mean business too, do you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, that&rsquo;s also on the bum.... I did contrive
+to sell a small house the other day&ndash;&ndash;and blew myself
+to this overcoat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that so unusual?&rdquo; asked Estridge, smiling,&ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;to
+sell a house in town?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, it&rsquo;s a miracle in these days. Tell me, Jack,
+how did you get on in Russia?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Too many Reds. We couldn&rsquo;t do much. They&rsquo;ve
+got it in for everybody except themselves.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The socialists?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not the social revolutionists. I&rsquo;m talking about
+the Reds.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t they make the revolution?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They did not.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, who are the Reds, and what is it they want?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They want to set the world on fire. Then they
+want to murder and rob everybody with any education.
+Then they plan to start things from the stone age
+again. They want loot and blood. That&rsquo;s really all
+they want. Their object is to annihilate civilisation by
+exterminating the civilised. They desire to start all
+over from first principles&ndash;&ndash;without possessing any&ndash;&ndash;and
+turn the murderous survivors of the human massacre
+into one vast, international pack of wolves. And
+they&rsquo;re beginning to do it in Russia.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A pleasant programme,&rdquo; remarked Shotwell. &ldquo;No
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span>
+wonder you beat it, Jack. I recently met a woman who
+had just arrived from Russia. They murdered her best
+friend&ndash;&ndash;one of the little Grand Duchesses. She simply
+can&rsquo;t talk about it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That was a beastly business,&rdquo; nodded Estridge.
+&ldquo;I happen to know a little about it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Were <i>you</i> in that district?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, no,&ndash;&ndash;not when that thing happened. But some
+little time before the Bolsheviki murdered the Imperial
+family I had occasion to escort an American girl to
+the convent where they were held under detention....
+An exceedingly pretty girl,&rdquo; he added absently.
+&ldquo;She was once companion to one of the murdered Imperial
+children.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Shotwell glanced up quickly: &ldquo;Her name, by any
+chance, doesn&rsquo;t happen to be Palla Dumont?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, yes. Do you know her?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I sold her that house I was telling you about. Do
+you know her well, Jack?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge smiled. &ldquo;Yes and no. Perhaps I know her
+better than she suspects.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Shotwell laughed, recollecting his friend&rsquo;s inclination
+for analysing character and his belief in his ability to
+do so.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Same old scientific vivisectionist!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;So
+you&rsquo;ve been dissecting Palla Dumont, have you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly. She&rsquo;s a type.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A charming one,&rdquo; added Shotwell.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, very.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you don&rsquo;t know her well&ndash;&ndash;outside of having
+mentally vivisected her?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge laughed: &ldquo;Palla Dumont and I have been
+through some rather hair-raising scrapes together. And
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span>
+I&rsquo;ll admit right now that she possesses all kinds of
+courage&ndash;&ndash;perhaps too many kinds.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How do you mean?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She has the courage of her convictions and her
+convictions, sometimes, don&rsquo;t amount to much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go on and cut her up,&rdquo; said Shotwell, sarcastically.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the only fault I find with Palla Dumont,&rdquo;
+explained the other.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought you said she was a type?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She is,&ndash;&ndash;the type of unmarried woman who continually
+develops too much pep for her brain to properly
+take care of.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean you consider Palla Dumont neurotic?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. Nothing abnormal. Perhaps super-normal&ndash;&ndash;pathologically
+speaking. Bodily health is fine. But
+over-secretion of ardent energy sometimes disturbs one&rsquo;s
+mental equilibrium. The result, in a crisis, is likely
+to result in extravagant behavior. Martyrs are made
+of such stuff, for example.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You think her a visionary?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, her reason and her emotions sometimes become
+rather badly entangled, I fancy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t everybody&rsquo;s?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At intervals. Then the thing to do is to keep perfectly
+cool till the fit is over.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So you think her impulsive?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I should say so!&rdquo; smiled Estridge. &ldquo;Of course
+I mean nicely impulsive&ndash;&ndash;even nobly impulsive....
+But that won&rsquo;t help her. Impulse never helped anybody.
+It&rsquo;s a spoke in the wheel&ndash;&ndash;a stumbling block&ndash;&ndash;a
+stick to trip anybody.... Particularly a girl....
+And Palla Dumont mistakes impulse for
+logic. She honestly thinks that she reasons.&rdquo; He
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span>
+smiled to himself: &ldquo;A disturbingly pretty girl,&rdquo; he
+murmured, &ldquo;with a tender heart ... which seems
+to do all her thinking for her.... How well do
+you know her, Jim?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not well. But I&rsquo;m going to, I hope.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge glanced up interrogatively, suddenly remembering
+all the uncontradicted gossip concerning a
+tacit understanding between Shotwell, Jr., and Elorn
+Sharrow. It is true that no engagement had been announced;
+but none had been denied, either. And Miss
+Sharrow had inherited her mother&rsquo;s fortune. And Shotwell,
+Jr., made only a young man&rsquo;s living.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You ought to be rather careful with such a girl,&rdquo;
+he remarked carelessly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How, careful?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, she&rsquo;s rather perilously attractive, isn&rsquo;t she?&rdquo;
+insisted Estridge smilingly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s extremely interesting.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She certainly is. She&rsquo;s rather an amazing girl in
+her way. More amazing than perhaps you imagine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Amazing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, even astounding.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For example?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll give you an example. When the Reds invaded
+that convent and seized the Czarina and her children,
+Palla Dumont, then a novice of six weeks, attempted
+martyrdom by pretending that she herself was the little
+Grand Duchess Marie. And when the Reds refused
+to believe her, she demanded the privilege of dying
+beside her little friend. She even insulted the Reds,
+defied them, taunted them until they swore to return
+and cut her throat as soon as they finished with the
+Imperial family. And then this same Palla Dumont, to
+whom you sold a house in New York the other day,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span>
+flew into an ungovernable passion; tried to batter her
+way into the cellar; shattered half a dozen chapel
+chairs against the oak door of the crypt behind which
+preparations for the assassination were taking place;
+then, helpless, called on God to interfere and put a
+stop to it. And, when deity, as usual, didn&rsquo;t interfere
+with the scheme of things, this girl tore the white veil
+from her face and the habit from her body and denounced
+as nonexistent any alleged deity that permitted
+such things to be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Shotwell gazed at Estridge in blank astonishment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where on earth did you hear all that dope?&rdquo; he
+demanded incredulously.</p>
+<p>Estridge smiled: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all quite true, Jim. And
+Palla Dumont escaped having her slender throat slit
+open only because a sotnia of Kaladines&rsquo; Cossacks cantered
+up, discovered what the Reds were up to in the
+cellar, and beat it with Palla and another girl just in
+the nick of time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who handed you this cinema stuff?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>The other girl.</i>&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You believe her?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can judge for yourself. This other girl was a
+young Swedish soldier who had served in the Battalion
+of Death. It&rsquo;s really cinema stuff, as you say. But
+Russia, to-day, is just one hell after another in an
+endless and bloody drama. Such picturesque incidents,&ndash;&ndash;the
+wildest episodes, the craziest coincidences&ndash;&ndash;are
+occurring by thousands every day of the year in Russia....
+And, Jim, it was due to one of those daily
+and crazy coincidences that my sleigh, in which I was
+beating it for Helsingfors, was held up by that same
+sotnia of the Wild Division on a bitter day, near the
+borders of a pine forest.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;And that&rsquo;s where I encountered Palla Dumont again.
+And that&rsquo;s where I heard&ndash;&ndash;not from her, but from her
+soldier comrade, Ilse Westgard&ndash;&ndash;the story I have just
+told you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For a while they continued to walk up and down
+in silence.</p>
+<p>Finally Estridge said: &ldquo;<i>There</i> was a girl for you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Palla Dumont!&rdquo; nodded Shotwell, still too astonished
+to talk.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, the other.... An amazing girl....
+Nearly six feet; physically perfect;&ndash;&ndash;what the human
+girl ought to be and seldom is;&ndash;&ndash;symmetrical, flawless,
+healthy&ndash;&ndash;a super-girl ... like some young
+daughter of the northern gods!... Ilse Westgard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One of those women soldiers, you say?&rdquo; inquired
+Shotwell, mildly curious.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. There were all kinds of women in that Death
+Battalion. We saw them,&ndash;&ndash;your friend Palla Dumont
+and I,&ndash;&ndash;saw them halted and standing at ease in a
+birch wood; saw them marching into fire....
+And there were all sorts of women, Jim; peasant,
+bourgeoise and aristocrat;&ndash;&ndash;there were dressmakers,
+telephone operators, servant-girls, students, Red Cross
+nurses, actresses from the Marinsky, Jewesses from the
+Pale, sisters of the Yellow Ticket, Japanese girls,
+Chinese, Cossack, English, Finnish, French....
+And they went over the top cheering for Russia!...
+They went over to shame the army which had
+begun to run from the hun.... Pretty fine,
+wasn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fine!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You bet!... After this war&ndash;&ndash;after what
+women have done the world over&ndash;&ndash;I wonder whether
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span>
+there are any asses left who desire to restrict woman
+to a &lsquo;sphere&rsquo;?... I&rsquo;d like to see Ilse Westgard
+again,&rdquo; he added absently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Was she a peasant girl?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. A daughter of well-to-do people. Quite the
+better sort, I should say. And she was more thoroughly
+educated than the average girl of our own sort....
+A brave and cheerful soldier in the Battalion of Death....
+Ilse Westgard.... Amazing, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>After another brief silence Shotwell ventured: &ldquo;I suppose
+you&rsquo;d find it agreeable to meet Palla Dumont
+again, wouldn&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, yes, of course,&rdquo; replied the other pleasantly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then, if you like, she&rsquo;ll ask us to tea some day&ndash;&ndash;after
+her new house is in shape.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You seem to be very sure about what Palla Dumont
+is likely to do,&rdquo; said Estridge, smiling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Indeed, I&rsquo;m not!&rdquo; retorted Shotwell, with emphasis.
+&ldquo;Palla Dumont has a mind of her own,&ndash;&ndash;although you
+don&rsquo;t seem to think so,&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think she has a <i>will</i> of her own,&rdquo; interrupted the
+other, amused.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Glad you concede her <i>some</i> mental attribute.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do indeed! I never intimated that she is weak-willed.
+She isn&rsquo;t. Other and stronger wills don&rsquo;t
+dominate hers. Perhaps it would be better if they did
+sometimes....</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But no; Palla Dumont arrives headlong at her own
+red-hot decisions. It is not the will of others that influences
+her; it is their indecision, their lack of willpower,
+their very weakness that seems to stimulate and
+vitally influence such a character as Palla Dumont&rsquo;s&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;Such a <i>character</i>?&rdquo; repeated Shotwell. &ldquo;What
+sort of character do you suppose hers to be, anyway?
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span>
+Between you and your psychological and pathological
+surmises you don&rsquo;t seem to leave her any character at
+all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m telling you,&rdquo; said Estridge, &ldquo;that the girl is
+influenced not by the will or desire of others, but by
+their necessities, their distress, their needs....
+Or what she believes to be their needs.... And
+you may decide for yourself how valuable are the conclusions
+of an impulsive, wilful, fearless, generous girl
+whose heart regulates her thinking apparatus.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;According to you, then, she is practically mindless,&rdquo;
+remarked Shotwell, ironically. &ldquo;You medically minded
+gentlemen are wonders!&ndash;&ndash;all of you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t get me. The girl is clever and intelligent
+when her accumulated emotions let her brain
+alone. When they interfere, her logic goes to smash
+and she does exaggerated things&ndash;&ndash;like trying to sacrifice
+herself for her friend in the convent there&ndash;&ndash;like
+tearing off the white garments of her novitiate and
+denouncing deity!&ndash;&ndash;like embracing an extravagant pantheistic
+religion of her own manufacture and proclaiming
+that the Law of Love is the only law!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve heard the young lady on the subject, Jim.
+And, medically minded or not, I&rsquo;m medically on to her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They walked on together in silence for nearly a
+whole block; then Estridge said bluntly:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;d be better balanced if she were married and
+had a few children. Such types usually are.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Shotwell made no comment. Presently the other
+spoke again:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Law of Love! What rot! That&rsquo;s sheer hysteria.
+Follow that law and you become a saint, perhaps,
+perhaps a devil. Love sacred, love profane&ndash;&ndash;both,
+when exaggerated, arise from the same physical
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span>
+condition&ndash;&ndash;too much pep for the mind to distribute.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What happens? Exaggerations. Extravagances.
+Hallucinations. Mysticisms.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What results? Nuns. Hermits. Yogis. Exhorters.
+Fanatics. Cranks. <i>Sometimes.</i> For, from the
+same chrysalis, Jim, may emerge either a vestal, or
+one of those tragic characters who, swayed by this same
+remarkable Law of Love, may give ... and burn
+on&ndash;&ndash;slowly&ndash;&ndash;from the first lover to the next. And so,
+into darkness.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He added, smiling: &ldquo;The only law of love subscribed
+to by sane people is framed by a balanced brain and
+interpreted by common sense. Those who obey any
+other code go a-glimmering, saint and sinner, novice
+and Magdalene alike.... This is your street, I
+believe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They shook hands cordially.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>After dining <i>en famille</i>, Shotwell Junior considered
+the various diversions offered to young business men
+after a day of labour.</p>
+<p>There were theatres; there was the Club de Vingt
+and similar agreeable asylums; there was also a telephone
+to ring, and unpremeditated suggestions to make
+to friends, either masculine or feminine.</p>
+<p>Or he could read and improve his mind. Or go to
+Carnegie Hall with his father and mother and listen to
+music of sorts.... Or&ndash;&ndash;he could call up Elorn
+Sharrow.</p>
+<p>He couldn&rsquo;t decide; and his parents presently derided
+him and departed music-ward without him. He read
+an evening paper, discarded it, poked the fire, stood
+before it, jingled a few coins and keys in his pocket,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span>
+still undecided, still rather disinclined to any exertion,
+even as far as the club.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wonder,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;what that girl is doing
+now. I&rsquo;ve a mind to call her up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He seemed to know whom he meant by &ldquo;that girl.&rdquo;
+Also, it was evident that he did not mean Elorn Sharrow;
+for it was not her number he called and presently
+got.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Dumont?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes? Who is it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a mere nobody. It&rsquo;s only your broker&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>What!!</i>&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your real-estate broker&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Shotwell! How absurd of you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why absurd?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because I don&rsquo;t think of you merely as a real-estate
+broker.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you <i>do</i> sometimes think of me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What power of deduction! What logic! You seem
+to be in a particularly frivolous frame of mind. Are
+you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; I&rsquo;m in a bad one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because I haven&rsquo;t a bally thing to do this evening.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s silly!&ndash;&ndash;with the entire town outside....
+I&rsquo;m glad you called me up, anyway. I&rsquo;m tired and
+bored and exceedingly cross.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What are you doing, Miss Dumont?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Absolutely and idiotically nothing. I&rsquo;m merely
+sitting here on the only chair in this scantily furnished
+house, and trying to plan what sort of carpets, draperies
+and furniture to buy. Can you imagine the scene?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought you had some things.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t anything! Not even a decent mirror. I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span>
+stand on the slippery edge of a bath tub to get a complete
+view of myself. And then it&rsquo;s only by sections.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s tragic. Have you a cook?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have. But no dining room table. I eat from a
+tray on a packing case.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you a waitress?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and a maid. They&rsquo;re comfortable. I bought
+their furniture immediately and also the batterie-de-cuisine.
+It&rsquo;s only I who slink about like a perplexed
+cat, from one empty room to another, in search of
+familiar comforts.... But I bought a sofa
+to-day.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a wonderful sofa. It&rsquo;s here, now. It&rsquo;s an
+antique. But I can&rsquo;t make up my mind how to upholster
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Would you care for a suggestion?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;d have to see it&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought you&rsquo;d say that. Really, Mr. Shotwell,
+I&rsquo;d like most awfully to see you, but this place is too
+uncomfortable. I told you I&rsquo;d ask you to tea some
+day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you let me come down for a few moments this
+evening&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;And pay you a formal little call&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.... Would you really like to?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I would.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t after you got here. There&rsquo;s nothing
+for you to sit on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What about the floor?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s dusty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What about that antique sofa?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not upholstered.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;What do I care! May I come?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you really wish to?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How soon?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As fast as I can get there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He heard her laughing. Then: &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be perfectly
+delighted to see you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I was actually thinking
+of taking to my bed out of sheer boredom. Are
+you coming in a taxi?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He heard her laughing again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;only I thought that
+might be the quickest way&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; Her laughter interrupted
+her, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;to bring me the evening papers. I haven&rsquo;t a
+thing to read.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>That&rsquo;s</i> why you want me to take a taxi!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is. News is a necessity to me, and I&rsquo;m famishing....
+What other reason could there be for a taxi?
+Did you suppose I was in a hurry to see you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He listened to her laughter for a moment:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take a taxi and bring a
+book for myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And please don&rsquo;t forget my evening papers or I
+shall have to requisition your book.... Or possibly
+share it with you on the upholstered sofa....
+And I read very rapidly and don&rsquo;t like being kept waiting
+for slower people to turn the page.... Mr.
+Shotwell?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is a wonderful floor. Could you bring some
+roller skates?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but I&rsquo;ll bring a music box and we&rsquo;ll
+dance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re not serious&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I am. Wait and see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t do such a thing. My servants would think
+me crazy. I&rsquo;m mortally afraid of them, too.&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>He found a toy-shop on Third Avenue still open,
+and purchased a solemn little music-box that played
+ting-a-ling tunes.</p>
+<p>Then, in his taxi, he veered over to Fifth Avenue and
+Forty-second Street, where he bought roses and a
+spray of orchids. Then, adding to his purchases a
+huge box of bon-bons, he set his course for the three
+story and basement house which he had sold to Palla
+Dumont.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_VII' id='CHAPTER_VII'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+</div>
+<p>Shotwell Senior and his wife were dining
+out that evening.</p>
+<p>Shotwell Junior had no plans&ndash;&ndash;or admitted
+none, even to himself. He got into a bath and later into
+a dinner jacket, in an absent-minded way, and finally
+sauntered into the library wearing a vague scowl.</p>
+<p>The weather had turned colder, and there was an
+open fire there, and a convenient armchair and the
+evening papers.</p>
+<p>Perhaps the young gentleman had read them down
+town, for he shoved them aside. Then he dropped an
+elbow on the table, rested his chin against his knuckles,
+and gazed fiercely at the inoffensive <i>Evening Post</i>.</p>
+<p>Before any open fire any young man ought to be
+able to make up whatever mind he chances to possess.
+Yet, what to do with a winter evening all his own
+seemed to him a problem unfathomable.</p>
+<p>Perhaps his difficulty lay only in selection&ndash;&ndash;there are
+so many agreeable things for a young man to do in
+Gotham Town on a winter&rsquo;s evening.</p>
+<p>But, oddly enough, young Shotwell was trying to
+persuade himself that he had no choice of occupation
+for the evening; that he really didn&rsquo;t care. Yet, always
+two intrusive alternatives continually presented themselves.
+The one was to change his coat for a spike-tail,
+his black tie for a white one, and go to the Metropolitan
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span>
+Opera. The other and more attractive alternative was
+<i>not</i> to go.</p>
+<p>Elorn Sharrow would be at the opera. To appear,
+now and then, in the Sharrow family&rsquo;s box was expected
+of him. He hadn&rsquo;t done it recently.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>He dropped one lean leg over the other and gazed
+gravely at the fire. He was still trying to convince
+himself that he had no particular plan for the evening&ndash;&ndash;that
+it was quite likely he might go to the opera
+or to the club&ndash;&ndash;or, in fact, almost anywhere his fancy
+suggested.</p>
+<p>In his effort to believe himself the scowl came back,
+denting his eyebrows. Presently he forced a yawn,
+unsuccessfully.</p>
+<p>Yes, he thought he&rsquo;d better go to the opera, after
+all. He ought to go.... It seemed to be rather
+expected of him.</p>
+<p>Besides, he had nothing else to do&ndash;&ndash;that is, nothing
+in particular&ndash;&ndash;unless, of course&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>But <i>that</i> would scarcely do. He&rsquo;d been <i>there</i> so
+often recently.... No, <i>that</i> wouldn&rsquo;t do....
+Besides it was becoming almost a habit with him.
+He&rsquo;d been drifting there so frequently of late!...
+In fact, he&rsquo;d scarcely been anywhere at all, recently,
+except&ndash;&ndash;except where he certainly was not going that
+evening. And that settled it!... So he might as
+well go to the opera.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>His mother, in scarf and evening wrap, passing the
+library door on her way down, paused in the hall and
+looked intently at her only son.</p>
+<p>Recently she had been observing him rather closely
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span>
+and with a vague uneasiness born of that inexplicable
+sixth sense inherent in mothers.</p>
+<p>Perhaps what her son had faced in France accounted
+for the change in him;&ndash;&ndash;for it was being said that
+no man could come back from such scenes unchanged;&ndash;&ndash;none
+could ever again be the same. And it was
+being said, too, that old beliefs and ideals had altered;
+that everything familiar was ending;&ndash;&ndash;and that the
+former things had already passed away under the
+glimmering dawn of a new heaven and a new earth.</p>
+<p>Perhaps all this was so&ndash;&ndash;though she doubted it.
+Perhaps this son she had borne in agony might become
+to her somebody less familiar than the baby she had
+nursed at her own breast.</p>
+<p>But so far, to her, he continued to remain the same
+familiar baby she had always known&ndash;&ndash;the same and
+utterly vital part of her soul and body. No sudden
+fulfilment of an apocalypse had yet wrought any occult
+metamorphosis in this boy of hers.</p>
+<p>And if he now seemed changed it was from that simple
+and familiar cause instinctively understood by mothers,&ndash;&ndash;trouble!&ndash;&ndash;the
+most ancient plague of all and the
+only malady which none escapes.</p>
+<p>She was a rather startlingly pretty woman, with the
+delicate features and colour and the snow-white hair
+of an 18th century belle. She stood, now, drawing on
+her gloves and watching her son out of dark-fringed
+deep blue eyes, until he glanced around uneasily. Then
+he rose at once, looking at her with fire-dazzled eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t rise, dear,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;the car is here and
+your father is fussing and fuming in the drawing-room,
+and I&rsquo;ve got to run.... Have you any plans
+for the evening?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;None, mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re dining at home?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you go to the opera to-night? It&rsquo;s the
+Sharrows&rsquo; night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He came toward her irresolutely. &ldquo;Perhaps I shall,&rdquo;
+he said. And instantly she knew he did not intend
+to go.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I had tea at the Sharrows&rsquo;,&rdquo; she said, carelessly,
+still buttoning her gloves. &ldquo;Elorn told me that she
+hadn&rsquo;t laid eyes on you for ages.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s happened so.... I&rsquo;ve had a lot of things
+to do&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You and she still agree, don&rsquo;t you, Jim?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, yes&ndash;&ndash;as usual. We always get on together.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Helen Shotwell&rsquo;s ermine wrap slipped; he caught it
+and fastened it for her, and she took hold of both his
+hands and drew his arms tightly around her pretty
+shoulders.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What troubles you, darling?&rdquo; she asked smilingly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, nothing, mother&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Really, there is nothing, dear&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell me when you are ready, then,&rdquo; she laughed and
+released him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But there isn&rsquo;t anything,&rdquo; he insisted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Jim, there is. Do you suppose I don&rsquo;t know
+you after all these years?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She considered him with clear, amused eyes: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
+forget,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;that I was only seventeen when
+you arrived, my son; and I have grown up with you
+ever since&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For heaven&rsquo;s sake, Helen!&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; protested Sharrow
+Senior plaintively from the front hall below. &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t
+you gossip with Jim some other time?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m on my way, James,&rdquo; she announced calmly.
+&ldquo;Put your overcoat on.&rdquo; And, to her son: &ldquo;Go to the
+opera. Elorn will cheer you up. Isn&rsquo;t that a good
+idea?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s&ndash;&ndash;certainly&ndash;&ndash;an idea.... I&rsquo;ll think
+it over.... And, mother, if I seem solemn at
+times, please try to remember how rotten every fellow
+feels about being out of the service&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her gay, derisive laughter checked him, warning him
+that he was not imposing on her credulity. She said
+smilingly:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You have neglected Elorn Sharrow, and you know
+it, and it&rsquo;s on your conscience&ndash;&ndash;whatever else may be
+on it, too. And that&rsquo;s partly why you feel blue. So
+keep out of mischief, darling, and stop neglecting
+Elorn&ndash;&ndash;that is, if you ever really expect to marry
+her&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve told you that I have never asked her; and I
+never intend to ask her until I am making a decent
+living,&rdquo; he said impatiently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t there an understanding between you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why&ndash;&ndash;I don&rsquo;t think so. There couldn&rsquo;t be. We&rsquo;ve
+never spoken of that sort of thing in our lives!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think she expects you to ask her some day.
+Everybody else does, anyway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, that is the one thing I <i>won&rsquo;t</i> do,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;go about with the seat out of my pants and ask
+an heiress to sew on the patch for me&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Darling! You <i>can</i> be so common when you try!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, it amounts to that&ndash;&ndash;doesn&rsquo;t it, mother? I
+don&rsquo;t care what busy gossips say or idle people expect
+me to do! There&rsquo;s no engagement, no understanding
+between Elorn and me. And I don&rsquo;t care a hang what
+anybody&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span></div>
+<p>His mother framed his slightly flushed face between
+her gloved hands and inspected him humorously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well, dear,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;but you need not be
+so emphatically excited about it&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not excited&ndash;&ndash;but it irritates me to be expected
+to do anything because it&rsquo;s expected of me&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;
+He shrugged his shoulders:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;After all,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;if I ever should fall in love
+with anybody it&rsquo;s my own business. And whatever I
+choose to do about it will be my own affair. And I
+shall keep my own counsel in any event.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His mother stepped forward, letting both her hands
+fall into his.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wouldn&rsquo;t you tell me about it, Jim?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d tell you before I&rsquo;d tell anybody else&ndash;&ndash;if it ever
+became serious.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If <i>what</i> became serious?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well&ndash;&ndash;anything of that sort,&rdquo; he replied. But a
+bright colour stained his features and made him wince
+under her intent scrutiny.</p>
+<p>She was worried, now, though her pretty, humorous
+smile still challenged him with its raillery.</p>
+<p>But it was becoming very evident to her that if this
+boy of hers were growing sentimental over any woman
+the woman was not Elorn Sharrow.</p>
+<p>So far she had held her son&rsquo;s confidence. She must
+do nothing to disturb it. Yet, as she looked at him
+with the amused smile still edging her lips, she began
+for the first time in her life to be afraid.</p>
+<p>They kissed each other in silence.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>In the limousine, seated beside her husband, she said
+presently: &ldquo;I wish Jim would marry Elorn Sharrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s likely to some day, isn&rsquo;t he?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, there&rsquo;s no hurry,&rdquo; remarked her husband.
+&ldquo;He ought not to marry anybody until he&rsquo;s thirty, and
+he&rsquo;s only twenty-four. I&rsquo;m glad enough to have him
+remain at home with us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But that&rsquo;s what worries me; he <i>doesn&rsquo;t</i>!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t what?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t remain at home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her husband laughed: &ldquo;Well, I meant it merely in
+a figurative sense. Of course Jim goes out&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, everywhere, I suppose,&rdquo; said her husband, a
+little surprised at her tone.</p>
+<p>She said calmly: &ldquo;I hear things&ndash;&ndash;pick up bits of
+gossip&ndash;&ndash;as all women do.... And at a tea the
+other day a man asked me why Jim never goes to his
+clubs any more. So you see he doesn&rsquo;t go to any of
+his clubs when he goes &lsquo;out&rsquo; in the evenings....
+And he&rsquo;s been to no dances&ndash;&ndash;judging from what is
+said to me.... And he doesn&rsquo;t go to see Elorn
+Sharrow any more. She told me that herself. So&ndash;&ndash;where
+does he go?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, but&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where <i>does</i> he go&ndash;&ndash;every evening?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I couldn&rsquo;t answer&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Every evening!&rdquo; she repeated absently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good heavens, Helen&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And what is on that boy&rsquo;s mind? There&rsquo;s something
+on it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;His business, let us hope&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She shook her head: &ldquo;I know my son,&rdquo; she remarked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So do I. What is particularly troubling you, dear?
+There&rsquo;s something you haven&rsquo;t told me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m merely wondering who that girl was who lunched
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span>
+with him at Delmonico&rsquo;s&ndash;&ndash;<i>three times</i>&ndash;&ndash;last week,&rdquo;
+mused his wife.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why&ndash;&ndash;she&rsquo;s probably all right, Helen. A man
+doesn&rsquo;t take the other sort there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I&rsquo;ve heard,&rdquo; she said drily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing.... She&rsquo;s very pretty, I understand....
+And wears mourning.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What of it?&rdquo; he asked, amused. She smiled at him,
+but there was a trace of annoyance in her voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think it very natural that I should wonder
+who any girl is who lunches with my son three times
+in one week?... And is remarkably pretty, besides?&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>The girl in question looked remarkably pretty at that
+very moment, where she sat at her desk, the telephone
+transmitter tilted toward her, the receiver at her ear,
+and her dark eyes full of gayest malice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Dumont, please?&rdquo; came a distant and familiar
+voice over the wire. The girl laughed aloud; and he
+heard her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You <i>said</i> you were not going to call me up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it <i>you</i>, Palla?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How subtle of you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He said anxiously. &ldquo;Are you doing anything this
+evening&ndash;&ndash;by any unhappy chance&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, hang it! What <i>are</i> you doing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How impertinent!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know I don&rsquo;t mean it that way&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not sure. However, I&rsquo;ll be kind enough to tell
+you what I&rsquo;m doing. I&rsquo;m sitting here at my desk,
+listening to an irritable young man&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s wonderful luck!&rdquo; he exclaimed joyously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wonderful luck for a girl to sit at a desk and listen
+to an irritable young man?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you&rsquo;ll stop talking bally nonsense for a moment&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you bully me, I shall stop talking altogether!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For heaven&rsquo;s sake&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hear you, kind sir; you need not shout!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He said humbly: &ldquo;Palla, would you let me drop
+in&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Drop into what? Into poetry? Please do!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For the love of&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim! You told me last evening that you expected
+to be at the opera to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not going.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;So I didn&rsquo;t expect you to call me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t I see you?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The deuce!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m expecting some people, Jim. It&rsquo;s your own fault;
+I didn&rsquo;t expect a t&ecirc;te-&agrave;-t&ecirc;te with you this evening.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it a party you&rsquo;re giving?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Two or three people. But my place is full of
+flowers and as pretty as a garden. Too bad you can&rsquo;t
+see it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Couldn&rsquo;t I come to your garden-party?&rdquo; he asked
+humbly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean just to see my garden for a moment?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; let me come around for a moment, anyway&ndash;&ndash;if
+you&rsquo;re dressed. Are you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly I&rsquo;m dressed. Did you think it was to be
+a garden-of-Eden party?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her gay, mischievous laughter came distinctly to
+him over the wire. Then her mood changed abruptly:</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;You funny boy,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t you understand
+that I want you to come?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You enchanting girl!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Do you
+really mean it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course! And if you come at once we&rsquo;ll have
+nearly an hour together before anybody arrives.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She had that sweet, unguarded way with her at
+moments, and it always sent a faint shock of surprise
+and delight through him.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Her smiling maid admitted him and took his hat,
+coat and stick as though accustomed to these particular
+articles.</p>
+<p>Palla was alone in the living-room when he was announced,
+and as soon as the maid disappeared she gave
+him both hands in swift welcome&ndash;&ndash;an impulsive, unconsidered
+greeting entirely new to them both.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t mind my tormenting you. Did you,
+Jim? I was so happy that you did call me up, after
+all. Because you know you <i>did</i> tell me yesterday
+that you were going to the opera to-night. But all the
+same, when the &rsquo;phone rang, somehow I knew it was
+you&ndash;&ndash;I knew it&ndash;&ndash;somehow&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She loosened one hand from his and swung him with
+the other toward the piano: &ldquo;Do you like my flower
+garden? Isn&rsquo;t the room attractive?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Charming,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And you are distractingly
+pretty to-night!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In this dull, black gown? But, <i>merci</i>, anyway!
+See how effective your roses are!&ndash;&ndash;the ones you sent
+yesterday and the day before! They&rsquo;re all opening.
+And I went out and bought a lot more, and all that
+fluffy green camouflage&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She withdrew her other hand from his without embarrassment
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span>
+and went over to rearrange a sheaf of
+deep red carnations, spreading the clustered stems to
+wider circumference.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is this party you&rsquo;re giving, anyway?&rdquo; he
+asked, following her across the room and leaning beside
+her on the piano, where she still remained very busily
+engaged with her decorations.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An impromptu party,&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;I was shopping
+this morning&ndash;&ndash;in fact I was buying pots and
+pans for the cook&ndash;&ndash;when somebody spoke to me. And
+I recognised a university student whom I had known
+in Petrograd after the first revolution&ndash;&ndash;Marya Lanois,
+her name is&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She moved aside and began to fuss with a huge bowl
+of crimson roses, loosening the blossoms, freeing the
+foliage, and talking happily all the while:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marya Lanois,&rdquo; she repeated, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;an interesting
+girl. And with her was a man I had met&ndash;&ndash;a pianist&ndash;&ndash;Vanya
+Tchernov. They told me that another friend
+of mine&ndash;&ndash;a girl named Ilse Westgard&ndash;&ndash;is now living
+in New York. They couldn&rsquo;t dine with me, but they&rsquo;re
+coming to supper. So I also called up Ilse Westgard,
+she&rsquo;s coming, too;&ndash;&ndash;and I also asked your friend, Mr.
+Estridge. So you see, Monsieur, we shall have a little
+music and much valuable conversation, and then I shall
+give them some supper&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stepped back from the piano, surveyed her handiwork
+critically, then looked around at him for his
+opinion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fine,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;How jolly your new house is&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;glancing
+about the room at the few well chosen pieces
+of antique furniture, the harmonious hangings and comfortably
+upholstered modern pieces.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It really is beginning to be livable; isn&rsquo;t it, Jim?&rdquo;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span>
+she ventured. &ldquo;Of course there are many things yet
+to buy&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They leisurely made the tour of the white-panelled
+room, looking with approval at the delicate Georgian
+furniture; the mezzotints; the damask curtains of that
+beautiful red which has rose-tints in it, too; the charming
+old French clock and its lovely gilded garniture;
+the deep-toned ash-grey carpet under foot.</p>
+<p>Before the mantel, with its wood fire blazing, they
+paused.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s so enchantingly homelike,&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;I
+already love it all. When I come in from shopping I
+just stand here with my hat and furs on, and gaze
+about and adore everything!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you adore me, too?&rdquo; he asked, laughing at her
+warmth. &ldquo;You see I&rsquo;m becoming one of your fixtures
+here, also.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In her brown eyes the familiar irresponsible gaiety
+began to glimmer:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do adore you,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;but I&rsquo;ve no business to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She seated herself on the sofa and cast a veiled
+glance at him, enchantingly malicious.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you think you know me well enough to adore
+me?&rdquo; she inquired with misleading gravity.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Indeed I do&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Am I as easy to know as that? Jim, you humiliate
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t say that you are easy to know&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You meant it!&rdquo; she insisted reproachfully. &ldquo;You
+think so, too&ndash;&ndash;just because I let myself be picked up&ndash;&ndash;by
+a perfectly strange man&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good heavens, Palla&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; he began nervously; but
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span>
+caught the glimmer in her lowered eyes&ndash;&ndash;saw her child&rsquo;s
+mouth tremulous with mirth controlled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Jim!&rdquo; she said, still laughing, &ldquo;do you think
+I care how we met? How absurd of you to let me
+torment you. You&rsquo;re altogether too boyish, too self-conscious.
+You&rsquo;re loaded down with all the silly traditions
+which I&rsquo;ve thrown away. I don&rsquo;t care how we
+met. I&rsquo;m glad we know each other.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She opened a silver box on a little table at her
+elbow, chose a cigarette, lighted it, and offered it to
+him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I rather like the taste of them now,&rdquo; she remarked,
+making room for him on the sofa beside her.</p>
+<p>When he was seated, she reached up to a jar of
+flowers on the piano, selected a white carnation, broke
+it short, and then drew the stem through his lapel,
+patting the blossom daintily into a pom-pon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; she said gaily, &ldquo;if you&rsquo;ll let me, I&rsquo;ll straighten
+your tie. Shall I?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He turned toward her; she accomplished that deftly,
+then glanced across at the clock.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve only half an hour longer to ourselves,&rdquo; she
+exclaimed, with that unconscious candour which always
+thrilled him. Then, turning to him, she said laughingly:
+&ldquo;Does it really matter how two people meet
+when time races with us like that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And do you realise,&rdquo; he said in a low, tense voice,
+&ldquo;that since I met you every racing minute has been
+sweeping me headlong toward you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She was so totally unprepared for the deeper emotion
+in his voice and bearing&ndash;&ndash;so utterly surprised&ndash;&ndash;that
+she merely gazed at him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you been aware of it, Palla?&rdquo; he said, looking
+her in the eyes.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim!&rdquo; she protested, &ldquo;you are disconcerting! You
+never before have taken such a tone toward me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She rose, walked over to the clock, examined it
+minutely for a few moments. Then she turned, cast a
+swift, perplexed glance at him, and came slowly back
+to resume her place on the sofa.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Men should be very, very careful what they say
+to me.&rdquo; As she lifted her eyes he saw them beginning
+to glimmer again with that irresponsible humour he
+knew so well.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be careful,&rdquo; she said, her brown gaze gay with
+warning; &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;I&rsquo;m godless and quite lawless, and I&rsquo;m
+a very dangerous companion for any well-behaved and
+orthodox young man who ventures to tell me that
+I&rsquo;m adorable. Why, you might as safely venture to
+adore Diana of the Ephesians! And you know what she
+did to her admirers.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She was really Aphrodite, wasn&rsquo;t she?&rdquo; he said,
+laughing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aphrodite, Venus, Isis, Lada&ndash;&ndash;and the Ephesian
+Diana&ndash;&ndash;I&rsquo;m afraid they all were hussies. But I&rsquo;m
+a hussy, too, Jim! If you doubt it, ask any well
+brought up girl you know and tell her how we met and
+how we&rsquo;ve behaved ever since, and what obnoxious
+ideas I entertain toward all things conventional and
+orthodox!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Palla, are you really serious?&ndash;&ndash;I&rsquo;m never entirely
+sure what is under your badinage.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, of course I am serious. I don&rsquo;t believe in
+any of the things that you believe in. I&rsquo;ve often told
+you so, though you don&rsquo;t believe me&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t, I tell you. I did once. But I&rsquo;m awake.
+No &lsquo;threats of hell or hopes of any sugary paradise&rsquo;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span>
+influence me. Nor does custom and convention. Nor
+do the laws and teachings of our present civilisation
+matter one straw to me. I&rsquo;d break every law if it
+suited me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed and lifted her hand from her lap: &ldquo;You
+funny child,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you wouldn&rsquo;t steal, for example&ndash;&ndash;would
+you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t desire to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Would you commit perjury?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Murder?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have a law of my own, kind sir. It doesn&rsquo;t
+happen to permit murder, arson, forgery, piracy,
+smuggling&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Their irresponsible laughter interrupted her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What else wouldn&rsquo;t you do?&rdquo; he managed to ask.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t do anything mean, deceitful, dishonest,
+cruel. But it&rsquo;s not your antiquated laws&ndash;&ndash;it&rsquo;s my own
+and original law that governs my conduct.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You always conform to it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do. But you don&rsquo;t conform to yours. So I&rsquo;ll
+try to help you remember the petty but always sacred
+conventions of our own accepted code&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And, with unfeigned malice, she began to disengage
+her hand from his&ndash;&ndash;loosened the slim fingers one by
+one, all the while watching him sideways with prim
+lips pursed and lifted eyebrows.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Try always to remember,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that, according
+to your code, any demonstration of affection toward
+a comparative stranger is exceedingly bad form.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>However, he picked up her hand again, which she
+had carelessly left lying on the sofa near his, and again
+she freed it, leisurely.</p>
+<p>They conversed animatedly, as always, discussing
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span>
+matters of common interest, yet faintly in her ears
+sounded the unfamiliar echo of passion.</p>
+<p>It haunted her mind, too&ndash;&ndash;an indefinable undertone
+delicately persistent&ndash;&ndash;until at last she sat mute, absent-minded,
+while he continued speaking.</p>
+<p>Her stillness&ndash;&ndash;her remote gaze, perhaps&ndash;&ndash;presently
+silenced him. And after a little while she turned her
+charming head and looked at him with that unintentional
+provocation born of virginal curiosity.</p>
+<p>What had moved him so unexpectedly to deeper
+emotion? Had she? Had she, then, that power? And
+without effort?&ndash;&ndash;For she had been conscious of none....
+But&ndash;&ndash;if she tried.... Had she the
+power to move him again?</p>
+<p>Na&iuml;ve instinct&ndash;&ndash;the emotionless curiosity of total inexperience&ndash;&ndash;everything
+embryonic and innocently ruthless
+in her was now in the ascendant.</p>
+<p>She lifted her eyes and considered him with the
+speculative candour of a child. She wished to hear once
+more that unfamiliar <i>something</i> in his voice&ndash;&ndash;see it in
+his features&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>And she did not know how to evoke it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of what are you thinking, Palla?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of you,&rdquo; she answered candidly, without other intention
+than the truth. And saw, instantly, the indefinable
+<i>something</i> born again into his eyes.</p>
+<p>Calm curiosity, faintly amused, possessed her&ndash;&ndash;left
+him possessed of her hand presently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you attempting to be sentimental?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>Very leisurely she began once more to disengage her
+hand&ndash;&ndash;loosening the fingers one by one&ndash;&ndash;and watching
+him all the while with a slight smile edging her lips.
+Then, as his clasp tightened:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;may I not have my freedom?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you want it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You never did this before&ndash;&ndash;touched me&ndash;&ndash;unnecessarily.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As he made no answer, she fell silent, her dark eyes
+vaguely interrogative as though questioning herself as
+well as him concerning this unaccustomed contact.</p>
+<p>His head had been bent a little. Now he lifted it.
+Neither was smiling.</p>
+<p>Suddenly she rose to her feet and stood with her
+head partly averted. He rose, too. Neither spoke.
+But after a moment she turned and looked straight at
+him, the virginal curiosity clear in her eyes. And he
+took her into his arms.</p>
+<p>Her arms had fallen to her side. She endured his lips
+gravely, then turned her head and looked at the roses
+beside her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was afraid,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that we would do this.
+Now let me go, Jim.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He released her in silence. She walked slowly to the
+mantel and set one slim foot on the fender.</p>
+<p>Without looking around at him she said: &ldquo;Does this
+spoil me for you, Jim?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You darling&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell me frankly. Does it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What on earth do you mean, Palla! Does it spoil
+<i>me</i> for you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been thinking.... No, it doesn&rsquo;t. But
+I wondered about you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He came over to where she stood.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dear,&rdquo; he said unsteadily, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t you know I&rsquo;m
+very desperately in love with you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At that she turned her enchanting little head toward
+him.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;If you are,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;there need be nothing desperate
+about it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean you care enough to marry me, you
+darling?&rdquo; he asked impetuously. &ldquo;Will you, Palla?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, no,&rdquo; she said candidly. &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t mean that.
+I meant that I care for you quite as much as you care
+for me. So you need not be desperate. But I really
+don&rsquo;t think we are in love&ndash;&ndash;I mean sufficiently&ndash;&ndash;for
+anything serious.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you think so!&rdquo; he demanded impatiently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you wish me to be quite frank?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well.&rdquo; She lifted her head and let her clear
+eyes rest on his. &ldquo;I like you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I even like&ndash;&ndash;what
+we did. I like you far better than any man
+I ever knew. But I do not care for you enough to give
+up my freedom of mind and of conduct for your asking.
+I do not care enough for you to subscribe to your
+religion and your laws. And that&rsquo;s the tragic truth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But what on earth has all that to do with it? I
+haven&rsquo;t asked you to believe as I believe or to subscribe
+to any law&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her enchanting laughter filled the room: &ldquo;Yes, you
+have! You asked me to marry you, didn&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I can&rsquo;t, Jim, because I don&rsquo;t believe in the
+law of marriage, civil or religious. If I loved you
+I&rsquo;d live with you unmarried. But I&rsquo;m afraid to try it.
+And so are you. Which proves that I&rsquo;m not really in
+love with you, or you with me&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The door bell rang.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I do care for you,&rdquo; she whispered, bending
+swiftly toward him. Her lips rested lightly on his a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span>
+moment, then she turned and walked out into the centre
+of the room.</p>
+<p>The maid announced: &ldquo;Mr. Estridge!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_VIII' id='CHAPTER_VIII'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+</div>
+<p>Young Shotwell, still too incredulous to be either
+hurt or angry, stood watching Palla welcoming
+her guests, who arrived within a few minutes of
+each other.</p>
+<p>First came Estridge,&ndash;&ndash;handsome, athletic, standing
+over six feet, and already possessed of that winning and
+reassuring manner which means success for a physician.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s nice of you to ask me, Palla,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And
+is Miss Westgard really coming to-night?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But here she is now!&rdquo; exclaimed Palla, as the maid
+announced her. &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;Ilse! You astonishing girl! How
+long have you been in New York?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And Shotwell beheld the six-foot goddess for the
+first time&ndash;&ndash;gazed with pleasurable awe upon this young
+super-creature with the sea-blue eyes and golden hair
+and a skin of roses and cream.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fancy, Palla!&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I came immediately back
+from Stockholm, but you had sailed on the <i>Elsinore</i>,
+and I was obliged to wait!&ndash;&ndash;Oh!&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; catching sight of
+Estridge as he advanced&ndash;&ndash;&ldquo;I am so very happy to see
+you again!&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;giving him her big, exquisitely sculptured
+hand. &ldquo;Except for Mr. Brisson, we are quite
+complete in our little company of death!&rdquo; She laughed
+her healthy, undisturbed defiance of that human enemy
+as she named him, gazed rapturously at Palla, acknowledged
+Shotwell&rsquo;s presentation in her hearty, engaging
+way, then turned laughingly to Estridge:</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;The world whirls like a wheel in a squirrel cage
+which we all tread:&ndash;&ndash;only to find ourselves together
+after travelling many, many miles at top speed!...
+Are you well, John Estridge?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fairly,&rdquo; he laughed, &ldquo;but nobody except the immortals
+could ever be as well as you, Ilse Westgard!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She laughed in sheer exuberance of her own physical
+vigour: &ldquo;Only that old and toothless nemesis of
+Loki can slay me, John Estridge!&rdquo; And, to Palla:
+&ldquo;I had some slight trouble in Stockholm. Fancy!&ndash;&ndash;a
+little shrimp of a man approached me on the street one
+evening when there chanced to be nobody near.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And the first I knew he was mouthing and grinning
+and saying to me in Russian: &lsquo;I know you, hired
+mercenary of the aristocrats!&ndash;&ndash;I know you!&ndash;&ndash;big white
+battle horse that carried the bloody war-god!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was too astonished, my dear; I merely gazed
+upon this small and agitated toad, who continued to
+run alongside and grimace and pull funny faces at
+me. He appeared to be furious, and he said some
+very vile things to me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was disgusted and walked faster, and he had to
+run. And all the while he was squealing at me: &lsquo;I know
+you! You keep out of America, do you hear? If
+you sail on that steamer, we follow you and kill you!
+You hear it what I say? We kill! Kill! Kill!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She threw up her superb head and laughed:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can you see him&ndash;&ndash;this insect&ndash;&ndash;Palla!&ndash;&ndash;so small
+and hairy, with crazy eyes like little sparks among the
+furry whiskers!&ndash;&ndash;and running, running at heel, underfoot,
+one side and then the other, and squealing &lsquo;Kill!
+Kill? Kill&rsquo;&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She had made them see the picture and they all
+laughed.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;But all the same,&rdquo; she added, turning to Estridge,
+&ldquo;from that evening I became conscious that people were
+watching me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was the same in Copenhagen and in Christiania&ndash;&ndash;always
+I felt that somebody was watching me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you have any trouble?&rdquo; asked Estridge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well&ndash;&ndash;there seemed to be so many unaccountable
+delays, obstacles in securing proper papers, trouble
+about luggage and steamer accommodations&ndash;&ndash;petty
+annoyances,&rdquo; she added. &ldquo;And also I am sure that
+letters to me were opened, and others which I should
+have received never arrived.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You believe it was due to the Reds?&rdquo; asked Palla.
+&ldquo;Have they emissaries in Scandinavia?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear, their agents and spies swarm everywhere
+over the world!&rdquo; said Ilse calmly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not here,&rdquo; remarked Shotwell, smiling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; rejoined Ilse quickly, &ldquo;I ask your pardon,
+but America, also, is badly infested by these people.
+As their Black Plague spreads out over the entire
+world, so spread out the Bolsheviki to infect all with
+the red sickness that slays whole nations!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We have a few local Reds,&rdquo; he said, unconvinced,
+&ldquo;but I had scarcely supposed&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The bell rang: Miss Lanois and Mr. Tchernov were
+announced, greeted warmly by Palla, and presented.</p>
+<p>Both spoke the beautiful English of educated Russians;
+Vanya Tchernov, a wonderfully handsome youth,
+saluted Palla&rsquo;s hand in Continental fashion, and met the
+men with engaging formality.</p>
+<p>Shotwell found himself seated beside Marya Lanois,
+a lithe, warm, golden creature with greenish golden
+eyes that slanted, and the strawberry complexion that
+goes with reddish hair.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;You are happy,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;with all your streets
+full of bright flags and your victorious soldiers arriving
+home by every troopship. Ah!&ndash;&ndash;but Russia is the
+most unhappy of all countries to-day, Mr. Shotwell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s terribly sad,&rdquo; he said sympathetically. &ldquo;We
+Americans don&rsquo;t seem to know whether to send an
+army to help you, or merely to stand aside and let
+Russia find herself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You should send troops!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Is it not
+so, Ilse?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sane people should unite,&rdquo; replied the girl, her
+beautiful face becoming serious. &ldquo;It will arrive at
+that the world over&ndash;&ndash;the sane against the insane.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And it is only the bourgeoisie that is sane,&rdquo; said
+Vanya Tchernov, in his beautifully modulated voice.
+&ldquo;The extremes are both abnormal&ndash;&ndash;aristocrats and
+Bolsheviki alike.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We social revolutionists,&rdquo; said Marya Lanois,
+&ldquo;were called extremists yesterday and are called reactionists
+to-day. But we are the world&rsquo;s balance.
+This war was fought for our ideals; your American
+soldiers marched for them: the hun failed because of
+them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And there remains only one more war,&rdquo; said Ilse
+Westgard,&ndash;&ndash;&ldquo;the war against those outlaws we call
+Capital and Labour&ndash;&ndash;two names for two robbers that
+have disturbed the world&rsquo;s peace long enough!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Two tyrants,&rdquo; said Marya, &ldquo;who trample us to
+war upon each other&ndash;&ndash;who outrage us, crush us, cripple
+us with their ferocious feuds. What are the Bolsheviki?
+&lsquo;Those who want more.&rsquo; Then the name belongs
+as well to the capitalists. They, also, are Bolsheviki&ndash;&ndash;&lsquo;men
+who always want more!&rsquo; And these are the
+two quarrelling Bolsheviki giants who trample
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span>
+us&ndash;&ndash;Lord Labour, Lord Capital&ndash;&ndash;the devil of envy against
+the devil of greed!&ndash;&ndash;war to the death! And, to the
+survivor, the bones!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Shotwell, a little astonished to hear from the red
+lips of this warm young creature the bitter cynicisms
+of the proletariat, asked her to define more clearly where
+the Bolsheviki stood, and for what they stood.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why,&rdquo; she said, lying back on the sofa and adjusting
+her lithe body to a more luxurious position among
+the pillows, &ldquo;it amounts to this, Mr. Shotwell, that a
+new doctrine is promulgated in the world&ndash;&ndash;the cult
+of the under-dog.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And in all dog-fights, if the under-dog ever gets
+on top, then he, also, will try to kill the ci-devant who
+has now become the under-dog.&rdquo; And she laughed at
+him out of her green eyes that slanted so enchantingly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean that there always will be an under-dog
+in the battle between capital and labour?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Surely. Their snarling, biting, and endless battle
+is a nuisance.&rdquo; She smiled again: &ldquo;We should knock
+them both on the head.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know,&rdquo; explained Ilse, &ldquo;that when we speak
+of the two outlaws as Capital and Labour, we don&rsquo;t
+mean legitimate capital and genuine labour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They never fight,&rdquo; added Tchernov, smiling, &ldquo;because
+they are one and the same.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; remarked Marya, &ldquo;even the united
+suffer occasionally from internal pains.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The remedy,&rdquo; added Vanya, &ldquo;is to consult a physician.
+That is&ndash;&ndash;arbitration.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse said: &ldquo;Force is good! But one uses it legitimately
+only against rabid things.&rdquo; She turned affectionately
+to Palla and took her hands: &ldquo;Your wonderful
+Law of Love solves all phenomena except insanity.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span>
+With rabies it can not deal. Only force remains to
+solve that problem.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And yet,&rdquo; said Palla, &ldquo;so much insanity can be
+controlled by kind treatment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge agreed, but remarked that strait-jackets
+and padded cells would always be necessary in the world.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As for the Bolsheviki,&rdquo; said Marya, turning her
+warm young face to Shotwell with a lissome movement
+of the shoulders, almost caressing, &ldquo;in the beginning
+we social revolutionists agreed with them and believed
+in them. Why not? Kerensky was an incapable
+dreamer&ndash;&ndash;so sensitive that if you spoke rudely to
+him he shrank away wounded to the soul.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is not a leader! And the Cadets were plotting,
+and the Cossacks loomed like a tempest on the horizon.
+And then came Korniloff! And the end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The peace of Brest,&rdquo; explained Vanya, in his gentle
+voice, &ldquo;awoke us to what the Red Soviets stood for.
+We saw Christ crucified again. And understood.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Marya sat up straight on the sofa, running her
+dazzling white fingers over her hair&ndash;&ndash;hair that seemed
+tiger-red, and very vaguely scented.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For thirty pieces of silver,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;Judas sold
+the world. What Lenine and Trotsky sold was paid
+for in yellow metal, and there were more pieces.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse said: &ldquo;Babushka is dying of it. That is enough
+for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Vanya replied: &ldquo;Where the source is infected, drinkers
+die at the river&rsquo;s mouth. Little Marie Spiridonova
+perished. Countess Panina succumbed. Alexandria
+Kolontar will die from its poison. And, as these died,
+so shall Ivan and Vera die also, unless that polluted
+source be cleansed.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></div>
+<p>Marya rested her tawny young head on the cushions
+again and smiled at Shotwell:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s confusing even to Russians,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;like
+a crazy Bakst spectacle at the Marinsky. I wonder
+what you must think of us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But on her expressive mouth the word &ldquo;us&rdquo; might
+almost have meant &ldquo;me,&rdquo; and he paid her the easy compliment
+which came naturally to him, while she looked
+at him out of lazy and very lovely eyes as green as
+beryls.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Tiche</i>,&rdquo; she murmured, smiling, &ldquo;<i>ce n&rsquo;est pas moi
+l&rsquo;&eacute;tat, monsieur</i>.&rdquo; And laughed while her indolent
+glance slanted sideways on Vanya, and lingered there
+as though in leisurely but amiable appraisal.</p>
+<p>The girl was evidently very young, but there seemed
+to be an indefinable something about her that hinted
+of experience beyond her years.</p>
+<p>Palla had been looking at her&ndash;&ndash;from Shotwell to
+her&ndash;&ndash;and Marya&rsquo;s sixth sense was already aware of it
+and asking why.</p>
+<p>For between two females of the human species the
+constant occult interplay is like steady lighting. With
+invisible antenn&aelig; they touch one another incessantly,
+delicately exploring inside that grosser aura which is
+all that the male perceives.</p>
+<p>And finally Marya looked back at Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;May Mr. Tchernov play for us?&rdquo; asked Palla, smiling,
+as though some vague authority in the matter
+were vested in this young girl with the tiger-hair.</p>
+<p>Her eyes closed indolently, and opened again as
+though digesting the subtlety: then, disdainfully accepting
+the assumption: &ldquo;Oh, Vanya,&rdquo; she called out
+carelessly, &ldquo;play a little for us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The handsome youth bowed in his absent, courteous
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span>
+way. There was about him a simplicity entirely winning
+as he seated himself at the piano.</p>
+<p>But his playing revealed a maturity and nobility
+of mind scarcely expected of such gentleness and youth.</p>
+<p>Never had Palla heard Beethoven until that moment.</p>
+<p>He did not drift. There was no caprice to offend
+when he turned with courtly logic from one great
+master to another.</p>
+<p>Only when Estridge asked for something &ldquo;typically
+Russian&rdquo; did the charming dignity of the sequence
+break. Vanya laughed and looked at Marya Lanois:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That means you must sing,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>She sang, resting where she was among the silken
+cushions;&ndash;&ndash;the song, one of those epics of ancient
+Moscow, lauded Ivan IV. and the taking of Kazan.</p>
+<p>The music was bizarre; the girl&rsquo;s voice bewitching;
+and though the song was of the <i>Beliny</i>, it had been
+made into brief couplets, and it ended very quickly.</p>
+<p>Laughing at the applause, she sang a song of the
+<i>Skomorokhi</i>; then a cradle song, infinitely tender and
+strange, built upon the Chinese scale; and another&ndash;&ndash;a
+Cossack song&ndash;&ndash;built, also, upon the pentatonic scale.</p>
+<p>Discussions intruded then; the diversion ended the
+music.</p>
+<p>Palla presently rose, spoke to Vanya and Estridge,
+and came over to where Jim Shotwell sat beside Marya.</p>
+<p>Interrupted, they both looked up, and Jim rose as
+Estridge also presented himself to Marya.</p>
+<p>Palla said: &ldquo;If you will take me out, Jim, we can
+show everybody the way.&rdquo; And to Marya: &ldquo;Just a
+little supper, you know&ndash;&ndash;but the dining room is below.&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Her pretty drawing-room was only partly furnished&ndash;&ndash;an
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span>
+expensive but genuine set of old Aubusson being
+her limit for the time.</p>
+<p>But beyond, in the rear, the little glass doors opened
+on a charming dining-room, the old Georgian mahogany
+of which was faded to a golden hue. Curtains,
+too, were golden shot with palest mauve; and two
+Imperial Chinese panels of ancient silk, miraculously
+embroidered and set with rainbow Ho-ho birds, were
+the only hangings on the walls. And they seemed to
+illuminate the room like sunshine.</p>
+<p>Shotwell, who knew nothing about such things but
+envisaged them with reverence, seated Palla and presently
+took his place beside her.</p>
+<p>His neighbour on his left was Marya, again&ndash;&ndash;an arrangement
+which Palla might have altered had it
+occurred to her upstairs.</p>
+<p>Estridge, very animated, and apparently happy, recalled
+to Palla their last dinner together, and their
+dance.</p>
+<p>Palla laughed: &ldquo;You said I drank too much champagne,
+John Estridge! Do you remember?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You bet I do. You had a cunning little bunn,
+Palla&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I did not! I merely asked you and Mr. Brisson
+what it felt like to be intoxicated.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You did your best to be a sport,&rdquo; he insisted,
+&ldquo;but you almost passed away over your first cigarette!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Darling!&rdquo; cried Ilse, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t let them tease you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla, rather pink, laughingly denied any aspirations
+toward sportdom; and she presently ventured a
+glance at Shotwell, to see how he took all this.</p>
+<p>But already Marya had engaged him in half smiling,
+low-voiced conversation; and Palla looked at her golden-green
+eyes and warm, rich colouring, cooled by a skin
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span>
+of snow. Tiger-golden, the <i>rousse</i> ensemble; the
+supple movement of limb and body fascinated her;
+but most of all the lovely, slanting eyes with their
+glint of beryl amid melting gold.</p>
+<p>Estridge spoke to Marya; as the girl turned slightly,
+Palla said to Shotwell:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you find them interesting&ndash;&ndash;my guests?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He turned instantly to her, but it seemed to her as
+though there were a slight haze in his eyes&ndash;&ndash;a fixedness&ndash;&ndash;which
+cleared, however, as he spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They are delightful&ndash;&ndash;all of them,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Your
+blond goddess yonder is rather overpowering, but
+beautiful to gaze upon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And Vanya?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Charming; astonishing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lovable,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He seems so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And&ndash;&ndash;Marya?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rather bewildering,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;Fascinating, I
+should say. Is she very learned?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s been in the universities.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.... I don&rsquo;t know how learned she is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She is very young,&rdquo; he remarked.</p>
+<p>It was on the tip of Palla&rsquo;s tongue to say something;
+and she remained silent&ndash;&ndash;lest this man misinterpret her
+motive&ndash;&ndash;and, perhaps, lest her own conscience misinterpret
+it, too.</p>
+<p>Ilse said it to Estridge, however, frankly insouciant:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know Marya and Vanya are married&ndash;&ndash;that is,
+they live together.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And Shotwell heard her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that true?&rdquo; he said in a low voice to Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></div>
+<p>He remained silent so long that she added: &ldquo;The tie
+is not looser than the old-fashioned one. More rigid,
+perhaps, because they are on their honour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And if they tire of each other?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You, also, have divorce,&rdquo; said the girl, smiling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is beastly to live together where love does not
+exist. People who believe as they do&ndash;&ndash;as I do&ndash;&ndash;merely
+separate.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And contract another alliance if they wish?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do not your divorcees remarry if they wish?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What becomes of the children?&rdquo; he demanded
+sullenly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What becomes of them when your courts divorce
+their parents?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see. It&rsquo;s all a parody on lawful regularity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry you speak of it that way&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl&rsquo;s face flushed and she extended her hand
+toward her wine glass.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t intend to hurt you, Palla,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>She drew a quick breath, looked up, smiled: &ldquo;You
+didn&rsquo;t mean to,&rdquo; she said. Then into her brown eyes
+came the delicious glimmer:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;May I whisper to you, Jim? Is it too rude?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He inclined his head and felt the thrill of her breath:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shall we drink one glass together&ndash;&ndash;to each other
+alone?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To a dear comradeship, and close!... And
+not too desperate!&rdquo; she added, as her glance flashed
+into hidden laughter.</p>
+<p>They drank, not daring to look toward each other.
+And Palla&rsquo;s careless gaze, slowly sweeping the circle,
+finally met Marya&rsquo;s&ndash;&ndash;as she knew it must. Both smiled,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span>
+touching each other at once with invisible antenn&aelig;&ndash;&ndash;always
+searching, exploring under the glimmering aura
+what no male ever discovered or comprehended.</p>
+<p>There was, in the living room above, a little more
+music&ndash;&ndash;a song or two before the guests departed.</p>
+<p>Marya, a little apart, turned to Shotwell:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You find our Russian folk-song amusing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wonderful!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If, by any chance, you should remember that I am
+at home on Thursdays, there is a song I think that
+might interest you.&rdquo; She let her eyes rest on him
+with a curious stillness in their depths:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The song is called <i>Lada</i>,&rdquo; she said in a voice so
+low that he just heard her. The next moment she was
+taking leave of Palla; kissed her. Vanya enveloped
+her in her wrap.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Estridge called up a taxi; and presently went away
+with Ilse.</p>
+<p>Very slowly Palla came back to the centre of the
+room, where Shotwell stood. The scent of flowers was
+in his nostrils, his throat; the girl herself seemed saturated
+with their perfume as he took her into his arms.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So you didn&rsquo;t like my friends, Jim,&rdquo; she ventured.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I did.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was afraid they might have shocked you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He said drily: &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t a case of being shocked. It&rsquo;s
+more like being bored.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh. My friends bore you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Their morals do.... Is Ilse that sort, too?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That sort?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know what I mean.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose she is.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Not inclined to bother herself with the formalities
+of marriage?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose not.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a mischievous, ridiculous, immoral business!&rdquo; he
+said hotly. &ldquo;Why, to look at you&ndash;&ndash;at Ilse&ndash;&ndash;at Miss
+Lanois&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t look like very immoral people, do we?&rdquo;
+she said, laughingly.</p>
+<p>The light raillery in her laughter angered him, and
+he released her and began to pace the room nervously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;See here, Palla,&rdquo; he said roughly, &ldquo;suppose I accept
+you at your own valuation!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I value myself very highly, Jim.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So do I. That&rsquo;s why I ask you to marry me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And I tell you I don&rsquo;t believe in marriage,&rdquo; she
+rejoined coolly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A magistrate can marry us&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It makes no difference. A ceremony, civil or religious,
+is entirely out of the question.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean,&rdquo; he said, incensed, &ldquo;that you refuse to
+be married by any law at all?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My own law is sufficient.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well&ndash;&ndash;well, then,&rdquo; he stammered; &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;what&ndash;&ndash;what
+sort of procedure&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;None.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re crazy,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;<i>you</i> wouldn&rsquo;t do that!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I were in love with you I&rsquo;d not be afraid.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her calm candour infuriated him:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you imagine that you and I could ever get away
+with a situation like that!&rdquo; he blazed out.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why do you become so irritable and excited, Jim?
+We&rsquo;re not going to try&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Damnation! I should think not!&rdquo; he retorted, so
+violently that her mouth quivered. But she kept her
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span>
+head averted until the swift emotion was under control.</p>
+<p>Then she said in a low voice: &ldquo;If you really think
+me immoral, Jim, I can understand your manner toward
+me. Otherwise&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Palla, dear! Forgive me! I&rsquo;m just worried
+sick&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You funny boy,&rdquo; she said with her quick, frank
+smile, &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t mean to worry you. Listen! It&rsquo;s all
+quite simple. I care for you very much indeed. I
+don&rsquo;t mind your&ndash;&ndash;caressing&ndash;&ndash;me&ndash;&ndash;sometimes. But I&rsquo;m
+not in love. I just care a lot for you.... But
+not nearly enough to love you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Palla, you&rsquo;re hopeless!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why? Because I am so respectful toward love?
+Of course I am. A girl who believes as I do can&rsquo;t
+afford to make a mistake.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Exactly,&rdquo; he said eagerly, &ldquo;but under the law, if
+a mistake is made every woman has her remedy&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her <i>remedy</i>! What do you mean? You can&rsquo;t
+pass one of those roses through the flame of that fire
+and still have your rose, can you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was silent.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And that&rsquo;s what happens under <i>your</i> laws, as well
+as outside of them. No! I don&rsquo;t love you. Under
+your law I&rsquo;d be afraid to marry you. Under mine
+I&rsquo;m deathly afraid.... Because&ndash;&ndash;I know&ndash;&ndash;that
+where love is there can be no fear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that your answer, Palla?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Jim.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_IX' id='CHAPTER_IX'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+</div>
+<p>He had called her up the following morning from
+the office, and had told her that he thought he
+had better not see her for a while.</p>
+<p>And she had answered with soft concern that he must
+do what he thought best without considering her.</p>
+<p>What other answer he expected is uncertain; but her
+gentle acquiescence in his decision irritated him and he
+ended the conversation in a tone of boyish resentment.</p>
+<p>To occupy his mind there was, that day, not only
+the usual office routine, but some extra business most
+annoying to Sharrow. For Angelo Puma had turned
+up again, as shiny and bland as ever, flashing his
+superb smile over clerk and stenographer impartially.</p>
+<p>So Sharrow shunted him to Mr. Brooke, that sort
+of property being his specialty; and Brooke called in
+Shotwell.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go up town with that preposterous wop and settle
+this business one way or another, once for all,&rdquo; he
+whispered. &ldquo;A crook named Skidder owns the property;
+but we can&rsquo;t do anything with him. The office
+is heartily sick of both Skidder and Puma; and Sharrow
+desires to be rid of them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then, very cordially, he introduced Puma to young
+Shotwell; and they took Puma&rsquo;s handsome car and went
+up town to see what could be done with the slippery
+owner of the property in question, who was now permanently
+located in New York.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span></div>
+<p>On the way, Puma, smelling oppressively aromatic
+and looking conspicuously glossy as to hair, hat, and
+boots, also became effusively voluble. For he had
+instantly recognised Shotwell as the young man with
+whom that disturbingly pretty girl had been in consultation
+in Sharrow&rsquo;s offices; and his mind was now
+occupied with a new possibility as well as with the
+property which he so persistently desired to acquire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With me,&rdquo; he said in his animated, exotic way, and
+all creased with smiles, &ldquo;my cinema business is not business
+alone! No! It is Art! It is the art hunger that
+ever urges me onward, not the desire for commercial
+gain. For me, beauty is ever first; the box-office last!
+You understand, Mr. Shotwell? With me, art is
+supreme! Yes. And afterward my crust of bread.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; said Jim, &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t see why you don&rsquo;t
+pay this man Skidder what he asks for the property.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you why. I make it clear to you. For argument&ndash;&ndash;Skidder
+he has ever the air of one who does
+not care to sell. It is an attitude! I know! But he
+has that air. Well! I say to him, &lsquo;Mr. Skidder, I
+offer you&ndash;&ndash;we say for argument, one dollar! Yes?&rsquo;
+Well, he do not say yes or no. He do not say, &lsquo;I take
+a dollar and also one quarter. Or a dollar and a
+half. Or two dollars.&rsquo; No. He squint and answer:
+&lsquo;I am not anxious to sell!&rsquo; My God! What can one
+say? What can one do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; suggested Jim, &ldquo;he really doesn&rsquo;t want
+to sell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! That is not so. No. He is sly, Mr. Skidder,
+like there never has been in my experience a man more
+sly. What is it he desires? I ask. I do not know.
+But all the time he inquire about my business if it pays,
+and is there much money in it. Also, I hear, by channels,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span>
+that he makes everywhere inquiries if the film
+business shall pay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Maybe he wants to try it himself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Also, that has occurred to me. But to him I say
+nothing. No. He is too sly. Me, I am all art and
+all heart. Me, I am frank like there never was a man
+in my business! But Skidder, he squint at me. My
+God, those eye! And I do not know what is in his
+thought.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Mr. Puma, what do you wish me to do? As
+I understand it, you are our client, and if I buy for
+you this Skidder property I shall look to you, of course,
+for my commission. Is that what you understand?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My God! Why should he not pay that commission
+if you are sufficiently obliging to buy from him his
+property?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t done that way,&rdquo; explained Jim drily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You suppose you can buy me this property? Yes?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. Of course, I can buy anything for
+you if you&rsquo;ll pay enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My God! I do not enjoy commercial business. No.
+I enjoy art. I enjoy qualities of the heart. I&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;
+He looked at Jim out of his magnificent black eyes,
+touched his full lips with a perfumed handkerchief.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; he said, flashing a brilliant smile, &ldquo;I am
+all heart. But my heart is for art alone! I dedicate
+it to the film, to the moving picture, to beauty! It
+is my constant preoccupation. It is my only thought.
+Art, beauty, the picture, the world made happier,
+better, for the beauty which I offer in my pictures.
+It is my only thought. It is my life.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jim politely suppressed a yawn and said that a
+life devoted purely to art was a laudable sacrifice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As example!&rdquo; explained Puma, all animation and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span>
+childlike frankness; &ldquo;I pay my artists what they ask.
+What is money when it is a question of art? I must
+have quality; I must have beauty&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; He shrugged:
+&ldquo;I must pay. Yes?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One usually pays for pulchritude.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! As example! I watch always on the streets
+as I pass by. I see a face. It has beauty. It has
+quality. I follow. I speak. I am frank like there
+never was a man. I say, &lsquo;Mademoiselle, you shall not
+be offended. No. Art has no frontiers. It is my
+art, not I who address you. I am Angelo Puma. The
+Ultra-Film Company is mine. In you I perceive possibilities.
+This is my card. If it interests you to have
+a test, come! Who knows? It may be your life&rsquo;s
+destiny. The projection room should tell. Adieu!&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that the way you pick stars?&rdquo; asked Jim
+curiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Stars? Bah! I care nothing for stars. No. I
+should go bankrupt. Why? Beauty alone is my star.
+Upon it I drape the mantle of Art!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He kissed his fat finger-tips and gazed triumphantly
+at Jim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You see? Out of the crowd of passersby I pick
+the perfect and unconscious rosebud. In my temple
+it opens into perfect bloom. And Art is born! And
+I am content. You comprehend?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jim said that he thought he did.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As example,&rdquo; exclaimed Puma vivaciously, &ldquo;while
+in conversation once with Mr. Sharrow, I beheld entering
+your office a young lady in mourning. Hah!
+Instantly I was all art!&rdquo; Again he kissed his gloved
+fingers. &ldquo;A face for a picture! A form for the
+screen! I perceive. I am convinced.... You
+recall the event, perhaps, Mr. Shotwell?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A young lady in mourning, seated beside your desk?
+I believe she was buying from you a house.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her name&ndash;&ndash;Miss Dumont&ndash;&ndash;I believe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jim glanced at him. &ldquo;Miss Dumont is not likely to do
+anything of that sort,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean go into the movies?&rdquo; He laughed. &ldquo;She
+wouldn&rsquo;t bother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But&ndash;&ndash;my God! It is Art! What you call movies,
+and, within, this young lady may hide genius. And
+genius belongs to Art. And Art belongs to the world!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The unthinkable idea of Palla on the screen was
+peculiarly distasteful to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Dumont has no inclination for the movies,&rdquo;
+he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps, Mr. Shotwell,&rdquo; purred Puma, &ldquo;if your
+amiable influence could induce the young lady to have
+a test made&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There isn&rsquo;t a chance of it,&rdquo; said Jim bluntly. Their
+limousine stopped just then. They got out before one
+of those new apartment houses on the upper West Side.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Mr. Skidder, it appeared, was in and would receive
+them.</p>
+<p>A negro servant opened the door and ushered them
+into a parlour where Mr. Elmer Skidder, sprawling
+over the d&eacute;bris of breakfast, laid aside newspaper and
+coffee cup and got up to receive them in bath robe and
+slippers.</p>
+<p>And when they were all seated: &ldquo;Now, Mr. Skidder,&rdquo;
+said Jim, with his engaging frankness, &ldquo;the simplest
+way is the quickest. My client, Mr. Puma, wants to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span>
+purchase your property; and he is, I understand,
+prepared to pay considerably more than it is worth.
+We all have a very fair idea of its actual value.
+Our appraiser, yours, and other appraisers from
+other companies and corporations seem, for a wonder,
+to agree in their appraisal of this particular property.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, how much more than it is worth do you expect
+us to offer you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Skidder had never before been dealt with in just this
+way. He squinted at Jim, trying to appraise him.
+But within his business experience in a country town
+no similar young man had he encountered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I ain&rsquo;t asking you to buy, am I?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We understand that,&rdquo; rejoined Jim, good humouredly;
+&ldquo;<i>we</i> are asking <i>you</i> to sell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You seem to want it pretty bad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We do,&rdquo; said the young fellow, laughing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right. Make your offer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jim named the sum.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, sir!&rdquo; snapped Skidder, picking up his newspaper.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; remarked Jim, looking: frankly at Puma,
+&ldquo;that definitely lets us out.&rdquo; And, to Skidder: &ldquo;Many
+thanks for permitting us to interrupt your breakfast.
+No need to bother you again, Mr. Skidder.&rdquo; And he
+offered his hand in smiling finality.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; said Skidder, &ldquo;the property is worth
+all I ask.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If it&rsquo;s worth that to you,&rdquo; said Jim pleasantly,
+&ldquo;you should keep it.&rdquo; And he turned away toward
+the door, wondering why Puma did not follow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you two gentlemen in a rush?&rdquo; demanded
+Skidder.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I have other business, of course,&rdquo; said Jim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sit down. Hell! Will you have a drink?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When they were again seated, Skidder squinted
+sideways at Angelo Puma.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Want a partner?&rdquo; he inquired.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please?&rdquo; replied Puma, as though mystified.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Want more capital to put into your fillum concern?&rdquo;
+demanded Skidder.</p>
+<p>Puma, innocently perplexed, asked mutely for an explanation
+out of his magnificent dark eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I got money,&rdquo; asserted Skidder.</p>
+<p>Puma&rsquo;s dazzling smile congratulated him upon the
+accumulation of a fabulous fortune.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I had you looked up,&rdquo; continued Skidder. &ldquo;It
+listened good. And&ndash;&ndash;I got money, too. And I got
+that property in my vest pocket. See. And there&rsquo;s
+a certain busted fillum corporation can be bought for
+a postage stamp&ndash;&ndash;all &rsquo;ncorporated &rsquo;n everything. You
+get me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>No; Mr. Puma, who was all art and heart, could
+not comprehend what Mr. Skidder was driving at.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This here busted fillum company is called the <i>Super-Picture
+Fillums</i>,&rdquo; said Skidder. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter
+with you and me buying it? Don&rsquo;t you ever do a little
+tradin&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jim rose, utterly disgusted, but immensely amused
+at himself, and realising, now, how entirely right
+Sharrow had been in desiring to be rid of this man
+Skidder, and of Puma and the property in question.</p>
+<p>He said, still smiling, but rather grimly: &ldquo;I see, now,
+that this is no place for a broker who lives by his commissions.&rdquo;
+And he bade them adieu with perfect good
+humour.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have a seegar?&rdquo; inquired Skidder blandly.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Why do you go, sir?&rdquo; asked Puma innocently. No
+doubt, being all heart and art, he did not comprehend
+that brokers can not exist on cigars alone.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>His commission had gone glimmering. Sharrow, evidently
+foreseeing something of that sort, had sent him
+out with Puma to meet Skidder and rid the office of
+the dubious affair.</p>
+<p>This Jim understood, and yet he was not particularly
+pleased to be exploited by this bland pair who had come
+suddenly to an understanding under his very nose&ndash;&ndash;the
+understanding of two petty, dickering, crossroad traders,
+which coolly excluded any possibility both of his
+services and of his commission.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; only a kike lawyer is required now,&rdquo; he said
+to himself, as he crossed the street and entered Central
+Park. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been properly trimmed by a perfumed
+wop and a squinting yap,&rdquo; he thought with intense
+amusement. &ldquo;But we&rsquo;re well clear of them for good.&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>The park was wintry and unattractive. Few pedestrians
+were abroad, but motors sparkled along distant
+drives in the sunshine.</p>
+<p>Presently his way ran parallel to one of these drives.
+And he had been walking only a little while when a
+limousine veered in, slowing down abreast of him, and
+he saw a white-gloved hand tapping the pane.</p>
+<p>He felt himself turning red as he went up, hat in
+hand, to open the door and speak to the girl inside.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What on earth are you doing?&rdquo; she demanded,
+laughingly, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;walking all by your wild lone in the
+park on a wintry day!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He explained. She made room for him and he got in.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We rather hoped you&rsquo;d be at the opera last night,&rdquo;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span>
+she said, but without any reproach in her voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I meant to go, Elorn&ndash;&ndash;but something came up to
+prevent it,&rdquo; he added, flushing again. &ldquo;Were they
+singing anything new?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, but you missed nothing,&rdquo; she reassured him
+lightly. &ldquo;Where on earth have you kept yourself
+these last weeks? One sees you no more among the
+haunts of men.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He said, in the deplorable argot of the hour: &ldquo;Oh,
+I&rsquo;m off all that social stuff.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I&rsquo;m not social stuff, am I?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. I&rsquo;ve meant to call you up. Something always
+seems to happen&ndash;&ndash;I don&rsquo;t know, Elorn, but ever since
+I came back from France I haven&rsquo;t been up to seeing
+people.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She glanced at him curiously.</p>
+<p>He sat gazing out of the window, where there was
+nothing to see except leafless trees and faded grass
+and starlings and dingy sparrows.</p>
+<p>The girl was more worth his attention&ndash;&ndash;one of those
+New York examples, built on lean, rangy, thoroughbred
+lines&ndash;&ndash;long limbed, small of hand and foot and head,
+with cinder-blond hair, greyish eyes, a sweet but too
+generous mouth, and several noticeable freckles.</p>
+<p>Minute grooming and a sure taste gave her that
+ultra-smart appearance which does everything for a
+type that is less attractive in a dinner gown, and still
+less in neglig&eacute;e. And which, after marriage, usually
+lets a straight strand of hair sprawl across one ear.</p>
+<p>But now, coiffeur, milliner, modiste, and her own
+maiden cleverness kept her immaculate&ndash;&ndash;the true
+Gotham model found nowhere else.</p>
+<p>They chatted of parties already past, where he had
+failed to materialise, and of parties to come, where
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span>
+she hoped he would appear. And he said he would.</p>
+<p>They chatted about their friends and the gossip
+concerning them.</p>
+<p>Traffic on Fifth Avenue was rather worse than usual.
+The competent police did their best, but motors and
+omnibuses, packed solidly, moved only by short spurts
+before being checked again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s after one o&rsquo;clock,&rdquo; she said, glancing at her
+tiny platinum wrist-watch. &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s Delmonico&rsquo;s, Jim.
+Shall we lunch together?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He experienced a second&rsquo;s odd hesitation, then: &ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo;
+he said. And she signalled the chauffeur.</p>
+<p>The place was beginning to be crowded, but there
+was a table on the Fifth Avenue side.</p>
+<p>As they crossed the crowded room toward it, women
+looked up at Elorn Sharrow, instantly aware that
+they saw perfection in hat, gown and fur, and a face
+and figure not to be mistaken for any imitation of
+the Gotham type.</p>
+<p>She wore silver fox&ndash;&ndash;just a stole and muff. Every
+feminine eye realised their worth.</p>
+<p>When they were seated:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want,&rdquo; she said gaily, &ldquo;some consomm&eacute; and a
+salad. You, of course, require the usual nourishment
+of the carnivora.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But it seemed not. However, he ordered a high-ball,
+feeling curiously depressed. Then he addressed himself
+to making the hour agreeable, conscious, probably,
+that reparation was overdue.</p>
+<p>Friends from youthful dancing-class days, these two
+had plenty to gossip about; and gradually he found
+himself drifting back into the lively, refreshing, piquant
+intimacy of yesterday. And realised that it was very
+welcome.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span></div>
+<p>For, about this girl, always a clean breeze seemed
+to be blowing; and the atmosphere invariably braced
+him up.</p>
+<p>And she was always responsive, whether or not
+agreeing with his views; and he was usually conscious
+of being at his best with her. Which means much to
+any man.</p>
+<p>So she dissected her pear-salad, and he enjoyed his
+whitebait, and they chatted away on the old footing,
+quite oblivious of people around them.</p>
+<p>Elorn was having a very happy time of it. People
+thought her captivating now&ndash;&ndash;freckles, mouth and all&ndash;&ndash;and
+every man there envied the fortunate young
+fellow who was receiving such undivided attention from
+a girl like this.</p>
+<p>But whether in Elorn&rsquo;s heart there really existed
+all the gaiety that laughed at him out of her grey
+eyes, is a question. Because it seemed to her that, at
+moments, a recurrent shadow fell across his face. And
+there were, now and then, seconds suggesting preoccupation
+on his part, when it seemed to her that his
+gaze grew remote and his smile a trifle absent-minded.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>She was drawing on her gloves; he had scribbled
+his signature across the back of the check. Then, as
+he lifted his head to look for their waiter, he found
+himself staring into the brown eyes of Palla Dumont.</p>
+<p>The heavy flush burnt his face&ndash;&ndash;burnt into it, so
+it seemed to him.</p>
+<p>She was only two tables distant. When he bowed,
+her smile was the slightest; her nod coolly self-possessed.
+She was wearing orchids. There seemed to
+be a girl with her whom he did not know.</p>
+<p>Why the sudden encounter should have upset him
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span>
+so&ndash;&ndash;why the quiet glance Elorn bestowed upon Palla
+should have made him more uncomfortable still, he
+could not understand.</p>
+<p>He lighted a cigarette.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A wonderfully pretty girl,&rdquo; said Elorn serenely.
+&ldquo;I mean the girl you bowed to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, she is very charming.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who is she, Jim?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I met her on the steamer coming back. She is a
+Miss Dumont.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Elorn&rsquo;s smile was a careless dismissal of further
+interest. But in her heart perplexity and curiosity
+contended with concern. For she had seen Jim&rsquo;s face.
+And had wondered.</p>
+<p>He laid away his half-consumed cigarette. She was
+quite ready to go. She rose, and he laid the stole
+around her shoulders. She picked up her muff.</p>
+<p>As she passed through the narrow aisle, she permitted
+herself a casual side-glance at this girl in black;
+and Palla looked up at her, kept her quietly in range
+of her brown eyes to the limit of breeding, then her
+glance dropped as Jim passed; and he heard her
+speaking serenely to the girl beside her.</p>
+<p>At the revolving doors, Elorn said: &ldquo;Shall I drop
+you at the office, Jim?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thanks&ndash;&ndash;if you don&rsquo;t mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In the car he talked continually, not very entertainingly,
+but there was more vivacity about him than
+there had been.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you doing anything to-night?&rdquo; he inquired.</p>
+<p>She was, of course. Yet, she felt oddly relieved
+that he had asked her.... But the memory of
+the strange expression in his face persisted in her mind.</p>
+<p>Who was this girl with whom he had crossed the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span>
+ocean? And why should he lose his self-possession on
+unexpectedly encountering her?</p>
+<p>Had there been anything about Palla&ndash;&ndash;the faintest
+hint of inferiority of any sort&ndash;&ndash;Elorn Sharrow could
+have dismissed the episode with proud, if troubled,
+philosophy. For many among her girl friends had
+cub brothers. And the girl had learned that men are
+men&ndash;&ndash;sometimes even the nicest&ndash;&ndash;although she could
+not understand it.</p>
+<p>But this brown-eyed girl in black was evidently her
+own sort&ndash;&ndash;Jim&rsquo;s sort. And that preoccupied her; and
+she lent only an inattentive ear to the animated monologue
+of the man beside her.</p>
+<p>Before the offices of Sharrow &amp; Co. her car stopped.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, Jim,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that I&rsquo;m so busy this
+week. But we ought to meet at many places, unless
+you continue to play the recluse. Don&rsquo;t you really
+go anywhere any more?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. But I&rsquo;m going,&rdquo; he said bluntly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please do. And call me up sometimes. Take a
+sporting chance whenever you&rsquo;re free. We ought to
+get in an hour together now and then. You&rsquo;re coming
+to my dance of course, are you not?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course I am.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl smiled in her sweet, generous way and gave
+him her hand again.</p>
+<p>And he went into the office feeling rather miserable
+and beginning to realise why.</p>
+<p>For in spite of what he had said to Palla about
+the wisdom of absenting himself, the mere sight of her
+had instantly set him afire.</p>
+<p>And now he wanted to see her&ndash;&ndash;needed to see her.
+A day was too long to pass without seeing her. An
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span>
+evening without her&ndash;&ndash;and another&ndash;&ndash;and others, appalled
+him.</p>
+<p>And all the afternoon he thought of her, his mind
+scarcely on his business at all.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>His parents were dining at home. He was very
+gay that evening&ndash;&ndash;very amusing in describing his misadventures
+with Messrs. Puma and Skidder. But his
+mother appeared to be more interested in the description
+of his encounter with Elorn.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s such a dear,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;If you go to the
+Speedwells&rsquo; dinner on Thursday you&rsquo;ll see her again.
+You haven&rsquo;t declined, I hope; have you, Jim?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It appeared that he had.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you drop out of things this way nobody will
+bother to ask you anywhere after a while. Don&rsquo;t you
+know that, dear?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;This town forgets overnight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose so, mother. I&rsquo;ll keep up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His father remarked that it was part of his business
+to know the sort of people who bought houses.</p>
+<p>Jim agreed with him. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll surely kick in again,&rdquo; he
+promised cheerfully.... &ldquo;I think I&rsquo;ll go to the
+club this evening.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His mother smiled. It was a healthy sign. Also,
+thank goodness, there were no girls in black at the club.</p>
+<p>At the club he resolutely passed the telephone booths
+and even got as far as the cloak room before he
+hesitated.</p>
+<p>Then, very slowly, he retraced his steps; went into
+the nearest booth, and called a number that seemed
+burnt into his brain. Palla answered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you doing anything, dear?&rdquo; he asked&ndash;&ndash;his
+usual salutation.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh. It&rsquo;s you!&rdquo; she said calmly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is. Who else calls you dear? May I come
+around for a little while?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you forgotten what you&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No! May I come?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not if you speak to me so curtly, Jim.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She deliberated so long that her silence irritated
+him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t want me,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;please say so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I certainly don&rsquo;t want you if you are likely to be
+ill-tempered, Jim.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not ill-tempered.... I&rsquo;ll tell you what&rsquo;s
+the trouble if I may come. May I?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is anything troubling you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m so sorry!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Am I to come?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She herself admitted him. He laid his hat and coat
+on a chair in the hall and followed her upstairs to the
+living-room.</p>
+<p>When she had seated herself she looked up at him
+interrogatively, awaiting his pleasure. He stood a
+moment with his back to the fire, his hands twisting
+nervously behind him. Then:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My trouble,&rdquo; he explained na&iuml;vely, &ldquo;is that I am
+restless and unhappy when I remain away from you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl laughed. &ldquo;But, Jim, you seemed to be
+having a perfectly good time at Delmonico&rsquo;s this
+noon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He reddened and gave her a disconcerted look.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t see,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;why any man shouldn&rsquo;t
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span>
+have a good time with such an attractive girl. May
+I ask who she is?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Elorn Sharrow,&rdquo; he replied bluntly.</p>
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s glance had sometimes wandered over social
+columns in the papers and periodicals, and she was not
+ignorant concerning the identity and local importance
+of Miss Sharrow.</p>
+<p>She looked up curiously at Jim. He was so very
+good to look at! Better, even, to know. And Miss
+Sharrow was his kind. They had seemed to belong
+together. And it came to Palla, hazily, and for the
+first time, that she herself seemed to belong nowhere in
+particular in the scheme of things.</p>
+<p>But that was quite all right. She had now established
+for herself a habitation. She had some friends&ndash;&ndash;would
+undoubtedly make others. She had her interests,
+her peace of mind, and her independence. And
+behind her she had the dear and tragic past&ndash;&ndash;a passionate
+memory of a dead girl; a terrible remembrance of
+a dead God.</p>
+<p>The heart of the world alone could make up to her
+these losses. For now she was already preparing to
+seek it in her own way, under her own Law of Love.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim,&rdquo; she said almost timidly, &ldquo;I have not intended
+to make you unhappy. Don&rsquo;t you understand that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He seated himself: she lighted a cigarette for him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose you can&rsquo;t help doing it,&rdquo; he said glumly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I really can&rsquo;t, it seems. I don&rsquo;t love you. I wish I
+did.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course I do.... I wish I were in love with
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>After a moment she said: &ldquo;I told you how much I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span>
+care for you. But&ndash;&ndash;if you think it is easier for you&ndash;&ndash;not
+to see me&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t seem to stay away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad you can&rsquo;t&ndash;&ndash;for my sake; but I&rsquo;m troubled
+on your account. I do so adore to be with you! But&ndash;&ndash;but
+if&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hang it all!&rdquo; he exclaimed, forcing a wry smile.
+&ldquo;I act like an unbaked fool! You&rsquo;ve gone to my head,
+Palla, and I behave like a drunken kid.... I&rsquo;ll
+buck up. I&rsquo;ve got to. I&rsquo;m not the blithering, balmy,
+moon-eyed, melancholy ass you think me&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her quick laughter rang clear, and his echoed it,
+rather uncertainly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You poor dear,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re nearest my heart
+of anybody. I told you so. It&rsquo;s only that one thing
+I don&rsquo;t dare do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He nodded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you really understand that I&rsquo;m afraid?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Afraid!&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;I should think you might
+be, considering your astonishing point of view. I
+should think you&rsquo;d be properly scared to death!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am. No girl, afraid, should ever take such a
+chance. Love and Fear cannot exist together. The
+one always slays the other.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He looked at her curiously, remembering what
+Estridge had told him about her&ndash;&ndash;how, on that terrible
+day in the convent chapel, this girl&rsquo;s love had
+truly slain the fear within her as she faced the Red
+assassins and offered to lay down her life for her
+friend. Than which, it is said, there is no greater
+love....</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of what are you thinking?&rdquo; she asked, watching his
+expression.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of you&ndash;&ndash;you strange, generous, fearless, wilful
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span>
+girl!&rdquo; Then he squared his shoulders and shook them
+as though freeing himself of something oppressive.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What you <i>may</i> need is a spanking!&rdquo; he suggested
+coolly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good heavens, Jim!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I&rsquo;m afraid you&rsquo;re not likely to get it. And what
+is going to happen to you&ndash;&ndash;and to me&ndash;&ndash;I don&rsquo;t know&ndash;&ndash;I
+don&rsquo;t know, Palla.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;May I prophesy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go to it, Miriam.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Behold, then: I shall never care for any man more
+than I care now for you; I shall never care more for
+you than I do now.... And if you are sweet-tempered
+and sensible, we shall be very happy with
+each other.... Even after you marry....
+Unless your wife misunderstands&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My wife!&rdquo; he repeated derisively.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Sharrow, for instance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He turned a dull red; the girl&rsquo;s heart missed a beat,
+then hurried a little before it calmed again under her
+cool recognition and instant disdain of the first twinge
+of jealousy she could remember since childhood.</p>
+<p>The absurdity of it, too! After all, it was this
+man&rsquo;s destiny to marry. And, if it chanced to be that
+girl&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know,&rdquo; he said in a detached, musing way, &ldquo;it
+is well for you to remember that I shall never marry
+unless I marry you.... Life is long. There are
+other women.... I may forget you&ndash;&ndash;at intervals....
+But I shall never marry except with
+you, Palla.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her smile forced the gravity from her lips and eyes:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you behave like a veiled prophet you&rsquo;ll end by
+scaring me,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></div>
+<p>But he merely gathered her into his arms and kissed
+her&ndash;&ndash;laid back her head and looked down into her face
+and kissed her lips, without haste, as though she belonged
+to him.</p>
+<p>Her head rested quite motionless on his shoulder.
+Perhaps she was still too taken aback to do anything
+about the matter. Her heart had hurried a little&ndash;&ndash;not
+much&ndash;&ndash;stimulated, possibly, by the rather agreeable
+curiosity which invaded her&ndash;&ndash;charmingly expressive,
+now, in her wide brown eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So that&rsquo;s the way of it,&rdquo; he concluded, still looking
+down at her. &ldquo;There are other women in the world.
+And life is long. But I marry you or nobody. And
+it&rsquo;s my opinion that I shall not die unmarried.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She smiled defiantly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t seem to think much of my opinions,&rdquo; she
+said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you more friendly to mine?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certain opinions of yours,&rdquo; he retorted, &ldquo;originated
+in the diseased bean of some crazy Russian&ndash;&ndash;never
+in your mind! So of course I hold them in contempt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She saw his face darken, watched it a moment, then
+impulsively drew his head down against hers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do care for your opinions,&rdquo; she said, her cheek,
+delicately warm, beside his. &ldquo;So, even if you can not
+comprehend mine, be generous to them. I&rsquo;m sincere. I
+try to be honest. If you differ from me, do it kindly,
+not contemptuously. For there is no such thing as
+&lsquo;noble contempt!&rsquo; There is respectability in anger and
+nobility in tolerance. But none in disdain, for they
+are contradictions.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I despise and hate this loose
+socialistic philosophy that makes a bonfire of everything
+the world believes in!&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t hate other creeds; merely conform to your
+own, Jim. It will keep you very, very busy. And give
+others a chance to live up to their beliefs.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He felt the smile on her lips and cheek:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t live up to my belief if I marry you,&rdquo; she
+said. &ldquo;So let us care for each other peacefully&ndash;&ndash;accepting
+each other as we are. Life is long, as you say....
+And there are other women.... And
+ultimately you will marry one of them. But until
+then&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He felt her lips very lightly against his&ndash;&ndash;cool young
+lips, still and fragrant and sweet.</p>
+<p>After a moment she asked him to release her; and
+she rose and walked across the room to the mirror.</p>
+<p>Still busy with her hair, she turned partly toward
+him:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Apropos of nothing,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;a man was exceedingly
+impudent to me on the street this evening. A
+Russian, too. I was so annoyed!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It happened just as I started to ascend the steps.... There
+was a man there, loitering. I supposed
+he meant to beg. So I felt for my purse, but he jumped
+back and began to curse me roundly for an aristocrat
+and a social parasite!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What did he say?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was so amazed&ndash;&ndash;quite stupefied. And all the while
+he was swearing at me in Russian and in English, and
+he warned me to keep away from Marya and Vanya
+and Ilse and mind my own damned business. And he
+said, also, that if I didn&rsquo;t there were people in New
+York who knew how to deal with any friend of the
+Russian aristocracy.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span></div>
+<p>She patted a curly strand of hair into place, and
+came toward him in her leisurely, lissome way.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fancy the impertinence of that wretched Red! And
+I understand that both Vanya and Marya have received
+horribly insulting letters. And Ilse, also. Isn&rsquo;t it
+most annoying?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She seated herself at the piano and absently began
+the Adagio of the famous sonata.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_X' id='CHAPTER_X'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER X</h2>
+</div>
+<p>There was still, for Palla, much shopping to do.
+The drawing room she decided to leave, for the
+present, caring as she did only for a few genuine
+and beautiful pieces to furnish the pretty little French
+grey room.</p>
+<p>The purchase of these ought to be deferred, but she
+could look about, and she did, wandering into antique
+shops of every class along Fifth and Madison Avenues
+and the inviting cross streets.</p>
+<p>But her chiefest quest was still for pots and pans
+and china; for napery, bed linen, and hangings; also
+for her own and more intimate personal attire.</p>
+<p>To her the city was enchanting and not at all as she
+remembered it before she had gone abroad.</p>
+<p>New York, under its canopy of tossing flags and
+ablaze with brilliant posters, swarmed with unfamiliar
+people. Every other pedestrian seemed to be a soldier;
+every other vehicle contained a uniform.</p>
+<p>There were innumerable varieties of military dress in
+the thronged streets; there was the universal note of
+khaki and olive drab, terminating in leather vizored
+barrack cap or jaunty overseas service cap, and in
+spiral puttees, leather ones, or spurred boots.</p>
+<p>Silver wings of aviators glimmered on athletic
+chests; chevrons, wound stripes, service stripes, an endless
+variety of insignia.</p>
+<p>Here the grey-green and oxidised metal of the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span>
+marines predominated; there, the conspicuous sage-green
+and gold of naval aviators. On campaign hats
+were every hue of hat cord; the rich gilt and blue of
+naval officers and the blue and white of their jackies
+were everywhere to be encountered.</p>
+<p>And then everywhere, also, the brighter hue and
+exotic cut of foreign uniforms was apparent&ndash;&ndash;splashes
+of gayer tints amid khaki and sober civilian garb&ndash;&ndash;the
+beautiful <i>garance</i> and horizon-blue of French officers;
+the familiar &ldquo;brass hat&rdquo; of the British; the grey-blue
+and maroon of Italians. And there were stranger
+uniforms in varieties inexhaustible&ndash;&ndash;the schapska-shaped
+head-gear of Polish officers, the beret of Czecho-Slovaks.
+And everywhere, too, the gay and well-known
+red pom-pon bobbed on the caps of French blue-jackets,
+and British marines stalked in pairs, looking every
+inch the soldier with their swagger sticks and their
+vizorless forage-caps.</p>
+<p>Always, it seemed to Palla, there was military music
+to be heard above the roar of traffic&ndash;&ndash;sometimes the
+drums and bugles of foreign detachments, arrived in
+aid of &ldquo;drives&rdquo; and loans of various sorts.</p>
+<p>Ambulances painted grey and bright blue, and
+driven by smartly uniformed young women, were everywhere.</p>
+<p>And to women&rsquo;s uniforms there seemed no end, ranging
+all the way from the sober blue of the army nurse
+and the pretty white of the Red Cross, to bizarre but
+smart effects carried smartly by well set up girls representing
+scores of service corps, some invaluable, some
+of doubtful utility.</p>
+<p>Eagle huts, canteens, soldiers&rsquo; rest houses, Red
+Cross quarters, clubs, temporary barracks, peppered
+the city. Everywhere the service flags were visible,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span>
+also, telling their proud stories in five-pointed symbols&ndash;&ndash;sometimes
+tragic, where gold stars glittered.</p>
+<p>Never had New York seemed to contain so many
+people; never had the overflow so congested avenue
+and street, circle and square, and the wretchedly inadequate
+and dirty street-car and subway service.</p>
+<p>And into the heart of it all went Palla, engulfed in
+the great tides of Fifth Avenue, drifting into quieter
+back-waters to east and west, and sometimes caught
+and tossed about in the glittering maelstrom of Broadway
+when she ventured into the theatre district.</p>
+<p>Opera, comedy, musical show and cinema interested
+her; restaurant and cabaret she had evaded, so far,
+but what most excited and fascinated her was the people
+themselves&ndash;&ndash;these eager, restless moving millions
+swarming through the city day and night, always in
+motion under blue skies or falling rain, perpetually in
+quest of what the world eternally offered, eternally
+concealed&ndash;&ndash;that indefinite, glimmering thing called
+&ldquo;heart&rsquo;s desire.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>To discover, to comprehend, to help, to guide their
+myriad aspirations in the interminable and headlong
+hunt for happiness, was, to Palla, the most vital problem
+in the world.</p>
+<p>For her there existed only one solution of this problem:
+the Law of Love.</p>
+<p>And in this world-wide Hunt for Happiness, where
+scrambling millions followed the trail of Heart&rsquo;s Desire,
+she saw the mad huntsman, Folly, leading, and
+Black Care, the whipper-in; and, at the bitter end,
+only the bones of the world&rsquo;s woe; and a Horseman
+seated on his Pale Horse.</p>
+<p>But the problem that still remained was how to
+swerve the headlong hunt to the true trail toward the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span>
+only goal where the world&rsquo;s quarry, happiness, lies
+asleep.</p>
+<p>How to make service the Universal Heart&rsquo;s Desire?
+How to transfigure self-love into Love?</p>
+<p>To preach her faith from the street corners&ndash;&ndash;to cry
+it aloud in the wilderness where no ear heeded&ndash;&ndash;violence,
+aggression, the campaign militant, had never
+appealed to the girl.</p>
+<p>Like her nation, only when cornered did she blaze
+out and strike. But to harangue, threaten, demand
+of the world that it accept the Law of Service and of
+Love, seemed to her a mockery of the faith she had
+embraced, which, unless irrevocably in liaison with freedom,
+was no faith at all.</p>
+<p>So, for Palla, the solution lay in loyalty to the faith
+she professed; in living it; in swaying ignorance by
+example; in overcoming incredulity by service, scepticism
+by love.</p>
+<p>Love and Service? Why, all around her among these
+teeming millions were examples&ndash;&ndash;volunteers in khaki,
+their sisters in the garments of mercy! Why must the
+world stop there? This was the right scent. Why
+should the hunt swerve for the devil&rsquo;s herring drawn
+across the trail?</p>
+<p>One for all; all for one! She had read it on one of
+the war-posters. Somebody had taken the splendid
+Guardsman&rsquo;s creed and had made it the slogan for this
+war against darkness.</p>
+<p>And that was her creed&ndash;&ndash;the true faith&ndash;&ndash;the Law of
+Love. Then, was it good only in war? Why not make
+it the nation&rsquo;s creed? Why not emblazon it on the
+wall of every city on earth?&ndash;&ndash;one for all; all for one;
+Love, Service, Freedom!</p>
+<p>Before such a faith, autocracy and tyranny die.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span>
+Under such a law every evil withers, every question is
+unravelled. There are no more problems of poverty
+and riches, none of greed and oppression.</p>
+<p>The tyranny of convention, of observance, of taboo,
+of folkways, ends. And into the brain of all living
+beings will be born the perfect comprehension of their
+own indestructible divinity.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Part of this she ventured to say to Ilse Westgard
+one day, when they had met for luncheon in a modest
+tea-room on Forty-third Street.</p>
+<p>But Ilse, always inclined toward militancy, did not
+entirely agree with Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To embody in one&rsquo;s daily life the principles of one&rsquo;s
+living faith is scarcely sufficient,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Good is a
+force, not an inert condition. So is evil. And we
+should not sit still while evil moves.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Example is not inertia,&rdquo; protested Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Example, alone, is sterile, I think,&rdquo; said the ex-girl-soldier
+of the Battalion of Death, buttering a crescent.
+She ate it with the delightful appetite of flawless
+health, and poured out more chocolate.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For instance, dear,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;the forces of evil&ndash;&ndash;of
+degeneration, ignorance, envy, ferocity, are gathering
+like a tornado in Russia. Virtuous example,
+sucking its thumbs and minding its own business, will
+be torn to fragments when the storm breaks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Bolsheviki?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Reds. The Terrorists, I mean. You know as
+well as I do what they really are&ndash;&ndash;merely looters skulking
+through the smoke of a world in flames&ndash;&ndash;buzzards
+on the carcass of a civilisation dead. But, Palla, they
+do not sit still and suck their thumbs and say, &lsquo;I am a
+Terrorist. Behold me and be converted.&rsquo; No, indeed!
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span>
+They are moving, always in motion, preoccupied by
+their hellish designs.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In Russia, yes,&rdquo; admitted Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Everywhere, dearest. Here, also.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I believe there are scarcely any in America,&rdquo; insisted
+Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The country crawls with them,&rdquo; retorted Ilse.
+&ldquo;They work like moles, but already if you look about
+you can see the earth stirring above their tunnels.
+They are here, everywhere, active, scheming, plotting,
+whispering treason, stirring discontent, inciting envy,
+teaching treason.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They are the Russians&ndash;&ndash;Christians and Jews&ndash;&ndash;who
+have filtered in here to do the nation mischief. They
+are the Germans who blew up factories, set fires, scuttled
+ships. They are foreigners who came here
+poisoned with envy; who have acquired nothing; whose
+greed and ferocity are whetted and ready for a universal
+conflagration by which they alone could profit.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They are the labour leaders who break faith and
+incite to violence; they are the I. W. W.; they are the
+Black Hand, the Camorra; they are the penniless who
+would slay and rob; the landless who would kill and
+seize; the ignorant, nursing suspicion; the shiftless,
+brooding crimes to bring them riches quickly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And, Palla, your Law of Love and Service is good.
+But not for these.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What law for them, then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Education. Maybe with machine guns.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla shook her head. &ldquo;Is that the way to educate
+defectives?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When they come at you <i>en masse</i>, yes!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla laughed. &ldquo;Dear,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;there is no
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span>
+nation-wide Terrorist plot. These mental defectives
+are not in mass anywhere in America.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They are in dangerous groups everywhere. And
+every group is devoting its cunning to turning the
+working masses into a vast mob of the Black Hundred!
+They did it in Russia. They are working for it all
+over the world. You do not believe it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t, Ilse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well. You shall come with me this evening.
+Are you busy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The thought of Jim glimmered in her mind. He
+might feel aggrieved. But he ought to begin to realise
+that he couldn&rsquo;t be with her every evening.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I haven&rsquo;t any plans, Ilse,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;no definite
+engagement, I mean. Will you dine at home with me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Early, then. Because there is a meeting which you
+and I shall attend. It is an education.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An anarchist meeting?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, Reds. I think we should go&ndash;&ndash;perhaps take
+part&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why not? I shall not listen to lies and remain
+silent!&rdquo; said Ilse, laughing. &ldquo;The Revolution was
+good. But the Bolsheviki are nothing but greedy
+thieves and murderers. You and I know that. If
+anybody teaches people the contrary, I certainly shall
+have something to say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla desired to purchase silk for sofa pillows, having
+acquired a chaise-longue for her bedroom.</p>
+<p>So she and Ilse went out into the sunshine and multi-coloured
+crowd; and all the afternoon they shopped
+very blissfully&ndash;&ndash;which meant, also, lingering before
+store windows, drifting into picture-galleries, taking
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span>
+tea at Sherry&rsquo;s, and finally setting out for home
+through a beflagged avenue jammed with traffic.</p>
+<p>Dusk fell early but the drooping, orange-tinted
+globes which had replaced the white ones on the Fifth
+Avenue lamps were not yet lighted; and there still remained
+a touch of sunset in the sky when they left the
+bus.</p>
+<p>At the corner of Palla&rsquo;s street, there seemed to be
+an unusual congestion, and now, above the noise of
+traffic, they caught the sound of a band; and turned
+at the curb to see, supposing it to be a military music.</p>
+<p>The band was a full one, not military, wearing a
+slatternly sort of uniform but playing well enough as
+they came up through the thickening dusk, marching
+close to the eastern curb of the avenue.</p>
+<p>They were playing <i>The Marseillaise</i>. Four abreast,
+behind them, marched a dingy column of men and
+women, mostly of foreign aspect and squatty build,
+carrying a flag which seemed to be entirely red.</p>
+<p>Palla, perplexed, incredulous, yet almost instantly
+suspecting the truth, stared at the rusty ranks, at the
+knots of red ribbon on every breast.</p>
+<p>Other people were staring, too, as the unexpected
+procession came shuffling along&ndash;&ndash;late shoppers, business
+men returning home, soldiers&ndash;&ndash;all paused to gaze
+at this sullen visaged battalion clumping up the avenue.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Surely,&rdquo; said Palla to Ilse, &ldquo;these people can&rsquo;t be
+Reds!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Surely they are!&rdquo; returned the tall, fair girl calmly.
+Her face had become flushed, and she stepped to the
+edge of the curb, her blue, wrathful eyes darkening
+like sapphires.</p>
+<p>A soldier came up beside her. Others, sailors and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span>
+soldiers, stopped to look. There was a red flag passing.
+Suddenly Ilse stepped from the sidewalk,
+wrenched the flag from the burly Jew who carried it,
+and, with the same movement, shattered the staff across
+her knee.</p>
+<p>Men and women in the ranks closed in on her; a
+shrill roar rose from them, but the soldiers and sailors,
+cheering and laughing, broke into the enraged ranks,
+tearing off red rosettes, cuffing and kicking the infuriated
+Terrorists, seizing every seditious banner, flag,
+emblem and placard in sight.</p>
+<p>Female Reds, shrieking with rage, clawed, kicked and
+bit at soldier, sailor and civilian. A gaunt man, with a
+greasy bunch of hair under a bowler, waved dirty
+hands above the m&ecirc;l&eacute;e and shouted that he had the
+Mayor&rsquo;s permission to parade.</p>
+<p>Everywhere automobiles were stopping, crowds of
+people hurrying up, policemen running. The electric
+lights snapped alight, revealed a mob struggling there
+in the yellowish glare.</p>
+<p>Ilse had calmly stepped to the sidewalk, the fragments
+of flag and staff in her white-gloved hands; and,
+as she saw the irresponsible soldiers and blue-jackets
+wading lustily into the Reds&ndash;&ndash;saw the lively riot which
+her own action had started&ndash;&ndash;an irresistible desire to
+laugh seized her.</p>
+<p>Clear and gay above the yelling of Bolsheviki and
+the &ldquo;Yip&ndash;&ndash;yip!&rdquo; of the soldiers, peeled her infectious
+laughter. But Palla, more gentle, stood with dark eyes
+dilated, fearful of real bloodshed in the furious scene
+raging in the avenue before her.</p>
+<p>A little shrimp of a Terrorist, a huge red rosette
+streaming from his buttonhole, suddenly ran at Ilse
+and seized the broken staff and the rags of the red flag.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span>
+And Palla, alarmed, caught him by the coat-collar
+and dragged him screeching and cursing away from her
+friend, rebuking him in a firm but excited voice.</p>
+<p>Ilse came over, shouldering her superb figure through
+the crowd; looked at the human shrimp a moment; then
+her laughter pealed anew.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the man who abused me in Denmark!&rdquo; she
+said. &ldquo;Oh, Palla, <i>look</i> at him! Do you really believe
+you could educate a thing like that!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The man had wriggled free, and now he turned a
+flat, whiskered visage on Palla, menaced her with both
+soiled fists, inarticulate in his fury.</p>
+<p>But police were everywhere, now, sweeping this miniature
+riot from the avenue, hustling the Reds uptown,
+checking the skylarking soldiery, sending amused or
+indignant citizens about their business.</p>
+<p>A burly policeman said to Ilse with a grin: &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+take what&rsquo;s left of that red flag, Miss;&rdquo; and the girl
+handed it to him still laughing.</p>
+<p>Soldiers wearing overseas caps cheered her and Palla.
+Everybody on the turbulent sidewalk was now laughing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;D&rsquo;yeh see that blond nab the red flag outer that
+big kike&rsquo;s fists?&rdquo; shouted one soldier to his sweating
+bunkie. &ldquo;Some skirt!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God love the Bolsheviki she grabs by the slack o&rsquo;
+the pants!&rdquo; cried a blue-jacket who had lost his cap.
+A roar followed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Only one flag in this little old town!&rdquo; yelled a
+citizen nursing a cut cheek with reddened handkerchief.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;G&rsquo;wan, now!&rdquo; grumbled a policeman, trying to look
+severe; &ldquo;it&rsquo;s all over; they&rsquo;s nothing to see. Av ye
+got homes&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yip! Where do we go from here?&rdquo; demanded a
+marine.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Home!&rdquo; repeated the policeman; &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;that&rsquo;s the
+answer. G&rsquo;wan, now, peaceable&ndash;&ndash;lave these ladies
+pass!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse and Palla, still walled in by a grinning, admiring
+soldiery, took advantage of the opening and fled, followed
+by cheers as far as Palla&rsquo;s door.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good heavens, Ilse,&rdquo; she exclaimed in fresh dismay,
+as she began to realise the rather violent r&ocirc;les they both
+had played, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;is that your idea of education for the
+masses?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A servant answered the bell and they entered the
+house. And presently, seated on the chaise-longue in
+Palla&rsquo;s bedroom, Ilse Westgard alternately gazed upon
+her ruined white gloves and leaned against the cane
+back, weak with laughter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How funny! How degrading! But how funny!&rdquo;
+she kept repeating. &ldquo;That large and enraged Jew with
+the red flag!&ndash;&ndash;the wretched little Christian shrimp you
+carried wriggling away by the collar! Oh, Palla!
+Palla! Never shall I forget the expression on your
+face&ndash;&ndash;like a bored housewife, who, between thumb and
+forefinger, carries a dead mouse by the tail&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was trying to kick you, my dear,&rdquo; explained
+Palla, beginning to remove the hairpins from her hair.</p>
+<p>Ilse touched her eyes with her handkerchief.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They might have thrown bombs,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
+all very well to laugh, darling, but sometimes such
+affairs are not funny.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla, seated at her dresser, shook down a mass of
+thick, bright-brown hair, and picked up her comb.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am wondering,&rdquo; she said, turning partly toward
+Ilse, &ldquo;what Jim Shotwell would think of me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fighting on the street!&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;her laughter rang out
+uncontrolled. And Palla, too, was laughing rather
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span>
+uncertainly, for, as her recollection of the affair became
+more vivid, her doubts concerning the entire procedure
+increased.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that red flag was outrageous,
+and you were quite right in destroying it. One could
+hardly buttonhole such a procession and try to educate
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse said: &ldquo;One can usually educate a wild animal,
+but never a rabid one. You&rsquo;ll see, to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where are we going, dear?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We are going to a place just west of Seventh
+Avenue, called the Red Flag Club.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it a club?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. The Reds hire it several times a week and
+try to fill it with people. There is the menace to this
+city and to the nation, Palla&ndash;&ndash;for these cunning fomenters
+of disorder deluge the poorer quarters of the
+town with their literature. That&rsquo;s where they get
+their audiences. And that is where are being born the
+seeds of murder and destruction.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla, combing out her hair, gazed absently into
+the mirror.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why should not we do the same thing?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Form a club, rent a room, and talk to people?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; why not?&rdquo; asked Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is exactly why I wish you to come with me
+to-night&ndash;&ndash;to realise how we should combat these criminal
+and insane agents of all that is most terrible in
+Europe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you are right, Palla; that is the way to fight
+them. That is the way to neutralise the poison they
+are spreading. That is the way to educate the masses
+to that sane socialism in which we both believe. It can
+be done by education. It can be done by matching
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span>
+them with club for club, meeting for meeting, speech
+for speech. And when, in some local instances, it can
+not be done that way, then, if there be disorder, force!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It can be done entirely by education,&rdquo; said Palla.
+&ldquo;But remember!&ndash;&ndash;Marx gave the forces of disorder
+their slogan&ndash;&ndash;&lsquo;Unite!&rsquo; Only a rigid organisation of
+sane civilisation can meet that menace.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You are very right, darling, and a club to combat
+the Bolsheviki already exists. Vanya and Marya
+already have joined; there are workmen and working
+women, college professors and college graduates among
+its members. Some, no doubt, will be among the audience
+at the Red Flag Club to-night.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shall join this club. I think you, also, will wish
+to enroll. It is called only &lsquo;Number One.&rsquo; Other
+clubs are to be organised and numbered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And now you see that, in America, the fight against
+organised rascality and exploited insanity has really
+begun.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla, her hair under discipline once more, donned
+a fresh but severe black gown. Ilse unpinned her
+hat, made a vigorous toilet, then lighted a cigarette
+and sauntered into the living room where the telephone
+was ringing persistently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please answer,&rdquo; said Palla, fastening her gown
+before the pier glass.</p>
+<p>Presently Ilse called her: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s Mr. Shotwell, dear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla came into the room and picked up the receiver:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes? Oh, good evening, Jim! Yes.... Yes,
+I am going out with Ilse.... Why, no, I had no
+engagement with you, Jim! I&rsquo;m sorry, but I didn&rsquo;t
+understand&ndash;&ndash;No; I had no idea that you expected to
+see me&ndash;&ndash;wait a moment, please!&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;she put one hand
+over the transmitter, turned to Ilse with flushed cheeks
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span>
+and a shyly interrogative smile: &ldquo;Shall I ask him to
+dine with us and go with us?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you choose,&rdquo; called Ilse, faintly amused.</p>
+<p>Then Palla called him: &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;Jim! Come to dinner at
+once. And wear your business clothes.... What?... Yes,
+your every day clothes.... What?... Why,
+because I ask you, Jim. Isn&rsquo;t
+that a reason?... Thank you.... Yes,
+come immediately.... Good-bye, de&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She coloured crimson, hung up the receiver, and
+picked up the evening paper, not daring to glance at
+Ilse.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XI' id='CHAPTER_XI'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+</div>
+<p>When Shotwell arrived, dinner had already
+been announced, and Palla and Ilse Westgard
+were in the unfurnished drawing-room, the
+former on a step-ladder, the latter holding that collapsible
+machine with one hand and Palla&rsquo;s ankle with
+the other.</p>
+<p>Palla waved a tape-measure in airy salute: &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+trying to find out how many yards it takes for my
+curtains,&rdquo; she explained. But she climbed down and
+gave him her hand; and they went immediately into
+the dining-room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s all this nonsense about the Red Flag Club?&rdquo;
+he inquired, when they were seated. &ldquo;Do you and Ilse
+really propose going to that dirty anarchist joint?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How do you know it&rsquo;s dirty?&rdquo; demanded Palla,
+&ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;or do you mean it&rsquo;s only morally dingy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Both she and Ilse appeared to be in unusually
+lively spirits, and they poked fun at him when he objected
+to their attending the meeting in question.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but there may be a free fight.
+There was a row on Fifth Avenue this evening, where
+some of those rats were parading with red flags.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla laughed and cast a demure glance at Ilse.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is there to laugh at?&rdquo; demanded Jim. &ldquo;There
+was a small riot on Fifth Avenue! I met several men
+at the club who witnessed it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The sea-blue eyes of Ilse were full of mischief. He
+was aware of Palla&rsquo;s subtle exhilaration, too.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Why hunt for a free fight?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why avoid one if it&rsquo;s free?&rdquo; retorted Ilse, gaily.</p>
+<p>They all laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that your idea of liberty?&rdquo; he asked Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is all human progress but a free fight?&rdquo; she
+retorted. &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;Ilse means an
+intellectual battle. If they misbehave otherwise, I shall
+flee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t see why you want to go to hear a lot of
+Reds talk bosh,&rdquo; he remarked. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t like you,
+Palla.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It <i>is</i> like me. You see you don&rsquo;t really know me,
+Jim,&rdquo; she added with smiling malice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The main thing,&rdquo; said Ilse, &ldquo;is for one to be one&rsquo;s
+self. Palla and I are social revolutionists. Revolutionists
+revolt. A revolt is a row. There can be
+no row unless people fight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He smiled at their irresponsible gaiety, a little puzzled
+by it and a little uneasy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; he said, as coffee was served; &ldquo;but it&rsquo;s
+just as well that I&rsquo;m going with you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The ex-girl-soldier gave him an amused glance,
+lighted a cigarette, glanced at her wrist-watch, then
+rose lightly to her graceful, athletic height, saying
+that they ought to start.</p>
+<p>So they went away to pin on their hats, and Jim
+called a taxi.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>The hall was well filled when they arrived. There
+was a rostrum, on which two wooden benches faced a
+table and a chair in the centre. On the table stood
+a pitcher of drinking water, a soiled glass, and a jug
+full of red carnations.</p>
+<p>A dozen men and women occupied the two benches.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span>
+At the table a man sat writing. He held a lighted
+cigar in one hand; a red silk handkerchief trailed from
+his coat pocket.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>As Ilse and Palla seated themselves on an empty
+bench and Shotwell found a place beside them, somebody
+on the next bench beyond leaned over and bade
+them good evening in a low voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Brisson!&rdquo; exclaimed Palla, giving him her hand
+in unfeigned pleasure.</p>
+<p>Brisson shook hands, also, with Ilse, cordially, and
+then was introduced to Jim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What are you doing here?&rdquo; he inquired humorously
+of Palla. &ldquo;And, by the way,&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;dropping his
+voice&ndash;&ndash;&ldquo;these Reds don&rsquo;t exactly love me, so don&rsquo;t
+use my name.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla nodded and whispered to Jim: &ldquo;He secured all
+that damning evidence at the Smolny for our Government.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Brisson and Ilse were engaged in low-voiced conversation:
+Palla ventured to look about her.</p>
+<p>The character of the gathering was foreign. There
+were few American features among the faces, but those
+few were immeasurably superior in type&ndash;&ndash;here and
+there the intellectual, spectacled visage of some educated
+visionary, lured into the red tide and left there drifting;&ndash;&ndash;here
+and there some pale girl, carelessly dressed,
+seated with folded hands, and intense gaze fixed on
+space.</p>
+<p>But the majority of these people, men and women,
+were foreign in aspect&ndash;&ndash;round, bushy heads with no
+backs to them were everywhere; muddy skins, unhealthy
+skins, loose mouths, shifty eyes!&ndash;&ndash;everywhere around
+her Palla saw the stigma of degeneracy.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span></div>
+<p>She said in a low voice to Jim: &ldquo;These poor things
+need to be properly housed and fed before they&rsquo;re
+taught. Education doesn&rsquo;t interest empty stomachs.
+And when they&rsquo;re given only poison to stop the pangs&ndash;&ndash;what
+does civilisation expect?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He said: &ldquo;They&rsquo;re a lot of bums. The only education
+they require is with a night-stick.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s cruel, Jim.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s law.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One of your laws which does not appeal to me,&rdquo;
+she remarked, turning to Brisson, who was leaning
+over to speak to her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There are half a dozen plain-clothes men in the
+audience,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;There are Government detectives
+here, too. I rather expect they&rsquo;ll stop the proceedings
+before the programme calls for it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jim turned to look back. A file of policemen entered
+and carelessly took up posts in the rear of the
+hall. Hundreds of flat-backed heads turned, too; hundreds
+of faces darkened; a low muttering arose from
+the benches.</p>
+<p>Then the man at the table on the rostrum got up
+abruptly, and pulled out his red handkerchief as though
+to wipe his face.</p>
+<p>At the sudden flourish of the red fabric, a burst of
+applause came from the benches. Orator and audience
+were <i>en rapport</i>; the former continued to wave the
+handkerchief, under pretence of swabbing his features,
+but the intention was so evident and the applause so enlightening
+that a police officer came part way down
+the aisle and held up a gilded sleeve.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hey!&rdquo; he called in a bored voice, &ldquo;Cut that out!
+See!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That man on the platform is Max Sondheim,&rdquo;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span>
+whispered Brisson. &ldquo;He&rsquo;ll skate on thin ice before he&rsquo;s
+through.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sondheim had already begun to speak, ignoring the
+interruption from the police:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Mayor has got cold feet,&rdquo; he said with a sneer.
+&ldquo;He gave us a permit to parade, but when the soldiers
+attacked us his police clubbed us. That&rsquo;s the kind of
+government we got.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shame!&rdquo; cried a white-faced girl in the audience.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shame?&rdquo; repeated Sondheim ironically. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s
+shame to a cop? They got theirs all the same&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s enough!&rdquo; shouted the police captain sharply.
+&ldquo;Any more of that and I&rsquo;ll run you in!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sondheim&rsquo;s red-rimmed eyes measured the officer in
+silence for a moment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have the privilege,&rdquo; he said to his audience, &ldquo;of
+introducing to you our comrade, Professor Le Vey.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Le Vey,&rdquo; whispered Brisson in Palla&rsquo;s ear. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s
+a crack-brained chemist, and they ought to nab him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The professor rose from one of the benches on the
+rostrum and came forward&ndash;&ndash;a tall, black-bearded man,
+deathly pale, whose protruding, bluish eyes seemed
+almost stupid in their fixity.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Words are by-products,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and of minor
+importance. Deeds educate. T. N. T., also, is a byproduct,
+and of no use in conversation unless employed
+as an argument&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; A roar of applause drowned his
+voice: he gazed at the audience out of his stupid pop-eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tyranny has kicked you into the gutter,&rdquo; he went
+on. &ldquo;Capital makes laws to keep you there and hires
+police and soldiers to enforce those laws. This is
+called civilisation. Is there anything for you to do
+except to pick yourselves out of the gutter and destroy
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span>
+what kicked you into it and what keeps you there?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No!&rdquo; roared the audience.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Only a clean sweep will do it,&rdquo; said Le Vey. &ldquo;If
+you have a single germ of plague in the world, it will
+multiply. If you leave a single trace of what is called
+civilisation in the world, it will hatch out more tyrants,
+more capitalists, more laws. So there is only one remedy.
+Destruction. Total annihilation. Nothing less
+can purify this rotten hell they call the world!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Amid storms of applause he unrolled a manuscript
+and read without emphasis:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Therefore, the Workers of the World, in council
+assembled, hereby proclaim at midnight to-night,
+throughout the entire world:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;1. That all debts, public and private, are cancelled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;2. That all leases, contracts, indentures and similar
+instruments, products of capitalism, are null and
+void.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;3. All statutes, ordinances and other enactments
+of capitalist government are repealed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;4. All public offices are declared vacant.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;5. The military and naval organisations will immediately
+dissolve and reorganise themselves upon a
+democratic basis for speedy mobilisation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;6. All working classes and political prisoners will
+be immediately freed and all indictments quashed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;7. All vacant and unused land shall immediately
+revert to the people and remain common property until
+suitable regulations for its disposition can be made.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;8. All telephones, telegraphs, cables, railroads,
+steamship lines and other means of communication and
+transportation shall be immediately taken over by the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span>
+workers and treated henceforth as the property of the
+people.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;9. As speedily as possible the workers in the various
+industries will proceed to take over these industries
+and organise them in the spirit of the new epoch now
+beginning.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;10. The flag of the new society shall be plain red,
+marking our unity and brotherhood with similar republics
+in Russia, Germany, Austria and elsewhere&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;ll be about all from you, Professor,&rdquo; interrupted
+the police captain, strolling down to the platform.
+&ldquo;Come on, now. Kiss your friends good-night!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A sullen roar rose from the audience; Le Vey lifted
+one hand:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I told you how to argue,&rdquo; he said in his emotionless
+voice. &ldquo;Anybody can talk with their mouths.&rdquo; And
+he turned on his heel and went back to his seat on the
+bench.</p>
+<p>Sondheim stood up:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Comrade Bromberg!&rdquo; he shouted.</p>
+<p>A small, shabby man arose from a bench and shambled
+forward. His hair grew so low that it left him
+practically no forehead. Whiskers blotted out the remainder
+of his features except two small and very
+bright eyes that snapped and sparkled, imbedded in
+the hairy ensemble.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Comrades,&rdquo; he growled, &ldquo;it has come to a moment
+when the only law worth obeying is the law of
+force!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You bet!&rdquo; remarked the police captain, genially,
+and, turning his back, he walked away up the aisle
+toward the rear of the hall, while all around him from
+the audience came a savage muttering.</p>
+<p>Bromberg&rsquo;s growling voice grew harsher and deeper
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span>
+as he resumed: &ldquo;I tell you that there is only one law
+left for proletariat and tyrant alike! It is the law
+of force!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As the audience applauded fiercely, a man near them
+stood up and shouted for a hearing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Comrade Bromberg is right!&rdquo; he cried, waving his
+arms excitedly. &ldquo;There is only one real law in the
+world! The fit survive! The unfit die! The strong
+take what they desire! The weak perish. That is the
+law of life! That is the&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>An amazing interruption checked him&ndash;&ndash;a clear, crystalline
+peal of laughter; and the astounded audience
+saw a tall, fresh, yellow-haired girl standing up midway
+down the hall. It was Ilse Westgard, unable to
+endure such nonsense, and quite regardless of Brisson&rsquo;s
+detaining hand and Shotwell&rsquo;s startled remonstrance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What that man says is absurd!&rdquo; she cried, her
+fresh young voice still gay with laughter. &ldquo;He looks
+like a Prussian, and if he is he ought to know where
+the law of force has landed his nation.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In the ominous silence around her, Ilse turned and
+gaily surveyed the audience.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The law of force is the law of robbers,&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;That is why this war has been fought&ndash;&ndash;to educate
+robbers. And if there remain any robbers they&rsquo;ll have
+to be educated. Don&rsquo;t let anybody tell you that the
+law of force is the law of life!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; interrupted Bromberg hoarsely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An ex-soldier of the Death Battalion, comrade,&rdquo;
+said Ilse cheerfully. &ldquo;I used a rifle in behalf of the
+law of education. Sometimes bayonets educate, sometimes
+machine guns. But the sensible way is to have
+a meeting, and everybody drink tea and smoke cigarettes
+and discuss their troubles without reserve, and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span>
+then take a vote as to what is best for everybody concerned.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And she seated herself with a smile just as the inevitable
+uproar began.</p>
+<p>All around her now men and women were shouting
+at her; inflamed faces ringed her; gesticulating fists
+waved in the air.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What are you&ndash;&ndash;a spy for Kerensky?&rdquo; yelled a man
+in Russian.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The bourgeoisie has its agents here!&rdquo; bawled a red-haired
+Jew. &ldquo;I offer a solemn protest&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Agent provocateur!&rdquo; cried many voices. &ldquo;Pay no
+attention to her! Go on with the debate!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>An I. W. W.&ndash;&ndash;a thin, mean-faced American&ndash;&ndash;half
+arose and pointed an unwashed finger at Ilse.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A Government spy,&rdquo; he said distinctly. &ldquo;Keep your
+eye on her, comrades. There seems to be a bunch of
+them there&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sit down and shut up!&rdquo; said Shotwell, sharply.
+&ldquo;Do you want to start a riot?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You bet I&rsquo;ll start something!&rdquo; retorted the man,
+showing his teeth like a rat. &ldquo;What the hell did you
+come here for&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Silence!&rdquo; bawled Bromberg, hoarsely, from the platform.
+&ldquo;That woman is recognised and known. Pay no
+attention to her, but listen to me. I tell you that
+your law is the law of hatred!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla attempted to rise. Jim tried to restrain her:
+she pushed his arm aside, but he managed to retain
+his grasp on her arm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you crazy?&rdquo; he whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That man lies!&rdquo; she said excitedly. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you hear
+him preaching hatred?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s not your business&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;It <i>is</i>! That man is lying to these ignorant people!
+He&rsquo;s telling them a vile untruth! Let me go, Jim&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Better keep cool,&rdquo; whispered Brisson, leaning over.
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;re all in dutch already.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla said to him excitedly: &ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid to stand up
+and speak, but I&rsquo;m going to! I&rsquo;d be a coward to sit
+here and let that man deceive these poor people&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen to Bromberg!&rdquo; motioned Ilse, her blue eyes
+frosty and her cheeks deeply flushed.</p>
+<p>The orator had come down into the aisle. Every
+venomous word he was uttering now he directed straight
+at the quartette.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Russia is showing us the way,&rdquo; he said in his growling
+voice. &ldquo;Russia makes no distinctions but takes
+them all by the throat and wrings their necks&ndash;&ndash;aristocrats,
+bourgeoisie, cadets, officers, land owners, intellectuals&ndash;&ndash;all
+the vermin, all the parasites! And that
+is the law, I tell you! The unfit perish! The strong
+inherit the earth!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla sprang to her feet: &ldquo;Liar!&rdquo; she said hotly.
+&ldquo;Did not Christ Himself tell us that the meek shall
+inherit the earth!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Christ?&rdquo; thundered Bromberg. &ldquo;Have you come
+here to insult us with legends and fairy-tales about a
+god?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who mentioned God?&rdquo; retorted Palla in a clear
+voice. &ldquo;Unless we ourselves are gods there is none!
+But Christ did live! And He was as much a god as
+we are. And no more. But He was wiser! And what
+He told us is the truth! And I shall not sit silent
+while any man or woman teaches robbery and murder.
+That&rsquo;s what you mean when you say that the law of
+the stronger is the only law! If it is, then the poor
+and ignorant are where they belong&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;They won&rsquo;t be when they learn the law of life!&rdquo;
+roared Bromberg.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There is only one law of life!&rdquo; cried Palla, turning
+to look around her at the agitated audience. &ldquo;The
+only law in the world worth obedience is the Law of
+Love and of Service! No other laws amount to anything.
+Under that law every problem you agitate here
+is already solved. There is no injustice that cannot
+be righted under it! There is no aspiration that cannot
+be realised!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She turned on Bromberg, her hazel eyes very bright,
+her face surging with colour.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You came here to pervert the exhortation of Karl
+Marx, and unite under the banner of envy and greed
+every unhappy heart!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well. Others also can unite to combat you.
+A league of evil is not the only league that can be
+formed under this roof. Nor are the soldiers and police
+the only or the better weapons to use against you.
+What you agitators and mischief makers are really
+afraid of is that somebody may really educate your
+audiences. And that&rsquo;s exactly what such people as I
+intend to do!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A score or more of people had crowded around her
+while she was speaking. Shotwell and Brisson, too,
+had risen and stepped to her side. And the entire audience
+was on its feet, craning hundreds of necks and
+striving to hear and see.</p>
+<p>Somewhere in the crowd a shrill American voice
+cried: &ldquo;Throw them guys out! They got Wall Street
+cash in their pockets!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sondheim levelled a finger at Brisson:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look out for that man!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He published
+those lies about Lenine and Trotsky, and he&rsquo;s here
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span>
+from Washington to lie about us in the newspapers!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The I. W. W. lurched out of his seat and shoved
+against Shotwell.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get the hell out o&rsquo; here,&rdquo; he snarled; &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;go on!
+Beat it! And take your lady-friends, too.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Brisson said: &ldquo;No use talking to them. You&rsquo;d better
+take the ladies out while the going is good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But as they moved there was an angry murmur:
+the I. W. W. gave Palla a violent shove that sent her
+reeling, and Shotwell knocked him unconscious across
+a bench.</p>
+<p>Instantly the hall was in an uproar: there was a
+savage rush for Brisson, but he stopped it with levelled
+automatic.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get the ladies out!&rdquo; he said coolly to Shotwell,
+forcing a path forward at his pistol&rsquo;s point.</p>
+<p>Plain clothes men were active, too, pushing the excited
+Bolsheviki this way and that and clearing a lane
+for Palla and Ilse.</p>
+<p>Then, as they reached the rear of the hall, there
+came a wild howl from the audience, and Shotwell, looking
+back, saw Sondheim unfurl a big red flag.</p>
+<p>Instantly the police started for the rostrum. The
+din became deafening as he threw one arm around
+Palla and forced her out into the street, where Ilse and
+Brisson immediately joined them.</p>
+<p>Then, as they looked around for a taxi, a little
+shrimp of a man came out on the steps of the hall and
+spat on the sidewalk and cursed them in Russian.</p>
+<p>And, as Palla, recognising him, turned around, he
+shook his fists at her and at Ilse, promising that they
+should be attended to when the proper moment arrived.</p>
+<p>Then he spat again, laughed a rather ghastly and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span>
+distorted laugh, and backed into the doorway behind
+him.</p>
+<p>They walked east&ndash;&ndash;there being no taxi in sight.
+Ilse and Brisson led; Palla followed beside Jim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said the latter, his voice not yet under complete
+control, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t you think you&rsquo;d better keep away
+from such places in the future?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She was still very much excited: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s abominable,&rdquo;
+she exclaimed, &ldquo;that this country should permit such
+lies to be spread among the people and do nothing to
+counteract this campaign of falsehood! What is going
+to happen, Jim, unless educated people combine to
+educate the ignorant?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How?&rdquo; he asked contemptuously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By example, first of all. By the purity and general
+decency of their own lives. I tell you, Jim, that the
+unscrupulous greed of the educated is as dangerous
+and vile as the murderous envy of the Bolsheviki.
+We&rsquo;ve got to reform ourselves before we can educate
+others. And unless we begin by conforming to the Law
+of Love and Service, some day the Law of Hate and
+Violence will cut our throats for us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Palla,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I never dreamed that you&rsquo;d do
+such a thing as you did to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was afraid,&rdquo; she said with a nervous tightening
+of her arm under his, &ldquo;but I was still more afraid of
+being a coward.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t have to answer that crazy anarchist!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Somebody had to. He lied to those poor creatures.
+I&ndash;&ndash;I couldn&rsquo;t stand it!&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; Her voice broke a little.
+&ldquo;And if there is truly a god in me, as I believe, then
+I should show Christ&rsquo;s courage ... lacking His
+wisdom,&rdquo; she added so low that he scarcely heard her.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span></div>
+<p>Ilse, walking ahead with Brisson, looked back over
+her shoulder at Palla laughing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t I tell you that there are some creatures you
+can&rsquo;t educate? What do you think of your object
+lesson, darling?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XII' id='CHAPTER_XII'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+</div>
+<p>On a foggy afternoon, toward midwinter, John
+Estridge strolled into the new Overseas Club,
+which, still being in process of incubation, occupied
+temporary quarters on Madison Avenue.</p>
+<p>Officers fresh from abroad and still in uniform predominated;
+tunics were gay with service and wound
+chevrons, citation cords, stars, crosses, strips of striped
+ribbon.</p>
+<p>There was every sort of head-gear to be seen there,
+too, from the jaunty overseas <i>bonnet de police</i>, piped
+in various colours, to the corded campaign hat and
+leather-visored barrack-cap.</p>
+<p>Few cavalry officers were in evidence, but there were
+plenty of spurs glittering everywhere&ndash;&ndash;to keep their
+owners&rsquo; heels from slipping off the desks, as the pleasantry
+of the moment had it.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Estridge went directly to a telephone booth, and
+presently got his connection.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s John Estridge, as usual,&rdquo; he said in a bantering
+tone. &ldquo;How are you, Ilse?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;John! I&rsquo;m so glad you called me! Thank you
+so much for the roses! They&rsquo;re exquisite!&ndash;&ndash;matchless!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not at all!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you think they&rsquo;re matchless, just hold one up
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span>
+beside your cheek and take a slant at your mirror.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought you were not going to say such things
+to me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought I wasn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you alone?&rdquo; She laughed happily. &ldquo;Where
+are you, Jack?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At the Overseas Club. I stopped on my way from
+the hospital.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Y&ndash;&ndash;es.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A considerable pause, and then Ilse laughed again&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;a
+confused, happy laugh.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you think you&rsquo;d&ndash;&ndash;come over?&rdquo; she inquired.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shall I?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do <i>you</i> think about it, Jack?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose,&rdquo; he said in a humourous voice, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re
+afraid of that tendency which you say I&rsquo;m beginning
+to exhibit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The tendency to drift?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes;&ndash;&ndash;toward those perilous rocks you warned me
+of.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They <i>are</i> perilous!&rdquo; she insisted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You ought to know,&rdquo; he rejoined; &ldquo;you&rsquo;re sitting
+on top of &rsquo;em like a bally Lorelei!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If that&rsquo;s your opinion, hadn&rsquo;t you better steer for
+the open sea, John?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly I&rsquo;d better. But you look so sweet up
+there, with your classical golden hair, that I think
+I&rsquo;ll risk the rocks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please don&rsquo;t! There&rsquo;s a deadly whirlpool under
+them. I&rsquo;m looking down at it now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you see at the bottom, Ilse? Human
+bones?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t see the bottom. It&rsquo;s all surface, like a
+shining mirror.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come over and take a look at it with you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think you&rsquo;ll only see our own faces reflected....
+I think you&rsquo;d better not come.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be there in about half an hour,&rdquo; he said gaily.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>He sauntered out and on into the body of the club,
+exchanging with friends a few words here, a smiling
+handclasp there; and presently he seated himself near
+a window.</p>
+<p>For a while he rested his chin on his clenched hand,
+staring into space, until a waiter arrived with his
+order.</p>
+<p>He signed the check, drained his glass, and leaned
+forward again with both elbows on his knees, twirling
+his silver-headed stick between nervous hands.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;After all,&rdquo; he said under his breath, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s too late,
+now.... I&rsquo;m going to see this thing through.&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>As he rose to go he caught sight of Jim Shotwell,
+seated alone by another window and attempting to read
+an evening paper by the foggy light from outside. He
+walked over to him, fastening his overcoat on the way.
+Jim laid aside his paper and gave him a dull glance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How are things with you?&rdquo; inquired Estridge, carelessly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right. Are you walking up town?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jim&rsquo;s sombre eyes rested on the discarded paper,
+but he did not pick it up. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s rotten weather,&rdquo; he
+said listlessly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you seen Palla lately?&rdquo; inquired Estridge,
+looking down at him with a certain curiosity.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, not lately.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s a very busy girl, I hear.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;So I hear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge seated himself on the arm of a leather chair
+and began to pull on his gloves. He said:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I understand Palla is doing Red Cross and canteen
+work, besides organising her celebrated club;&ndash;&ndash;what
+is it she calls it?&ndash;&ndash;Combat Club No. 1?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I believe so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you haven&rsquo;t seen her lately?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Shotwell glanced at the fog and shrugged his shoulders:
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s rather busy&ndash;&ndash;as you say. No, I haven&rsquo;t
+seen her. Besides, I&rsquo;m rather out of my element among
+the people one runs into at her house. So I simply
+don&rsquo;t go any more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Palla&rsquo;s parties are always amusing,&rdquo; ventured
+Estridge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very,&rdquo; said the other, &ldquo;but her guests keep you
+guessing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge smiled: &ldquo;Because they don&rsquo;t conform to
+the established scheme of things?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps. The scheme of things, as it is, suits me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But it&rsquo;s interesting to hear other people&rsquo;s views.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m fed up on queer views&ndash;&ndash;and on queer people,&rdquo;
+said Jim, with sudden and irritable emphasis. &ldquo;Why,
+hang it all, Jack, when a fellow goes out among apparently
+well bred, decent people he takes it for granted
+that ordinary, matter of course social conventions prevail.
+But nobody can guess what notions are seething
+in the bean of any girl you talk to at Palla&rsquo;s house!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge laughed: &ldquo;What do you care, Jim?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I wouldn&rsquo;t care if they all didn&rsquo;t seem so
+exactly like one&rsquo;s own sort. Why, to look at them,
+talk to them, you&rsquo;d never suppose them queer! The
+young girl you take in to dinner usually looks as
+though butter wouldn&rsquo;t melt in her mouth. And the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span>
+chances are that she&rsquo;s all for socialism, self-determination,
+trial marriages and free love!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hell&rsquo;s bells! I&rsquo;m no prude. I like to overstep conventions,
+too. But this wholesale wrecking of the
+social structure would be ruinous for a girl like Palla.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But Palla doesn&rsquo;t believe in free love.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She hears it talked about by cracked illuminati.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rain on a duck&rsquo;s back, Jim!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rain drowns young ducks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean all this spouting will end in a deluge?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do. And then look for dead ducks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re not very respectful toward modernism,&rdquo; remarked
+Estridge, smiling.</p>
+<p>Then Jim broke loose:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Modernism? You yourself said that all these crazy
+social notions&ndash;&ndash;crazy notions in art, literature, music&ndash;&ndash;arise
+from some sort of physical degeneration, or from
+the perversion or checking of normal physical functions.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Usually they do&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; continued Shotwell, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s mostly due to perversion,
+in my opinion. Women have had too much
+of a hell of a run for their money during this war.
+They&rsquo;ve broken down all the fences and they&rsquo;re loose
+and running all over the world.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If they&rsquo;d only kept their fool heads! But no.
+Every germ in the wind lodged in their silly brains!
+Biff. They want sex equality and a pair of riding
+breeches! Bang! They kick over the cradle and
+wreck the pantry.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wifehood? Played out! Motherhood? In the discards!
+Domestic partnership?&ndash;&ndash;each sex to its own
+sphere? Ha-ha! That was all very well yesterday.
+But woman as a human incubator and brooder is an
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span>
+obsolete machine. Why the devil should free and
+untramelled womanhood hatch out young?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If they choose to, casually, all right. But it&rsquo;s
+purely a matter for self-determination. If a girl cares
+to take off her Sam Brown belt and her puttees long
+enough to nurse a baby, it&rsquo;s a matter that concerns
+her, not humanity at large. Because the social revolution
+has settled all such details as personal independence
+and the same standard for both sexes. So,
+<i>a bas</i> Madame Grundy! <i>A la lanterne</i> with the old
+r&eacute;gime! No&ndash;&ndash;hang it all, I&rsquo;m through!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you like Palla any more?&rdquo; inquired Estridge,
+still laughing.</p>
+<p>Jim gave him a singular look: &ldquo;Yes.... Do
+you like Ilse Westgard?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge said coolly: &ldquo;I am accepting her as she is.
+I like her that much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh. Is that very much?&rdquo; sneered the other.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Enough to marry her if she&rsquo;d have me,&rdquo; replied
+Estridge pleasantly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And she won&rsquo;t do that, I suppose?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not so far.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jim eyed him sullenly: &ldquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t accept Palla
+as she is&ndash;&ndash;or thinks she is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s sincere.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I understand that. But no girl can get away with
+such notions. Where is it all going to land her?
+What will she be?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge quoted: &ldquo;&lsquo;It hath not yet appeared what
+we shall be.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Shotwell rose impatiently, and picked up his overcoat:
+&ldquo;All I know is that when two healthy people care
+for each other it&rsquo;s their business&ndash;&ndash;their <i>business</i>, I repeat&ndash;&ndash;to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span>
+get together legally and do the decent thing
+by the human race.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Breed?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly! Breed legally the finest, healthiest, best
+of specimens;&ndash;&ndash;and as many as they can feed and
+clothe! For if they don&rsquo;t&ndash;&ndash;if we don&rsquo;t&ndash;&ndash;I mean our
+own sort&ndash;&ndash;the land will be crawling with the robust
+get of all these millions of foreigners, who already
+have nearly submerged us in America; and whose spawn
+will, one day, smother us to death.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hang it all, aren&rsquo;t they breeding like vermin now?
+All yellow dogs do&ndash;&ndash;all the unfit produce big litters.
+That&rsquo;s the only thing they ever do&ndash;&ndash;accumulate
+progeny.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And what are we doing?&ndash;&ndash;our sort, I mean? I&rsquo;ll
+tell you! Our sisters are having such a good time that
+they won&rsquo;t marry, if they can avoid it, until they&rsquo;re
+too mature to get the best results in children. Our
+wives, if they condescend to have any offspring at all,
+limit the output to one. Because more than one <i>might</i>
+damage their beauty. Hell! If the educated classes
+are going to practise race suicide and the Bolsheviki
+are going to breed like lice, you can figure out the
+answer for yourself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They walked to the foggy street together. Shotwell
+said bitterly:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do care for Palla. I like Ilse. All the women
+one encounters at Palla&rsquo;s parties are gay, accomplished,
+clever, piquant. The men also are more or less amusing.
+The conversation is never dull. Everybody seems
+to be well bred, sincere, friendly and agreeable. But
+there&rsquo;s something lacking. One feels it even before one
+is enlightened concerning the ultra-modernism of these
+admittedly interesting people. And I&rsquo;ll tell you what
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span>
+it is. Actually, deep in their souls, they don&rsquo;t believe
+in themselves.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Take Palla. She says there is no God&ndash;&ndash;no divinity
+except in herself. And I tell you she may think she
+believes it, but she doesn&rsquo;t.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And her school-girl creed&ndash;&ndash;Love and Service! Fine.
+Only there&rsquo;s a prior law&ndash;&ndash;self-preservation; and another&ndash;&ndash;race
+preservation! By God, how are you going
+to love and serve if girls stop having babies?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And as for this silly condemnation of the marriage
+ceremony, merely because some sanctified Uncle Foozle
+once inserted the word &lsquo;obey&rsquo; in it&ndash;&ndash;just because, under
+the marriage laws, tyranny and cruelty have been practised&ndash;&ndash;what
+callow rot!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Laws can be changed; divorce made simple and
+non-scandalous as it should be; all rights safeguarded
+for the woman; and still have something legal and
+recognised by one of those necessary conventions which
+make civilisation possible.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But this irresponsible idea of procedure through
+mere inclination&ndash;&ndash;this sauntering through life under
+no law to safeguard and govern, except the law of
+personal preference&ndash;&ndash;that&rsquo;s anarchy! That code spells
+demoralisation, degeneracy and disaster!... And
+the whole damned thing to begin again&ndash;&ndash;a slow development
+of the human race, once more, out of the chaos
+of utter barbarism.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge, standing there on the sidewalk in the fog,
+smiled:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re very eloquent, Jim. Why don&rsquo;t you say
+all this to Palla?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I did. I told her, too, that the root of the whole
+thing was selfishness. And it is. It&rsquo;s a refusal to play
+the game according to rule. There are only two sexes
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span>
+and one of &rsquo;em is fashioned to bear young, and the other
+is fashioned to hustle for mother and kid. You can&rsquo;t
+alter that, whether it&rsquo;s fair or not. It&rsquo;s the game as
+we found it. The rules were already provided for
+playing it. The legal father and mother are supposed
+to look out for their own legal progeny. And any
+alteration of this rule, with a view to irresponsible
+mating and turning the offspring over to the community
+to take care of, would create an unhuman race,
+unconscious of the highest form of love&ndash;&ndash;the love for
+parents.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A fine lot we&rsquo;d be as an incubated race!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge laughed: &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got to go,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;And,
+if you care for Palla as you say you do, you oughtn&rsquo;t
+to leave her entirely alone with her circle of modernist
+friends. Stick around! It may make you mad, but if
+she likes you, at least she won&rsquo;t commit an indiscretion
+with anybody else.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish I could find my own sort as amusing,&rdquo; said
+Jim, na&iuml;vely. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been going about recently&ndash;&ndash;dances,
+dinners, theatres&ndash;&ndash;but I can&rsquo;t seem to keep my mind
+off Palla.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge said: &ldquo;If you&rsquo;d give your sense of humour
+half a chance you&rsquo;d be all right. You take yourself
+too solemnly. You let Palla scare you. That&rsquo;s not
+the way. The thing to do is to have a jolly time with
+her, with them all. Accept her as she thinks she is.
+There&rsquo;s no damage done yet. Time enough to throw
+fits if she takes the bit and bolts&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He extended his hand, cordially but impatiently:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You remember I once said that girl ought to be
+married and have children? If you do the marrying
+part she&rsquo;s likely to do the rest very handsomely. And
+it will be the making of her.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span></div>
+<p>Jim held on to his hand:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell me what to do, Jack. She isn&rsquo;t in love with me.
+And she wouldn&rsquo;t submit to a legal ceremony if she
+were. You invoke my sense of humour. I&rsquo;m willing
+to give it an airing, only I can&rsquo;t see anything funny
+in this business.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It <i>is</i> funny! Palla&rsquo;s funny, but doesn&rsquo;t know it.
+You&rsquo;re funny! They&rsquo;re all funny&ndash;&ndash;unintentionally.
+But their motives are tragically immaculate. So stick
+around and have a good time with Palla until there&rsquo;s
+really something to scare you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How the devil do I know? It&rsquo;s up to you, of
+course, what you do about it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed and strode away through the fog.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>It had seemed to Jim a long time since he had seen
+Palla. It wasn&rsquo;t very long. And in all that interminable
+time he had not once called her up on the telephone&ndash;&ndash;had
+not even written her a single line. Nor had she
+written to him.</p>
+<p>He had gone about his social business in his own
+circle, much to his mother&rsquo;s content. He had seen
+quite a good deal of Elorn Sharrow; was comfortably
+back on the old, agreeable footing; tried desperately
+to enjoy it; pretended that he did.</p>
+<p>But the days were long in the office; the evenings
+longer, wherever he happened to be; and the nights,
+alas! were becoming interminable, now, because he slept
+badly, and the grey winter daylight found him unrefreshed.</p>
+<p>Which, recently, had given him a slightly battered
+appearance, commented on jestingly by young rakes
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span>
+and old sports at the Patroon&rsquo;s Club, and also observed
+by his mother with gentle concern.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t overdo it, Jim,&rdquo; she cautioned him, meaning
+dances that ended with breakfasts and that sort of
+thing. But her real concern was vaguer than that&ndash;&ndash;deeper,
+perhaps. And sometimes she remembered the
+girl in black.</p>
+<p>Lately, however, that anxiety had been almost entirely
+allayed. And her comparative peace of mind
+had come about in an unexpected manner.</p>
+<p>For, one morning, entering the local Red Cross
+quarters, where for several hours she was accustomed
+to sew, she encountered Mrs. Speedwell and her lively
+daughter, Connie&ndash;&ndash;her gossiping informants concerning
+her son&rsquo;s appearance at Delmonico&rsquo;s with the mysterious
+girl in black.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, what do you suppose, Helen?&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Speedwell, mischievously. &ldquo;Jim&rsquo;s pretty mystery in
+black is here!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here?&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Shotwell, flushing and looking
+around her at the rows of prophylactic ladies, all sewing
+madly side by side.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and she&rsquo;s prettier even than I thought her
+in Delmonico&rsquo;s,&rdquo; remarked Connie. &ldquo;Her name is Palla
+Dumont, and she&rsquo;s a friend of Leila Vance.&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>During the morning, Mrs. Shotwell found it convenient
+to speak to Leila Vance; and they exchanged
+a pleasant word or two&ndash;&ndash;merely the amiable civilities
+of two women who recognise each other socially as
+well as personally.</p>
+<p>And it happened in that way, a few days later, that
+Helen Shotwell met this pretty friend of Leila Vance&ndash;&ndash;Palla
+Dumont&ndash;&ndash;the girl in black.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></div>
+<p>And Palla had looked up from her work with her
+engaging smile, saying: &ldquo;I know your son, Mrs. Shotwell.
+Is he quite well? I haven&rsquo;t seen him for such a
+long time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And instantly the invisible antenn&aelig; of these two
+women became busy exploring, probing, searching,
+and recognising in each other all that remains forever
+incomprehensible to man.</p>
+<p>For Palla somehow understood that Jim had never
+spoken of her to his mother; and yet that his mother
+had heard of her friendship with her son.</p>
+<p>And Helen knew that Palla was quietly aware of
+this, and that the girl&rsquo;s equanimity remained undisturbed.</p>
+<p>Only people quite sure of themselves preserved serenity
+under the merciless exploration of the invisible feminine
+antenn&aelig;. And it was evident that the girl in
+black had nothing to conceal from her in regard to
+her only son&ndash;&ndash;whatever that same son might think he
+ought to make an effort to conceal from his mother.</p>
+<p>To herself Helen thought: &ldquo;Jim has had his wings
+singed, and has fled the candle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>To Palla she said: &ldquo;Mrs. Vance tells me such interesting
+stories of your experiences in Russia. Really,
+it&rsquo;s like a charming romance&ndash;&ndash;your friendship for the
+poor little Grand Duchess.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A tragic one,&rdquo; said Palla in a voice so even that
+Helen presently lifted her eyes from her sewing to read
+in her expression something more than the mere words
+that this young girl had uttered. And saw a still, pale
+face, sensitive and very lovely; and the needle flying
+over a bandage no whiter than the hand that held it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was a great shock to you&ndash;&ndash;her death,&rdquo; said
+Helen.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And&ndash;&ndash;you were there at the time! How dreadful!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla lifted her brown eyes: &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t talk about it
+yet,&rdquo; she said so simply that Helen&rsquo;s sixth sense, always
+alert for information from the busy, invisible antenn&aelig;,
+suddenly became convinced that there were no more
+hidden depths to explore&ndash;&ndash;no motives to suspect, no
+pretense to expose.</p>
+<p>Day after day she chose to seat herself between
+Palla and Leila Vance; and the girl began to fascinate
+her.</p>
+<p>There was no effort to please on Palla&rsquo;s part, other
+than that natural one born of sweet-tempered consideration
+for everybody. There seemed to be no pretence,
+no pose.</p>
+<p>Such untroubled frankness, such unconscious candour
+were rather difficult to believe in, yet Helen was
+now convinced that in Palla these phenomena were quite
+genuine. And she began to understand more clearly, as
+the week wore on, why her son might have had a hard
+time of it with Palla Dumont before he returned to
+more familiar pastures, where camouflage and not candour
+was the rule in the gay and endless game of blind-man&rsquo;s
+buff.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This girl,&rdquo; thought Helen Shotwell to herself,
+&ldquo;could easily have taken Jim away from Elorn Sharrow
+had she chosen to do so. There is no doubt about her
+charm and her goodness. She certainly is a most unusual
+girl.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But she did not say this to her only son. She did
+not even tell him that she had met his girl in black.
+And Palla had not informed him; she knew that; because
+the girl herself had told her that she had not
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span>
+seen Jim for &ldquo;a long, long time.&rdquo; It really was not
+nearly as long as Palla seemed to consider it.</p>
+<p>Helen lunched with Leila Vance one day. The former
+spoke pleasantly of Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s such a darling,&rdquo; said Mrs. Vance, &ldquo;but the
+child worries me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, she&rsquo;s absorbed some ultra-modern Russian
+notions&ndash;&ndash;socialistic ones&ndash;&ndash;rather shockingly radical.
+Can you imagine it in a girl who began her novitiate
+as a Carmelite nun?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Helen said: &ldquo;She does not seem to have a tendency
+toward extremes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She has. That awful affair in Russia seemed to
+shock her from one extreme to another. It&rsquo;s a long
+way from the cloister to the radical rostrum.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She spoke of this new Combat Club.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She organised it,&rdquo; said Leila. &ldquo;They have a hall
+where they invite public discussion of social questions
+three nights a week. The other three nights, a rival
+and very red club rents the hall and howls for anarchy
+and blood.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it strange?&rdquo; said Helen. &ldquo;One can not imagine
+such a girl devoting herself to radical propaganda.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Too radical,&rdquo; said Leila. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m keeping an uneasy
+eye on that very wilful and wrong-headed child. Why,
+my dear, she has the most fastidious, the sweetest, the
+most chaste mind, and yet the things she calmly discusses
+would make your hair curl.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For example?&rdquo; inquired Helen, astonished.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, for example, they&rsquo;ve all concluded that it&rsquo;s
+time to strip poor old civilisation of her tinsel customs,
+thread-worn conventions, polite legends, and pleasant
+falsehoods.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;All laws are silly. Everybody is to do as they
+please, conforming only to the universal law of Love
+and Service. Do you see where that would lead some
+of those pretty hot-heads?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good heavens, I should think so!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course. But they can&rsquo;t seem to understand that
+the unscrupulous are certain to exploit them&ndash;&ndash;that the
+most honest motives&ndash;&ndash;the purest&ndash;&ndash;invite that certain
+disaster consequent on social irregularities.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Palla, so far, is all hot-headed enthusiast&ndash;&ndash;hot-hearted
+theorist. But I remember that she did take
+the white veil once. And, as I tell you, I shall try to
+keep her within range of my uneasy vision. Because,&rdquo;
+she added, &ldquo;she&rsquo;s really a perfect darling.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She is a most attractive girl,&rdquo; said Helen slowly;
+&ldquo;but I think she&rsquo;d be more attractive still if she were
+happily married.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And had children.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Their eyes met, unsmilingly, yet in silent accord.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Their respective cars awaited them at the Ritz and
+took them in different directions. But all the afternoon
+Helen Shotwell&rsquo;s mind was occupied with what she now
+knew of Palla Dumont. And she realised that she
+wished the girl were back in Russia in spite of all her
+charm and fascination&ndash;&ndash;yes, on account of it.</p>
+<p>Because this lovely, burning asteroid might easily
+cross the narrow orbit through which her own social
+world spun peacefully in its orderly progress amid
+that metropolitan galaxy called Society.</p>
+<p>Leila Vance was part of that galaxy. So was her
+own and only son. Wandering meteors that burnt so
+prettily might yet do damage.</p>
+<p>For Helen, having known this girl, found it not any
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span>
+too easy to believe that her son could have relinquished
+her completely in so disturbingly brief a time.</p>
+<p>Had she been a young man she knew that she would
+not have done so. And, knowing it, she was troubled.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Meanwhile, her only son was troubled, too, as he
+walked slowly homeward through the winter fog.</p>
+<p>And by the time he was climbing his front steps
+he had concluded to accept this girl as she was&ndash;&ndash;or
+thought she was&ndash;&ndash;to pull no more long faces or sour
+faces, but to go back to her, resolutely determined
+to enjoy her friendship and her friends too; and give
+his long incarcerated sense of humour an airing, even
+if he suffered acutely while it revelled.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XIII' id='CHAPTER_XIII'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+</div>
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s activities seemed to exhilarate her physically
+and mentally. Body and brain were now
+fully occupied; and, if the profit to her soul were
+dubious, nevertheless the restless spirit of the girl now
+had an outlet; and at home and in the Combat Club she
+planned and discussed and investigated the world&rsquo;s woes
+to her ardent heart&rsquo;s content.</p>
+<p>Physically, too, Red Cross and canteen work gave
+her much needed occupation; and she went everywhere
+on foot, never using bus, tram or taxicab. The result
+was, in spite of late and sometimes festive hours, that
+Palla had become something more than an unusually
+pretty girl, for there was much of real beauty in her
+full and charming face and in her enchantingly rounded
+yet lithe and lissome figure.</p>
+<p>About the girl, also, there seemed to be a new freshness
+like fragrance&ndash;&ndash;a virginal sweetness&ndash;&ndash;that indefinable
+perfume of something young and vigorous that
+is already in bud.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>That morning she went over to the dingy row of
+buildings to sign the lease of the hall for three evenings
+a week, as quarters for Combat Club No. 1.</p>
+<p>The stuffy place where the Red Flag Club had met
+the night before was still reeking with stale smoke and
+the effluvia of the unwashed; but the windows were
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span>
+open and a negro was sweeping up a litter of defunct
+cigars.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yaas&rsquo;m, Mr. Puma&rsquo;s office is next do&rsquo;,&rdquo; he replied
+to Palla&rsquo;s inquiry; &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;Sooperfillum Co&rsquo;poration.
+Yaas&rsquo;m.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Next door had been a stable and auction ring, and
+odours characteristic still remained, although now the
+ring had been partitioned, boarded over and floored, and
+Mr. Hewitt&rsquo;s glass rods full of blinding light were
+suspended above the studio ceilings of the Super-Picture
+Corporation.</p>
+<p>Palla entered the brick archway. An office on the
+right bore the name of Angelo Puma; and that large,
+richly coloured gentleman hastily got out of his desk
+chair and flashed a pair of magnificent as well as astonished
+eyes upon Palla as she opened the door and
+walked in.</p>
+<p>When she had seated herself and stated her business,
+Puma, with a single gesture, swept from the office
+several men and a stenographer, and turned to Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it you, then, who are this Combat Club which
+would rent from me the hall next door!&rdquo; he exclaimed,
+showing every faultless tooth in his head.</p>
+<p>Palla smiled: &ldquo;I am empowered by the club to sign
+a lease.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is sufficient!&rdquo; exclaimed Puma, with a superb
+gesture. &ldquo;So! It is signed! Your desire is enough.
+The matter is accomplished when you express the wish!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla blushed a little but smilingly affixed her signature
+to the papers elaborately presented by Angelo
+Puma.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A lease?&rdquo; he remarked, with a flourish of his large,
+sanguine, and jewelled hand. &ldquo;A detail merely for your
+security, Miss Dumont. For me, I require only the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span>
+expression of your slightest wish. That, to me, is a
+command more binding than the seal of the notary!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And he flashed his dazzling smile on Palla, who was
+tucking her copy of the agreement into her muff.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you so much, Mr. Puma,&rdquo; she said, almost
+inclined to laugh at his extravagances. And she laid
+down a certified check to cover the first month&rsquo;s rental.</p>
+<p>Mr. Puma bowed; his large, heavily lashed black
+eyes were very brilliant; his mouth much too red under
+the silky black moustache.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For me,&rdquo; he said impulsively, &ldquo;art alone matters.
+What is money? What is rent? What are all the annoying
+details of commerce? Interruptions to the soul-flow!
+Checks to the fountain jet of inspiration! Art
+only is important. Have you ever seen a cinema
+studio, Miss Dumont?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla never had.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Would it interest you, perhaps?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you&ndash;&ndash;some time&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is but a step! They are working. A peep will
+take but a moment&ndash;&ndash;if you please&ndash;&ndash;a thousand excuses
+that I proceed to show you the way!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stepped through a door. From a narrow anteroom
+she saw the set-scene in a ghastly light, where
+men in soiled shirt-sleeves dragged batteries of electric
+lights about, each underbred face as livid as the visage
+of a corpse too long unburied.</p>
+<p>There were women there, too, looking a little more
+human in their makeups under the horrible bluish glare.
+Camera men were busy; a cadaverous and profane director,
+with his shabby coat-collar turned up, was talking
+loudly in a Broadway voice and jargon to a bewildered
+girl wearing a ball gown.</p>
+<p>As Puma led Palla through the corridor from partition
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span>
+to partition, disclosing each set with its own scene
+and people&ndash;&ndash;the whole studio full of blatant noise and
+ghastly faces or painted ones, Palla thought she had
+never before beheld such a concentration of every type
+of commonness in her entire existence. Faces, shapes,
+voices, language, all were essentially the properties of
+congenital vulgarity. The language, too, had to be
+sharply rebuked by Puma once or twice amid the
+wrangling of director, camera man and petty subordinates.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So intense are the emotions evoked by a fanatic
+devotion to art,&rdquo; he explained to Palla, &ldquo;that, at
+moments, the old, direct and vigorous Anglo-Saxon
+tongue is heard here, unashamed. What will you? It
+is art! It is the fervour that forgets itself in blind
+devotion&ndash;&ndash;in rapturous self-dedication to the god of
+Truth and Beauty!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As she turned away, she heard from a neighbouring
+partition the hoarse expostulations of one of Art&rsquo;s
+blind acolytes: &ldquo;Say, f&rsquo;r Christ&rsquo;s sake, Delmour, what
+the hell&rsquo;s loose in your bean! Yeh done it wrong an&rsquo;
+yeh know damn well yeh done it wrong&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma opened another door: &ldquo;One of our projection
+rooms, Miss Dumont. If it is your pleasure to see a
+few reels run off&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, but I really must go&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The office door stood open and she went out that way.
+Mr. Puma confronted her, moistly brilliant of eye:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For me, Miss Dumont, I am frank like there never
+was a child in arms! Yes. I am all art; all heart.
+For me, beauty is God!&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; he kissed his fat fingers
+and wafted the caress toward the dirty ceiling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please excuse,&rdquo; he said with his powerful smile,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span>
+&ldquo;but have you ever, perhaps, thought, Miss Dumont,
+of the screen as a career?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I?&rdquo; asked Palla, surprised and amused. &ldquo;No, Mr.
+Puma, I haven&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A test! Possibly, in you, latent, sleeps the exquisite
+apotheosis of Art incarnate! Who can tell?
+You have youth, beauty, a mind! Yes. Who knows
+if, also, happily, genius slumbers within? Yes?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m very sure it doesn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; replied Palla, laughing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! Who can be sure of anything&ndash;&ndash;even of heaven!&rdquo;
+cried Puma.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very true,&rdquo; said Palla, trying to speak seriously,
+&ldquo;But the career of a moving picture actress does not
+attract me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The emoluments are enormous!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, no&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A test! We try! It would be amusing for you to
+see yourself upon the screen as you are, Miss Dumont?
+As you <i>are</i>&ndash;&ndash;young, beautiful, vivacious&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He still blocked her way, so she said, laying her
+gloved hand on the knob:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you very much. Some day, perhaps. But
+I really must go&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He immediately bowed, opened the glass door, and
+went with her to the brick arch.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do not think you know,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that I have
+entered partnership with a friend of yours?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A friend of mine?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Elmer Skidder.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; she exclaimed, smilingly, &ldquo;I hope the partnership
+will be a fortunate one. Will you kindly inform
+Mr. Skidder of my congratulations and best wishes for
+his prosperity? And you may say that I shall be glad
+to hear from him about his new enterprise.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span></div>
+<p>To Mr. Puma&rsquo;s elaborate leave-taking she vouchsafed
+a quick, amused nod, then hurried away eastward
+to keep her appointment at the Canteen.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>About five o&rsquo;clock she experienced a healthy inclination
+for tea and wavered between the Plaza and home.
+Ilse and Marya were with her, but an indefinable something
+caused her to hesitate, and finally to let them
+go to the Plaza without her.</p>
+<p>What might be the reason of this sudden whim for an
+unpremeditated cup of tea at home she scarcely took
+the trouble to analyse. Yet, she was becoming conscious
+of a subtle and increasing exhilaration as she
+approached her house and mounted the steps.</p>
+<p>Suddenly, as she fitted the latch-key, her heart leaped
+and she knew why she had come home.</p>
+<p>For a moment her fast pulse almost suffocated her.
+Was she mad to return here on the wildest chance that
+Jim might have come&ndash;&ndash;might be inside, waiting? And
+what in the world made her suppose so?&ndash;&ndash;for she had
+neither seen him nor heard from him in many days.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m certainly a little crazy,&rdquo; she thought as she
+opened the door. At the same moment her eyes fell on
+his overcoat and hat and stick.</p>
+<p>Her skirt was rather tight, but her limbs were supple
+and her feet light, and she ran upstairs to the living
+room.</p>
+<p>As he rose from an armchair she flung her arms out
+with a joyous little cry and wrapped them tightly
+around his neck, muff, reticule and all.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You darling,&rdquo; he was saying over and over in a
+happy but rather stupid voice, and crushing her narrow
+hands between his; &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;you adorable child, you wonderful
+girl&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m so glad, Jim! Shall we have tea?...
+You dear fellow! I&rsquo;m so very happy that you came!
+Wait a moment&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; she leaned wide from him and touched
+an electric bell. &ldquo;Now you&rsquo;ll have to behave properly,&rdquo;
+she said with delightful malice.</p>
+<p>He released her; she spoke to the maid and then
+went over with him to the sofa, flinging muff, stole
+and purse on a chair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pure premonition,&rdquo; she explained, stripping the
+gloves from her hands. &ldquo;Ilse and Marya were all for
+the Plaza, but something sent me homeward! Isn&rsquo;t
+it really very strange, Jim? Why, I almost had an
+inclination to run when I turned into our street&ndash;&ndash;not
+even knowing why, of course&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re so sweet and generous!&rdquo; he blurted out.
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you raise hell with me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know,&rdquo; she said demurely, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t raise hell,
+dear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I&rsquo;ve behaved so rottenly&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It really wasn&rsquo;t friendly to neglect me so entirely.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He looked down&ndash;&ndash;laid one hand on hers in silence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I understand, Jim,&rdquo; she said sweetly. &ldquo;Is it all
+right now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right.... Of course I haven&rsquo;t
+changed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But it&rsquo;s all right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Really?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.... What is there for me to do but
+to accept things as they are?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean, &lsquo;accept <i>me</i> as I am!&rsquo; Oh, Jim, it&rsquo;s so
+dear of you. And you know well enough that I care
+for no other man as I do for you&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The waitress with the tea-tray cut short that sort of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span>
+conversation. Palla&rsquo;s appetite was a healthy one. She
+unpinned her hat and flung it on the piano. Then she
+nestled down sideways on the sofa, one leg tucked under
+the other knee, her hair in enough disorder to worry any
+other girl&ndash;&ndash;and began to tuck away tea and cakes.
+Sometimes, in animated conversation, she gesticulated
+with a buttered bun&ndash;&ndash;once she waved her cup to emphasise
+her point:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The main idea, of course, is to teach the eternal
+law of Love and Service,&rdquo; she explained. &ldquo;But, Jim,
+I have become recently, and in a measure, militant.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re going to love the unwashed with a club?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You very impudent boy! We&rsquo;re going to combat
+this new and terrible menace&ndash;&ndash;this sinister flood that
+threatens the world&ndash;&ndash;the crimson tide of anarchy!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good work, darling! I enlist for a machine gun
+uni&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen! The battle is to be entirely verbal. Our
+Combat Club No. 1, the first to be established&ndash;&ndash;is open
+to anybody and everybody. All are at liberty to enter
+into the discussions. We who believe in the Law of Love
+and Service shall have our say every evening that the
+club is open&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Reds may come and take a crack at you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Reds are welcome. We wish to face them
+across the rostrum, not across a barricade!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you dear girl, I can&rsquo;t see how any Red is
+going to resist you. And if any does, I&rsquo;ll knock his
+bally block off&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Jim, you&rsquo;re so vernacularly inclined! And you&rsquo;re
+very flippant, too&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not really,&rdquo; he said in a lower voice. &ldquo;Whatever
+you care about could not fail to appeal to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span></div>
+<p>She gave him a quick, sweet glance, then searched
+the tea-tray to reward him.</p>
+<p>As she gave him another triangle of cinnamon toast,
+she remembered something else. It was on the tip of
+her tongue, now; and she checked herself.</p>
+<p><i>He</i> had not spoken of it. Had his mother mentioned
+meeting her at the Red Cross? If not&ndash;&ndash;was it merely
+a natural forgetfulness on his mother&rsquo;s part? Was
+her silence significant?</p>
+<p>Nibbling pensively at her cinnamon toast, Palla pondered
+this. But the girl&rsquo;s mind worked too directly
+for concealment to come easy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m wondering,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;whether your mother
+mentioned our meeting at the Red Cross.&rdquo; And she
+knew immediately by his expression that he heard it
+for the first time.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was introduced at our headquarters by Leila
+Vance,&rdquo; said Palla, in her even voice; &ldquo;and your mother
+and she are acquaintances. That is how it happened,
+Jim.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was still somewhat flushed but he forced a smile:
+&ldquo;Did you find my mother agreeable, Palla?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. And she is so beautiful with her young face
+and pretty white hair. She always sits between Leila
+and me while we sew.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you say you knew me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, of course.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; he repeated, reddening again.</p>
+<p>No man ever has successfully divined any motive
+which any woman desires to conceal.</p>
+<p>Why his mother had not spoken of Palla to him he
+did not know. He was aware, of course, that nobody
+within the circle into which he had been born would
+tolerate Palla&rsquo;s social convictions. Had she casually
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span>
+and candidly revealed a few of them to his mother
+in the course of the morning&rsquo;s conversation over their
+sewing?</p>
+<p>He gave Palla a quick look, encountered her slightly
+amused eyes, and turned redder than ever.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You dear boy,&rdquo; she said, smiling, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think
+your very charming mother would be interested in
+knowing me. The informality of ultra-modern people
+could not appeal to her generation.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you&ndash;&ndash;talk to her about&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. But it might happen. You know, Jim, I
+have nothing to conceal.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The old troubled look had come back into his face.
+She noticed it and led the conversation to lighter
+themes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We danced last night after dinner,&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;There were some amusing people here for dinner.
+Then we went to see such a charming play&ndash;&ndash;<i>Tea for
+Three</i>&ndash;&ndash;and then we had supper at the Biltmore and
+danced.... Will you dine with me to-morrow?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you think you&rsquo;d enjoy it?&ndash;&ndash;a lot of people who
+entertain the same shocking beliefs that I do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right!&rdquo; he said with emphasis. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m through
+playing the r&ocirc;le of death&rsquo;s-head at the feast. I told
+you that I&rsquo;m going to take you as you are and enjoy
+you and our friends&ndash;&ndash;and quit making an ass of
+myself&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dear, you never did!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes, I did. And maybe I&rsquo;m a predestined ass.
+But every ass has a pair of heels and I&rsquo;m going to
+flourish mine very gaily from now on!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She protested laughingly at his self-characterisation,
+and bent toward him a little, caressing his sleeve in
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span>
+appeal, or shaking it in protest as he denounced himself
+and promised to take the world more gaily in the
+future.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll see,&rdquo; he remarked, rising to take his leave:
+&ldquo;I may even call the bluff of some of your fluffy ultra-modern
+friends and try a few trial marriages with each
+of &rsquo;em&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Jim, you&rsquo;re absolutely horrid! As if my friends
+believed in such disgusting ideas!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They do&ndash;&ndash;some of &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They don&rsquo;t!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then, I do!&rdquo; he announced so gravely that she
+had to look at him closely in the rather dim lamplight
+to see whether he was jesting.</p>
+<p>She walked to the top of the staircase with him;
+let him take her into his arms; submitted to his kiss.
+Always a little confused by his demonstrations, nevertheless
+her hand retained his for a second longer, as
+though shyly reluctant to let him go.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am so glad you came,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t neglect
+me any more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And so he went his way.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>His mother discovered him in the library, dressed
+for dinner. Something, as he rose&ndash;&ndash;his manner of looking
+at her, perhaps&ndash;&ndash;warned her that they were not
+perfectly <i>en rapport</i>. Then the subtle, invisible antenn&aelig;,
+exploring caressingly what is so palpable in the
+heart of man, told her that once more she was to deal
+with the girl in black.</p>
+<p>When his mother was seated, he said: &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t know
+you had met Palla Dumont, mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Helen hesitated: &ldquo;Mrs. Vance&rsquo;s friend? Oh, yes;
+she comes to the Red Cross with Leila Vance.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you like her?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In her son&rsquo;s eyes she was aware of that subtle and
+unconscious appeal which all mothers of boys are, some
+day, fated to see and understand.</p>
+<p>Sometimes the appeal is disguised, sometimes it is
+so subtle that only mothers are able to perceive it.</p>
+<p>But what to do about it is the perennial problem.
+For between lack of sympathy and response there are
+many nuances; and opposition is always to be avoided.</p>
+<p>Helen said, pleasantly, that the girl appeared to
+be amiable and interesting.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know her merely in that way,&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;We
+sit there sewing slings, pads, compresses, and bandages,
+and we gossip at random with our neighbours.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I like her very much,&rdquo; said Jim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She does seem to be an attractive girl,&rdquo; said his
+mother carelessly.... &ldquo;Are you going to Yama
+Farms for the week end?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m sorry. The Speedwells&rsquo; party is likely to
+be such a jolly affair, and I hear there&rsquo;s lots of snow
+up there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t met Mrs. Vance,&rdquo; said her son. &ldquo;Is she
+nice?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Leila Vance? Why, of course.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who is she?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She married an embassy attach&eacute;, Captain Vance.
+He was in the old army&ndash;&ndash;killed at Mons four years
+ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She and Palla are intimate?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I believe they are good friends,&rdquo; remarked his
+mother, deciding not to attempt to turn the current
+of conversation for the moment.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Mother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, dear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am quite sure I never met a girl I like as well.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Helen laughed: &ldquo;That is a trifle extravagant, isn&rsquo;t
+it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.... I asked her to marry me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Helen&rsquo;s heart stood still, then a bright flush stained
+her face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She refused me,&rdquo; said the boy.</p>
+<p>His mother said very quietly: &ldquo;Of course this is
+news to us, Jim.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I didn&rsquo;t tell you. I couldn&rsquo;t, somehow. But
+I&rsquo;ve told you now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dearest,&rdquo; she said, dropping her hand over his,
+&ldquo;don&rsquo;t think me unsympathetic if I say that it really is
+better that she refused you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I understand, mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes. But I don&rsquo;t think you do. Because I
+am still in love with her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You poor dear!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s rotten luck, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time heals&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; She checked herself, turned and
+kissed him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;After all,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;a soldier learns how to take
+things.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And presently: &ldquo;I do wish you&rsquo;d go up to Yama
+Farms.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;would be the obvious thing to do.
+Anything to keep going and keep your mind ticking
+away until you&rsquo;re safely wound up again.... But
+I&rsquo;m not going, dear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Helen looked at him in silence, not wondering what
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span>
+he might be going to do with his week-end instead,
+because she already guessed.</p>
+<p>Before she said anything more his father came in;
+and a moment later dinner was announced.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Jim slept soundly for the first night in a long time.
+His mother scarcely closed her eyes at all.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XIV' id='CHAPTER_XIV'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+</div>
+<p>There had been a row at the Red Flag Club&ndash;&ndash;a
+matter of differing opinions between members&ndash;&ndash;nothing
+sufficient to attract the police, but
+enough to break several heads, benches and windows.
+And it was evident that some gentleman&rsquo;s damaged nose
+had bled all over the linoleum in the lobby.</p>
+<p>Elmer Skidder, arriving at the studio next morning
+in his brand new limousine, heard about the shindy
+and went into the club to inspect the wreckage. Then,
+mad all through, he started out to find Puma. But a
+Sister Art had got the best of Angelo Puma in a
+questionable cabaret the night before, and he had not
+yet arrived at the studio of the Super-Picture Corporation.</p>
+<p>Skidder, thrifty by every instinct, and now smarting
+under his wrongs at the hands&ndash;&ndash;and feet&ndash;&ndash;of the Red
+Flag Club, went away in his gorgeous limousine to find
+Sondheim, who paid the rental and who lived in the
+Bronx.</p>
+<p>It was a long way; every mile and every gallon of
+gasoline made Skidder madder; and when at length
+he arrived at the brand new, jerry-built apartment
+house inhabited by Max Sondheim, he had concluded
+that the Red Flag Club was an undesirable tenant and
+that it must be summarily kicked out.</p>
+<p>Sondheim was still in bed, but a short-haired and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span>
+pallid young woman, with assorted spots on her complexion,
+bade Skidder enter, and opened the chamber
+door for him.</p>
+<p>The bedroom, which smelled of sour fish, was very
+cold, very dirty, and very blue with cigar smoke. The
+remains of a delicatessen breakfast stood on a table
+near the only window, which was tightly shut, and
+under the sill of which a radiator emitted explosive
+symptoms of steam to come.</p>
+<p>Sondheim sprawled under the bed-covers, smoking;
+two other men sat on the edge of the bed&ndash;&ndash;Karl Kastner
+and Nathan Bromberg. Both were smoking porcelain
+pipes. Three slopping quarts of beer decorated
+the wash stand.</p>
+<p>Skidder, who had halted in the doorway as the full
+aroma of the place smote him, now entered at the curt
+suggestion of Sondheim, but refused a chair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say, Sondheim,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;I been to the club this
+morning, and I&rsquo;ve seen what you&rsquo;ve done to the place.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; demanded Sondheim, in a growling voice,
+&ldquo;what haf we done?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, nothing;&ndash;&ndash;smashed the furniture f&rsquo;r instance.
+That&rsquo;s all. But it don&rsquo;t go with me. See?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Kastner got up and gave him a sinister, near-sighted
+look: &ldquo;If ve done damach ve pay,&rdquo; he remarked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure you&rsquo;ll pay!&rdquo; blustered Skidder. &ldquo;And that&rsquo;s
+all right, too. But no more for yours truly. I&rsquo;m
+through. Here&rsquo;s where your bunch quits the hall for
+keeps. Get me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please?&rdquo; inquired Kastner, turning a brick red.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I say I&rsquo;m through!&rdquo; blustered Skidder. &ldquo;You gotta
+get other quarters. It don&rsquo;t pay us to keep on buying
+benches and mending windows, even if you cough up
+for &rsquo;em. It don&rsquo;t pay us to rent the hall to your club
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span>
+and get all this here notoriety, what with your red flags
+and the <i>po</i>-lice hanging around and nosin&rsquo; into everything&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ach wass!&rdquo; snapped Kastner, &ldquo;of vat are you
+speaking? Iss it for you to concern yourself mit our
+club und vat iss it ve do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say, who d&rsquo;yeh think you&rsquo;re talkin&rsquo; to?&rdquo; retorted
+Skidder, his eyes snapping furiously. &ldquo;Grab this from
+me, old scout?&ndash;&ndash;I&rsquo;m half owner of that hall and I&rsquo;m
+telling you to get out! Is that plain?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So?&rdquo; Kastner sneered at him and nudged Sondheim,
+who immediately sat up in bed and levelled an
+unwashed hand at Skidder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You think you fire us?&rdquo; he shouted, his eyes inflamed
+and his dirty fingers crisping to a talon. &ldquo;You
+go home and tell Puma what you say to us. Then
+you learn something maybe, what you don&rsquo;t know
+already!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll learn <i>you</i> something!&rdquo; retorted Skidder. &ldquo;Just
+wait till I show Puma the wreckage&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let him look at it and be damned!&rdquo; roared Bromberg.
+&ldquo;Go home and show it to him! And see if he
+talks about firing us!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say,&rdquo; demanded Skidder, astonished, &ldquo;do you fellows
+think you got any drag with Angy Puma?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go back and ask him!&rdquo; growled Bromberg. &ldquo;And
+don&rsquo;t try to come around here and get fresh again.
+Listen! You go buy what benches you say we broke
+and send the bill to me, and keep your mouth shut and
+mind your fool business!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll mind my own and yours too!&rdquo; screamed Skidder,
+seized by an ungovernable access of fury. &ldquo;Say, you
+poor nut!&ndash;&ndash;you sick mink!&ndash;&ndash;you stale hunk of cheese!&ndash;&ndash;if
+you come down my way again I&rsquo;ll kick your shirttail
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span>
+for you! Get that?&rdquo; And he slammed the door and
+strode out in a flaming rage.</p>
+<p>But when, still furiously excited, he arrived once more
+at the office,&ndash;&ndash;and when Puma, who had just entered,
+had listened in sullen consternation to his story, he
+received another amazing and most unpleasant shock.
+For Puma told him flatly that the tenancy of the Red
+Flag Club suited him; that no lease could be broken,
+except by mutual consent of partners; and that he,
+Skidder, had had no business to go to Sondheim with
+any such threat of eviction unless he had first consulted
+his partner&rsquo;s wishes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, what&ndash;&ndash;what&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; stammered Skidder&ndash;&ndash;&ldquo;what
+the hell drag have those guys got with you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why is it you talk foolish?&rdquo; retorted Puma sharply.
+&ldquo;Drag? Did Sondheim say&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No! <i>I</i> say it. I ask you what have those crazy
+nuts got on you that you stand for all this rumpus?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma&rsquo;s lustrous eyes, battered but still magnificent,
+fixed themselves on Skidder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go out,&rdquo; he said briefly to his stenographer. Then,
+when the girl had gone, and the glass door closed behind
+her, he turned heavily and gazed at Skidder some
+more. And, after a few moments&rsquo; silence: &ldquo;Go on,&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;What did Sondheim say about me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Skidder&rsquo;s small, shifty eyes were blinking furiously
+and his essentially suspicious mind was also operating
+at full speed. When he had calculated what to say he
+took the chance, and said:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sondheim gave me to understand that he&rsquo;s got such
+a hell of a pull with you that I can&rsquo;t kick him out
+of my property. What do you know about that,
+Angelo?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Go on,&rdquo; said Puma impatiently, &ldquo;what else did he
+say about me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t I telling you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Skidder had no more to tell, so he manufactured
+more.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he continued craftily, &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t exactly get
+what that kike said.&rdquo; But his grin and his manner gave
+his words the lie, as he intended they should. &ldquo;Something
+about your being in dutch&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; He checked himself
+as Puma&rsquo;s black eyes lighted with a momentary
+glare.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What? He tells you I am in with Germans!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Naw;&ndash;&ndash;in dutch!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma&rsquo;s sanguinary skin reddened; his puffy fingers
+fished for a cigar in the pocket of his fancy waistcoat;
+he found one and lighted it, not looking at his partner.
+Then he picked up the morning paper.</p>
+<p>Skidder shrugged; stood up, pretending to yawn;
+started to open the door.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Elmer?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yeh? What y&rsquo;want?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want to know exactly what Max Sondheim said
+to you about me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you better go ask Sondheim.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. I ask you&ndash;&ndash;my friend&ndash;&ndash;my associate in business&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A fine associate!&ndash;&ndash;when I can&rsquo;t kick in when I want
+to kick out a bunch of nuts that&rsquo;s wrecking the hall,
+just because they got a drag with you&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen. I am frank like there never was a&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure. Go on!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I say it! Yes! I am frank like hell. From my
+friend and partner I conceal nothing&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Not even the books,&rdquo; grinned Skidder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Elmer. You pain me. I who am all heart! Elmer,
+I ask it of you if you will so kindly tell me what it is
+that Sondheim has said to you about this &lsquo;drag.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He said,&rdquo; replied the other viciously, &ldquo;that he had
+you cinched. He said you&rsquo;d hand me the ha-ha when
+I saw you. And you&rsquo;ve done it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pardon. I did not say to you a ha-ha, Elmer. I
+was surprised when you have told me how you have gone
+to Sondheim so roughly, without one word to me&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You was soused to the gills last night. I didn&rsquo;t
+know when you&rsquo;d show up at the studio&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was not just to me that you go to Sondheim in
+this so surprising manner, without informing me.&rdquo; He
+looked at his cigar; the wrapper was broken and he
+licked the place with a fat tongue. &ldquo;Elmer?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s me,&rdquo; replied the other, who had been slyly
+watching him. &ldquo;Spit it out, Angy. What&rsquo;s on your
+mind?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you, Elmer!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma&rsquo;s face became suddenly wreathed in guileless
+smiles: &ldquo;Me, I am frank like there never&ndash;&ndash;but no
+matter,&rdquo; he added; &ldquo;listen attentively to what I shall
+say to you secretly, that I also desire to be rid of this
+Red Flag Club.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A moment! I am embarrass. Yes. You ask why?
+I shall tell you. It is this. Formerly I have reside in
+Mexico. My business has been in Mexico City. I have
+there a little cinema theatre. In 1913 I arrive in New
+York. You ask me why I came? And I am frank
+like&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; his full smile burst on Skidder&ndash;&ndash;&ldquo;like a heaven
+angel! But it is God&rsquo;s truth I came here to make of
+the cinema a monument to Art.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;And make your little pile too, eh, Angy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As you please. But this I affirm to you, Elmer; of
+politics I am innocent like there never was a cherubim!
+Yes! And yet your Government has question me.
+Why? you ask so naturally. My God! I know no one
+in New York. I arrive. I repair to a recommended
+hotel. I make acquaintance&ndash;&ndash;unhappily&ndash;&ndash;with people
+who are under a suspicion of German sympathy!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What the devil did you do that for?&rdquo; demanded
+Skidder.</p>
+<p>Puma spread his jewelled fingers helplessly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How am I to know? I encounter people. I seek
+capital for my art. Me, I am all heart: I suspect
+nobody. I say: &lsquo;Gentlemen, my art is my life. Without
+it I cease to exist. I desire capital; I desire sympathy;
+I desire intelligent recognition and practical
+aid.&rsquo; Yes. In time some gentlemen evince confidence.
+I am offered funds. I produce, with joy, my first picture.
+Ha! The success is extravagant! But&ndash;&ndash;alas!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What tripped you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alas,&rdquo; repeated Puma, &ldquo;your Government arrests
+some gentlemen who have lend to me much funds. Why?
+Imagine my grief, my mortification! They are suspect
+of German propaganda! Oh, my God!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How is it they didn&rsquo;t pinch <i>you</i>?&rdquo; asked Skidder
+coldly, and beginning to feel very uneasy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me? No! They investigate. They discover only
+Art!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Skidder squinted at him nervously. If he had heard
+anything of that sort in connection with Puma he never
+would have flirted with him financially.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then, what&rsquo;s this drag they got with you?&ndash;&ndash;Sondheim
+and the other nuts?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you. Letters quite innocent but polite they
+have in possession&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackmail, by heck!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I must be considerate of Sondheim.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or he&rsquo;ll squeal on you. Is that it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma&rsquo;s black eyes were flaring up again; the heavy
+colour stained his face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me, I am&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right. Sondheim&rsquo;s got something on you, then.
+Has he?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is nothing. Yet, it has embarrass me&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That ratty kike! I get you, Angy. You were
+played. Or maybe you did some playing too. Aw!
+wait!&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;as Puma protested&ndash;&ndash;&ldquo;I&rsquo;m getting you, by
+gobs. Sure. And you&rsquo;re rich, now, and business is
+pretty good, and you wish Sondheim would let you
+alone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, surely.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How much hush-cash d&rsquo;yeh pay him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yaas, you! Come on, now, Angy. What does he
+stick you up for per month?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma&rsquo;s face became empurpled: &ldquo;He is a scoundrel,&rdquo;
+he said thickly. &ldquo;Me&ndash;&ndash;I wish to God and Jesus Christ
+I saw the last of him!&rdquo; He got up, and his step was
+lithe as a leopard&rsquo;s as he paced the room, ranging the
+four walls as though caged. And, for the first time,
+then Skidder realised that this velvet-eyed, velvet-footed
+man might possibly be rather dangerous&ndash;&ndash;dangerous
+to antagonise, dangerous to be associated
+with in business.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say,&rdquo; he blurted out, &ldquo;what else did you let me
+in for when I put my money into your business? Think
+I&rsquo;m going to be held up by any game like that? Think
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span>
+I&rsquo;m going to stand for any shake-down from that
+gang? Watch me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma stopped and looked at him stealthily: &ldquo;What
+is it you would do, Elmer?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Skidder offered no suggestion. He remained,
+however, extremely uneasy. For it was plain enough
+that Puma had been involved in dealings sufficiently
+suspicious to warrant Government surveillance.</p>
+<p>All Skidder&rsquo;s money and real estate were now invested
+in Super-Pictures. No wonder he was anxious.
+No wonder Puma, also, seemed worried.</p>
+<p>For, whatever he might have done in the past of a
+shady nature, now he had become prosperous and financially
+respectable and, if let alone, would doubtless continue
+to make a great deal of money for Skidder as
+well as for himself. And Skidder, profoundly troubled,
+wondered whether his partner had ever been guiltily
+involved in German propaganda, and had escaped Government
+detection only to fall a victim, in his dawning
+prosperity, to blackmailing associates of earlier days.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That mutt Sondheim looks like a bad one to me,
+and the other guy&ndash;&ndash;Kastner,&rdquo; he observed gloomily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is better that we should not offend them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just as you say, brother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I say it. Yes. We shall be wise to turn to them
+a pleasing face.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure. The best thing to do for a while is to stall
+along,&rdquo; nodded Skidder, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;but always be ready for
+a chance to hand it to them. That&rsquo;s safest; wait till
+we get the goods on them. Then slam it to &rsquo;em
+plenty!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If they annoy me too much,&rdquo; purred Puma, displaying
+every dazzling tooth, &ldquo;it may not be so agreeable
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span>
+for them. I am bad man to crowd....
+Meanwhile&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure; we&rsquo;ll stall along, Angy!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They opened the glass door and went out into the
+studio. And Puma began again on his favourite theme,
+the acquiring of Broadway property and the erection
+of a cinema theatre. And Skidder, with his limited
+imagination of a cross-roads storekeeper, listened cautiously,
+yet always conscious of agreeable thrills whenever
+the subject was mentioned.</p>
+<p>And, although he knew that capital was shy and
+that conditions were not favourable, his thoughts always
+reverted to a man he might be willing to go into
+such a scheme with&ndash;&ndash;the president of the Shadow Hill
+Trust Company, Alonzo Pawling.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>At that very moment, too, it chanced that Mr.
+Pawling&rsquo;s business had brought him to New York&ndash;&ndash;in
+fact, his business was partly with Palla Dumont, and
+they were now lunching together at the Ritz.</p>
+<p>Alonzo Pawling stood well over six feet. He still
+had all his hair&ndash;&ndash;which was dyed black&ndash;&ndash;and also an
+inky pair of old-fashioned side whiskers. For the
+beauty of his remaining features less could be said,
+because his eyes were a melancholy and faded blue, his
+nose very large and red, and his small, loose mouth
+seemed inclined to sag, as though saturated with moisture.</p>
+<p>Many years a widower he had, when convenient opportunity
+presented itself, never failed to offer marriage
+to Palla Dumont. And when, as always, she
+refused him in her frank, amused fashion, they returned
+without embarrassment to their amiable footing of
+many years&ndash;&ndash;she as child of his old friend and neighbour,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span>
+Judge Dumont, he as her financial adviser, and
+banker.</p>
+<p>As usual, Mr. Pawling had offered Palla his large,
+knotty hand in wedlock that morning. And now that
+this inevitable preliminary was safely over, they were
+approaching the end of a business luncheon on entirely
+amiable terms with each other.</p>
+<p>Financial questions had been argued, investments decided
+upon, news of the town discussed, and Palla was
+now telling him about Elmer Skidder and his new and
+apparently prosperous venture into moving pictures.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He came to see me last evening,&rdquo; she said, smiling
+at the recollection, &ldquo;and he arrived in a handsome limousine
+with an extra man on the front&ndash;&ndash;oh, very gorgeous,
+Mr. Pawling!&ndash;&ndash;and we had tea and he told me
+how prosperous he had become in the moving picture
+business.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I guess,&rdquo; said Mr. Pawling, &ldquo;that there&rsquo;s a lot of
+money in moving pictures. But nobody ever seems to
+get any of it except the officials of the corporation and
+their favourite stars.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It seems to be an exceedingly unattractive business,&rdquo;
+said Palla, recollecting her unpleasant impressions
+at the Super-Picture studios.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The right end of it,&rdquo; said Mr. Pawling, &ldquo;is to own
+a big theatre.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She smiled: &ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t advise me to make such
+an investment, would you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Pawling&rsquo;s watery eyes rested on her reflectively
+and he sucked in his lower lips as though trying to
+extract the omnipresent moisture.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I dunno,&rdquo; he said absently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Skidder told me that he would double his invested
+capital in a year,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I guess he was bragging.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; she rejoined, laughing, &ldquo;but I should
+not care to make such an investment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did he ask you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. But it seemed to me that he hinted at something
+of that nature. And I was not at all interested
+because I am contented with my little investments and
+my income as it is. I don&rsquo;t really need much money.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mr. Pawling&rsquo;s pendulous lip, released, sagged wetly
+and his jet-black eyebrows were lifted in a surprised
+arch.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re the first person I ever heard say they had
+enough money,&rdquo; he remarked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I have!&rdquo; she insisted gaily.</p>
+<p>Mr. Pawling&rsquo;s sad horse-face regarded her with faded
+surprise. He passed for a rich man in Shadow Hill.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where is Elmer&rsquo;s place of business?&rdquo; he inquired
+finally, producing a worn note-book and a gold pencil.
+And he wrote down the address.</p>
+<p>There was in all the world only one thing that seriously
+worried Mr. Pawling, and that was this worn
+note-book. Almost every day of his life he concluded to
+burn it. He lived in a vague and daily fear that it
+might be found on him if he died suddenly. Such
+things could happen&ndash;&ndash;automobile or railroad accidents&ndash;&ndash;any
+one of numberless mischances.</p>
+<p>And still he carried it, and had carried it for years&ndash;&ndash;always
+in a sort of terror while the recent Mrs.
+Pawling was still alive&ndash;&ndash;and in dull but perpetual
+anxiety ever since.</p>
+<p>There were in it pages devoted to figures. There
+were, also, memoranda of stock transactions. There
+were many addresses, too, mostly feminine.</p>
+<p>Now he replaced it in the breast pocket of his frock-coat,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span>
+and took out a large wallet strapped with a
+rubber band.</p>
+<p>While he was paying the check, Palla drew on her
+gloves; and, at the Madison Avenue door, stood chatting
+with him a moment longer before leaving for the
+canteen.</p>
+<p>Then, smilingly declining his taxi and offering her
+slender hand in adieu, she went westward on foot as
+usual. And Mr. Pawling&rsquo;s directions to the chauffeur
+were whispered ones as though he did not care to have
+the world at large share in his knowledge of his own
+occult destination.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s duty at the canteen lasted until six o&rsquo;clock
+that afternoon, and she hurried on her way home because
+people were dining there at seven-thirty.</p>
+<p>With the happy recollection that Jim, also, was dining
+with her, she ran lightly up the steps and into the
+house; examined the flowers which stood in jars of
+water in the pantry, called for vases, arranged a centre-piece
+for the table, and carried other clusters of
+blossoms into the little drawing-room, and others still
+upstairs.</p>
+<p>Then she returned to criticise the table and arrange
+the name-cards. And, this accomplished, she ran upstairs
+again to her own room, where her maid was
+waiting.</p>
+<p>Two or three times in a year&ndash;&ndash;not oftener&ndash;&ndash;Palla
+yielded to a rare inclination which assailed her only
+when unusually excited and happy. That inclination
+was to whistle.</p>
+<p>She whistled, now, while preparing for the bath;
+whistled like a blackbird as she stood before the pier-glass
+before the maid hooked her into a filmy, rosy
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span>
+evening gown&ndash;&ndash;her first touch of colour since assuming
+mourning.</p>
+<p>The bell rang, and the waitress brought an elaborate
+florist&rsquo;s box. There were pink orchids in it and
+Jim&rsquo;s card;&ndash;&ndash;perfection.</p>
+<p>How could he have known! She wondered rapturously,
+realising all the while that they&rsquo;d have gone
+quite as well with her usual black.</p>
+<p>Would he come early? She had forgotten to ask it.
+Would he? For, in that event&ndash;&ndash;and considering his
+inclination to take her into his arms&ndash;&ndash;she decided to
+leave off the orchids until the more strenuous rites of
+friendship had been accomplished.</p>
+<p>She was carrying the orchids and the long pin attached,
+in her left hand, when the sound of the doorbell
+filled her with abrupt and delightful premonitions.
+She ventured a glance over the banisters, then returned
+hastily to the living room, where he discovered her and
+did exactly what she had feared.</p>
+<p>Her left hand, full of orchids, rested on his shoulder;
+her cool, fresh lips rested on his. Then she retreated,
+inviting inspection of the rosy dinner gown; and
+fastened her orchids while he was admiring it.</p>
+<p>Her guests began to arrive before either was quite
+ready, so engrossed were they in happy gossip. And
+Palla looked up in blank surprise that almost amounted
+to vexation when the bell announced that their t&ecirc;te-&agrave;-t&ecirc;te
+was ended.</p>
+<p>Shotwell had met the majority of Palla&rsquo;s dinner
+guests. Seated on her right, he received from his
+hostess information concerning some of those he did
+not know.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That rather talkative boy with red hair is Larry
+Rideout,&rdquo; she said in a low voice. &ldquo;He edits a weekly
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span>
+called <i>The Coming Race</i>. The Post Office authorities
+have refused to pass it through the mails. It&rsquo;s rather
+advanced, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who is the girl on his right&ndash;&ndash;the one with the
+chalky map?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Questa Terrett. Don&rsquo;t you think her pallor is
+fascinating?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. What particular stunt does she perform?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be flippant. She writes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ads?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim! She writes poems. Haven&rsquo;t you seen any of
+them?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re rather modern poems. The lines don&rsquo;t rhyme
+and there&rsquo;s no metrical form,&rdquo; explained Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are they any good?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re a little difficult to understand. She leaves
+out so many verbs and nouns&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know. It&rsquo;s a part of her disease&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim, please be careful. She is taken seriously&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Taken seriously ill? There, dear, I won&rsquo;t guy your
+guests. What an absolutely deathly face she has!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She is considered beautiful.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She has the profile of an Egyptian. She&rsquo;s as dead-white
+as an Egyptian leper&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hush it is, sweetness! Who&rsquo;s the good-looking chap
+over by Ilse?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Stanley Wardner.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And his star trick?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a secessionist sculptor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He is one of the ultra-modern men who has seceded
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span>
+from the Society of American Sculptors to form, with
+a few others, a new group.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is he any good?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Jim, I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; she said candidly. &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t think I am quite in sympathy with his work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What sort is it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I understand him, he is what is termed, I believe,
+a concentrationist. For instance, in a nude figure
+which he is exhibiting in his studio, it&rsquo;s all a rough
+block of marble except, in the middle of the upper part,
+there is a nose.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A nose!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Really, it is beautifully sculptured,&rdquo; insisted Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But&ndash;&ndash;good heavens!&ndash;&ndash;isn&rsquo;t there any other anatomical
+feature to that block of marble?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I explained that he is a concentrationist. His
+school believes in concentrating on a single feature only,
+and in rendering that feature as minutely and perfectly
+as possible.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jim said: &ldquo;He looks as sane as a broker, too. You
+never can tell, can you, sweetness?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He glanced at several other people whose features
+were not familiar, but Palla&rsquo;s explanations of her
+friends had slightly discouraged him and he made no
+further inquiries.</p>
+<p>Vanya Tchernov was there, dreamy and sweet-mannered;
+Estridge sat by Ilse, looking a trifle careworn,
+as though hospital work were taking it out of
+him. Marya Lanois was there, too, with her slightly
+slanting green eyes and her tiger-red hair&ndash;&ndash;attracting
+from him a curious sort of stealthy admiration, inexplicable
+to him because he knew he was so entirely in
+love with Palla.</p>
+<p>A woman of forty sat on his right&ndash;&ndash;he promptly
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span>
+forgot her name each time he heard it&ndash;&ndash;who ate fastidiously
+and chose birth-control as the subject for conversation.
+And he dodged it in vain, for her conversation
+had become a monologue, and he sat fiddling
+with his food, very red, while the silky voice, so agreeable
+in pitch and intonation, slid smoothly on.</p>
+<p>Afterward Palla explained that she was a celebrated
+sociologist, but Jim remained shy of her.</p>
+<p>Other people came in after dinner. Vanya seated
+himself at the piano and played from one of his unpublished
+scores. Ilse sang two Scandinavian songs
+in her fresh, wholesome, melodious voice&ndash;&ndash;the song
+called <i>Ygdrasil</i>, and the <i>Song of Thokk</i>. Wardner had
+brought a violin, and he and Vanya accompanied
+Marya&rsquo;s Asiatic songs, but with some difficulty on the
+sculptor&rsquo;s part, as modern instruments are scarcely
+adapted to the sort of Russian music she chose to sing.</p>
+<p>Marya had a way, when singing, which appeared
+almost insolent. Seated, or carelessly erect, her supple
+figure fell into lines of indolently provocative grace;
+and the warm, golden notes welling from her throat
+seemed to be flung broadcast and indifferently to her
+listeners, as alms are often flung, without interest,
+toward abstract poverty and not to the poor breathing
+thing at one&rsquo;s elbow.</p>
+<p>She sang, in her preoccupied way, one of her savage,
+pentatonic songs, more Mongol than Cossack; then she
+sang an impudent <i>burlatskiya</i> lazily defiant of her
+listeners; then a so-called &ldquo;dancing song,&rdquo; in which
+there was little restraint in word or air.</p>
+<p>The subtly infernal enchantment of girl and music
+was felt by everybody; but several among the illuminati
+and the fair ultra-modernettes had now reached
+their limit of breadth and tolerance, and were becoming
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span>
+bored and self-conscious, when abruptly Marya&rsquo;s figure
+straightened to a lovely severity, her mouth opened
+sweetly as a cherub&rsquo;s, and, looking up like a little,
+ruddy bird, she sang one of the ancient <i>Kolyadki</i>,
+Vanya alone understanding as his long, thin fingers
+wandered instinctively into an improvised accompaniment:</p>
+<table summary=''><tr><td>
+<p class='center cg'>I</p>
+<p class='cg'><br />
+&ldquo;Young tears<br />
+Your fears disguise;<br />
+He is not coming!<br />
+Sweet lips<br />
+Let slip no sighs;<br />
+Cease, heart, your drumming!<br />
+He is not coming,<br />
+<span class='indent14'>&nbsp;</span><a name='FNanchor_0001' id='FNanchor_0001'></a><a href='#Footnote_0001' class='fnanchor'>[A]</a><i>Lada!</i><br />
+He is not coming.<br />
+<i>Lada oy Lada!</i><br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Gaze not in wonder,&ndash;&ndash;<br />
+Yonder no rider comes;<br />
+Hark how the kettle-drums<br />
+Mock his hoofs&rsquo; thunder;<br />
+Hark to their thudding,<br />
+Pretty breasts budding,&ndash;&ndash;<br />
+Setting the Buddhist bells<br />
+Clanking and banging,&ndash;&ndash;<br />
+Wheels at the hidden wells<br />
+Clinking and clanging!<br />
+(<i>Lada oy Lada!</i>)<br />
+Plough the flower under;<br />
+Tear it asunder!<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Young eyes<br />
+In swift surprise,<br />
+What terror veils you?<br />
+Clear eyes,<br />
+Who gallops here?
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span><br />
+What wolf assails you?<br />
+What horseman hails you,<br />
+<span class='indent16'>&nbsp;</span><i>Lada!</i><br />
+What pleasure pales you?<br />
+<i>Lada oy Lada!</i><br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Knight who rides boldly,<br />
+May Erlik impale you,&ndash;&ndash;<br />
+Your mother bewail you,<br />
+If you use her coldly!<br />
+Health to the wedding!<br />
+Joy to the bedding!<br />
+Set all the Christian bells<br />
+Swinging and ringing&ndash;&ndash;<br />
+Monks in their stony cells<br />
+Chanting and singing<br />
+(<i>Lada oy Lada!</i>)<br />
+Bud of the rose,<br />
+Gently unclose!&rdquo;</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+<p>Marya, her gemmed fingers bracketed on her hips, the
+last sensuous note still afloat on her lips, turned her
+head so that her rounded chin rested on her bare shoulder;
+and looked at Shotwell. He rose, applauding with
+the others, and found a chair for her.</p>
+<p>But when she seated herself, she addressed Ilse on
+the other side of him, leaning so near that he felt the
+warmth of her hair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who was it wrestled with Loki? Was it Hel, goddess
+of death? Or was it Thor who wrestled with that
+toothless hag, Thokk?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse explained.</p>
+<p>The conversation became general, vaguely accompanied
+by Vanya&rsquo;s drifting improvisations, where he
+still sat at the piano, his lost gaze on Marya.</p>
+<p>Bits of the chatter around him came vaguely to Shotwell&ndash;&ndash;the
+birth-control lady&rsquo;s placid inclination toward
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span>
+obstetrics; Wardner on concentration, with Palla
+listening, bending forward, brown eyes wide and curious
+and snowy hands framing her face; Ilse partly turned
+where she was seated, alert, flushed, half smiling at what
+John Estridge, behind her shoulder, was saying to her,&ndash;&ndash;some
+improvised nonsense, of which Jim caught a
+fragment:</p>
+<table summary=''><tr><td>
+<p class='cg'>&ldquo;If he who dwells in Midgard<br />
+With cunning can not floor her,<br />
+What hope that Mistress Westgard<br />
+Will melt if I implore her?<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;And yet I&rsquo;ve come to Asgard,<br />
+And hope I shall not bore her<br />
+If I tell Mistress Westgard<br />
+How deeply I adore her&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+<p>Through the hum of conversation and capricious
+laughter, Vanya&rsquo;s vague music drifted like wind-blown
+thistle-down, and his absent regard never left Marya,
+where she rested among the cushions in low-voiced dialogue
+with Jim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I had hoped,&rdquo; she smiled, &ldquo;that you had perhaps
+remembered me&ndash;&ndash;enough to stop for a word or two some
+day at tea-time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He had had no intention of going; but he said that
+he had meant to and would surely do so,&ndash;&ndash;the while she
+was leisurely recognising the lie as it politely uncoiled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why won&rsquo;t you come?&rdquo; she asked under her breath.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shall certainly&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; you won&rsquo;t come.&rdquo; She seemed amused: &ldquo;Tell
+me, are you too a concentrationist?&rdquo; And her beryl-green
+eyes barely flickered toward Palla. Then she
+smiled and laid her hand lightly on her breast: &ldquo;I,
+on the contrary, am a Diffusionist. It&rsquo;s merely a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span>
+matter of how God grinds the lens. But prisms colour
+one&rsquo;s dull white life so gaily!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And split it up,&rdquo; he said, smiling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And disintegrate it,&rdquo; she nodded, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;so exquisitely.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Into rainbows.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You do not believe that there is hidden gold there?&rdquo;
+And, looking at him, she let one hand rest lightly
+against her hair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. I believe it,&rdquo; he said, laughing at her enchanting
+effrontery. &ldquo;But, Marya, when the rainbow
+goes a-glimmering, the same old grey world is there
+again. It&rsquo;s always there&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awaiting another rainbow!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But storms come first.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is another rainbow not worth the storm?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shall we try?&rdquo; she asked carelessly.</p>
+<p>He did not answer. But presently he looked across
+at Vanya.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who is there who would not love him?&rdquo; said Marya
+serenely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was wondering.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No need. All love Vanya. I, also.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Think so. For it is quite true.... Will you
+come to tea alone with me some afternoon?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He looked at her; reddened. Marya turned her head
+leisurely, to hear what Palla was saying to her. At the
+sound of her voice, Jim turned also, and saw Palla
+bending near his shoulder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry,&rdquo; she was saying to Marya, &ldquo;but Questa
+Terrett desires to know Jim&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it any wonder,&rdquo; said Marya, &ldquo;that women should
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span>
+desire to know him? Alas!&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; She laughed and
+turned to Ilse, who seated herself as Jim stood up.</p>
+<p>Palla, her finger-tips resting lightly on his arm,
+said laughingly: &ldquo;Our youthful and tawny enchantress
+seemed unusually busy with you this evening. Has
+she turned you into anything very disturbing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Would you care?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Enough to come to earth and interfere?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good heavens, has it gone as far as that!&rdquo; she
+whispered in gay consternation. &ldquo;And could I really
+arrive in time, though breathless?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed: &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t need to stir from your
+niche, sweetness. I swept your altar once. I&rsquo;ll keep
+the fire clean.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You adorable thing&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; He felt the faintest pressure
+of her fingers; then he heard himself being presented
+to Questa Terrett.</p>
+<p>The frail and somewhat mortuary beauty of this
+slim poetess, with her full-lipped profile of an Egyptian
+temple-girl and her pale, still eyes, left him guessing&ndash;&ndash;rather
+guiltily&ndash;&ndash;recollecting his recent but meaningless
+disrespect.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;just why you are here.
+Soldiers are no novelty. Is somebody in love with you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was a toss-up whether he&rsquo;d wither or laugh, but
+the demon of gaiety won out.</p>
+<p>She also smiled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I asked you,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;because you seem to be
+quite featureless.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;ve a few eyes and noses and that sort&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean psychologically accentless.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just plain man?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. That is all you are, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid it is,&rdquo; he admitted, quite as much amused
+as she appeared to be.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see. Some crazy girl here is enamoured of you.
+Otherwise, you scarcely belong among modern intellectuals,
+you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At that he laughed outright.</p>
+<p>She said: &ldquo;You really are delightful. You&rsquo;re just a
+plain, fighting male, aren&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I haven&rsquo;t done much fighting&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Unimaginative, too! You could have led yourself
+to believe you had done a lot,&rdquo; she pointed out. &ldquo;And
+maybe you could have interested me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry. But suppose you try to interest <i>me</i>?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t I? I&rsquo;ve tried.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do your best,&rdquo; he encouraged her cheerfully. &ldquo;You
+never can be sure I&rsquo;m not listening.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At that she laughed: &ldquo;You nice youth,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;if you&rsquo;d talk that way to your sweetheart she&rsquo;d sit
+up and listen.... Which I&rsquo;m afraid she doesn&rsquo;t,
+so far.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He felt himself flushing, but he refused to wince
+under her amused analysis.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve simply got to have imagination, you know,&rdquo;
+she insisted. &ldquo;Otherwise, you don&rsquo;t get anywhere at
+all. Have you read my smears?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Smears?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bacteriologists take a smear of something on a
+glass slide and slip it under a microscope. My poems
+are like that. The words are the bacteria. Few can
+identify them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you serious?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Entirely.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He maintained his gravity: &ldquo;Would you be kind
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span>
+enough to take a smear and let me look?&rdquo; he inquired
+politely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly: the experiment is called &lsquo;Unpremeditation.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She dropped one thin and silken knee over the other
+and crossed her hands on it as she recited her poem.</p>
+<table summary=''><tr><td>
+<p class='center cg'>&ldquo;UNPREMEDITATION.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class='cg'><br />
+&ldquo;In the tube.<br />
+Several,<br />
+With intonation.<br />
+Red, red, red.<br />
+A square fabric<br />
+Once white<br />
+With intention.<br />
+Soiled, soiled, soiled.<br />
+Six hundred hundred million<br />
+Swarm like vermin,<br />
+Without intention.<br />
+Redder. Redder.<br />
+Drip, drip, drip.<br />
+A goes west,<br />
+B goes east,<br />
+C goes north,<br />
+Pink, pink, pink.<br />
+Two white squares.<br />
+And a coat-sleeve.<br />
+Without intention,<br />
+Intonations.<br />
+Pinker. Redder.<br />
+Six hundred hundred million.<br />
+Billions. Trillions.<br />
+A week. Two weeks.<br />
+Otherwise?<br />
+Eternity.&rdquo;</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+<p>Jim&rsquo;s features had become a trifle glassy. &ldquo;You do
+skip a few words,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Words are animalcul&aelig;. Some skip, some gyrate,
+some sub-divide.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He put a brave face on the matter: &ldquo;If you&rsquo;re not
+really guying me,&rdquo; he ventured, &ldquo;would you tell me
+a little about your poem?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo; she replied amiably. &ldquo;To put it redundantly,
+then, I have sketched in my poem a man
+in the subway, with influenza, which infects others in
+his vicinity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She rose, smiled, and sauntered off, leaving him
+utterly unable to determine whether or not he had
+been outrageously imposed upon. Palla rescued him,
+and he went with her, a little wild-eyed, downstairs to
+the nearly empty and carpetless drawing-room, where
+a music box was playing and people were already
+dancing.</p>
+<p>Toward midnight, Marya, passing Jim on her way
+to the front door, leaned wide from Vanya&rsquo;s arm:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let us at least discuss my rainbow theory,&rdquo; she
+said, laughing, and her face a shade too close to his;
+and continued on, still clinging to the sleeve of Vanya&rsquo;s
+fur-lined coat.</p>
+<p>Ilse was the last to leave, with Estridge waiting
+behind her to hold her wrap.</p>
+<p>She came up to Palla, took both her hands in an
+odd, subdued, wistful way.</p>
+<p>After a moment she kissed her, and, close to her ear:
+&ldquo;Wait, darling.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla did not understand.</p>
+<p>Ilse said: &ldquo;I mean&ndash;&ndash;wait before you ever take any
+step to&ndash;&ndash;to prove any theory&ndash;&ndash;or belief.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Still Palla did not comprehend.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With&ndash;&ndash;Jim,&rdquo; said Ilse in a low voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh. Why, of course. But&ndash;&ndash;it could never happen.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla said honestly: &ldquo;One reason is because he
+wouldn&rsquo;t anyway.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You must not be certain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am. I&rsquo;m absolutely certain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse gazed at her, then laughed and pressed her hand.
+&ldquo;Are you cold?&rdquo; asked Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought I felt you shiver, dearest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse flushed and held out her arms for the sleeves
+of her fur coat, which Estridge was holding.</p>
+<p>They went away together, leaving Palla alone with
+Shotwell, among the fading flowers.</p>
+<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0001' id='Footnote_0001'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0001'><span class='label'>[A]</span></a>
+<p>The ancient Slavonic Venus.</p>
+</div>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XV' id='CHAPTER_XV'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+</div>
+<p>&ldquo;So,&rdquo; said Puma, &ldquo;you are quite convinced he has
+much wealth. Yes?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You betcha,&rdquo; replied Elmer Skidder. &ldquo;That
+pious guy has got all kinds of it. Why, Alonzo D.
+Pawling can buy you and me like we were two subway
+tickets and then forget which pocket he put us in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He also is a sport? Yes?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On the quiet. Oh, I got his number some years ago.
+Ran into him once in New York, where you used to
+knock three times and ring twice before they slid the
+panel on you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A bank president?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you ever know one that didn&rsquo;t?&rdquo; grinned
+Skidder, inserting pearl studs in his shirt.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is very bad&ndash;&ndash;for a shake-down,&rdquo; mused Puma,
+smoothing his glossy top hat with one of Skidder&rsquo;s
+silk mufflers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aw, you can&rsquo;t scare Alonzo D. Pawling. Say,
+Angy, what dames have you commandeered?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ask Barclay and West. Also, they got another&ndash;&ndash;Vanna
+Brown.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pictures?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, she has a friend.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Skidder continued to attire himself in an over-braided
+evening dress; Puma, seated behind him, gazed
+absently at his partner&rsquo;s features reflected in the looking
+glass.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;A theatre on Broadway,&rdquo; he mused. &ldquo;You say he
+has seemed interested, Elmer?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He didn&rsquo;t run away screaming.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How did he behave?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s hard to size up Alonzo D. Pawling. He&rsquo;s
+a fly guy, Angy. What a man says at a little supper
+for four, with a peach pulling his Depews and a good
+looker sticking gardenias in his buttonhole, ain&rsquo;t what
+he&rsquo;s likely to say next day in your office.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You have accompany him to Broadway and you
+have shown him the parcel?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I sure did.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You explain how we can not lose out? You mention
+the option?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Skidder cast aside his white tie and tried another,
+constructed on the butterfly plan.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I put the whole thing up to him,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;No
+use stalling with Alonzo D. Pawling. I know him too
+well. So I let out straight from the shoulder, and he
+knows the scheme we&rsquo;ve got in mind and he knows we
+want his money in it. That&rsquo;s how it stands to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma nodded and softly joined his over-manicured
+finger-tips:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We give him a good time,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We give him
+a little dinner like there never was in New York. Yes?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You betcha.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Barclay is a devil. You think she please him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alonzo D. Pawling is some bird himself,&rdquo; remarked
+Skidder, picking up his hat and turning to Puma,
+who rose with lithe briskness, put on his hat, and began
+to pull at his white gloves.</p>
+<p>They went down to the street, where Puma&rsquo;s car was
+waiting.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I stop at the office a moment,&rdquo; he said, as they entered
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span>
+the limousine. &ldquo;You need not get out, Elmer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At the studio he descended, saying to Skidder that
+he&rsquo;d be back in a moment.</p>
+<p>But it was very evident when he entered his office
+that he had not expected to find Max Sondheim there;
+and he hesitated on the threshold, his white-gloved
+hand still on the door-knob.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come in, Puma; I want to see you,&rdquo; growled Sondheim,
+retaining his seat but pocketing <i>The Call</i>, which
+he had been reading.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To-morrow,&rdquo; said Puma coolly; &ldquo;I have no
+time&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, <i>now</i>!&rdquo; interrupted Sondheim.</p>
+<p>They eyed each other for a moment in silence, then
+Puma shrugged:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But be quick, if you
+please&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; interrupted the other in a menacing
+voice, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re getting too damned independent, telling
+me to be quick! I had a date with you here at five
+o&rsquo;clock. You thought you wouldn&rsquo;t keep it and you
+left at four-thirty. But I stuck around till you &rsquo;phoned
+in that you&rsquo;d stop here to get some money. It&rsquo;s seven
+o&rsquo;clock now, and I&rsquo;ve waited for you. And I guess
+you&rsquo;ve got enough time to hear what I&rsquo;m going to
+say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma looked at him without any expression at all
+on his sanguine features. &ldquo;Go on,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What I got to say to you is this,&rdquo; began Sondheim.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a kind of a club that uses our hall on
+off nights. It&rsquo;s run by women.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma waited.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They meet this evening at eight in our hall,&ndash;&ndash;your
+hall, if you choose.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span></div>
+<p>Puma nodded carelessly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right. Put them out.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Put &rsquo;em out!&rdquo; growled Sondheim. &ldquo;We don&rsquo;t want
+them there to-night or any other night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You ask me to evict respectable people who pay me
+rent?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t ask you; I <i>tell</i> you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma turned a deep red: &ldquo;And whose hall do you
+think it is?&rdquo; he demanded in a silky voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yours. That&rsquo;s why I tell you to get rid of that
+bunch and their Combat Club.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why have you ask me such a&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because they&rsquo;re fighting us and you know it. That&rsquo;s
+a good enough reason.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shall not do so,&rdquo; said Puma, moistening his lips
+with his tongue.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I guess you will when you think it over,&rdquo; sneered
+Sondheim, getting up from his chair and stuffing his
+newspaper into his overcoat pocket. He crossed the
+floor and shot an ugly glance at Puma <i>en passant</i>.
+Then he jerked open the door and went out briskly.</p>
+<p>Puma walked into the inner waiting room, where a
+telephone operator sat reading a book.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s McCabe?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here he comes now, Governor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The office manager sauntered up, eating a slice of
+apple pie, and Puma stepped forward to meet him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For what reason have you permit Mr. Sondheim
+to wait in my office?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He said you told him to go in and wait there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He is a liar! Hereafter he shall wait out here.
+You understand, McCabe?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir. You&rsquo;re always out when he calls, ain&rsquo;t
+you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma meditated a few moments: &ldquo;No. When he calls
+you shall let me know. Then I decide. But he shall
+not wait in my office.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very good, sir.&rdquo; And, as Puma turned to go: &ldquo;The
+police was here again this evening, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They heard of the row in the hall last night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What did you tell them?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, the muss was all swept up&ndash;&ndash;windows fixed and
+the busted benches in the furnace, so I said there had
+been no row as far as I knew, and I let &rsquo;em go in and
+nose around.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Next time,&rdquo; said Puma, &ldquo;you shall say to them that
+there was a very bad riot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sir?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A big fight,&rdquo; continued Puma. &ldquo;And if there is
+only a little damage you shall make more. And you
+shall show it to the police.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I get you, Governor. I&rsquo;ll stage it right; don&rsquo;t
+worry.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, you shall stage it like there never was in
+all of France any ruins like my hall! And afterward,&rdquo;
+he said, half to himself, &ldquo;we shall see what we shall
+see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He went back to his office, took a packet of hundred
+dollar bills from the safe, and walked slowly out to
+where the limousine awaited him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say, what the hell&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; began Skidder impatiently;
+but Puma leaped lightly to his seat and pulled the fur
+robe over his knees.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he said, in excellent humour, &ldquo;we pick up Mr.
+Pawling at the Astor.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Where are the ladies?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They join us, Hotel Rajah. It will be, I trust,
+an amusing evening.&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>About midnight, dinner merged noisily into supper
+in the private dining room reserved by Mr. Puma for
+himself and guests at the new Hotel Rajah.</p>
+<p>There had been intermittent dancing during the
+dinner, but now the negro jazz specialists had been dismissed
+with emoluments, and a music-box substituted;
+and supper promised to become even a more lively repetition
+of the earlier banquet.</p>
+<p>Puma was superb&ndash;&ndash;a large, heavy man, he danced
+as lightly as any ballerina; and he and Tessa Barclay
+did a Paraguayan dance together, with a leisurely and
+agile perfection of execution that elicited uproarious
+demonstrations from the others.</p>
+<p>Not a whit winded, Puma resumed his seat at table,
+laughing as Mr. Pawling insisted on shaking hands
+with him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You are far too kind to my poor accomplishments,&rdquo;
+he said in deprecation. &ldquo;It was not at all difficult, that
+Paraguayan dance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was art!&rdquo; insisted Mr. Pawling, his watery eyes
+brimming with emotion. And he pressed the pretty
+waist of Tessa Barclay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Art,&rdquo; rejoined Puma, laying a jewelled hand on his
+shirt-front, &ldquo;is an ecstatic outburst from within, like
+the song of the bird. Art is simple; art is not difficult.
+Where effort begins, art ends. Where self-expression
+becomes a labour, art already has perished!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He thumped his shirt-front with an impassioned and
+highly-coloured fist.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is art?&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;if it be not pleasure? And
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span>
+pleasure ceases where effort begins. For me, I am all
+heart, all art, like there never was in all the history
+of the Renaissance. As expresses itself the little innocent
+bird in song, so in my pictures I express myself.
+It is no effort. It is in me. It is born. Behold! Art
+has given birth to Beauty!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And the result,&rdquo; added Skidder, &ldquo;is a <i>ne plus ultra
+par excellence</i> which gathers in the popular coin every
+time. And say, if we had a Broadway theatre to run
+our stuff, and Angelo Puma to soopervise the combine&ndash;&ndash;oh
+boy!&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; He smote Mr. Pawling upon his bony
+back and dug him in the ribs with his thumb.</p>
+<p>Mr. Pawling&rsquo;s mouth sagged and his melancholy
+eyes shifted around him from Tessa Barclay&ndash;&ndash;who was
+now attempting to balance a bon-bon on her nose and
+catch it between her lips&ndash;&ndash;to Vanna Brown, teaching
+Miss West to turn cart-wheels on one hand.</p>
+<p>Evidently Art had its consolations; and the single
+track genius who lived for art alone got a bonus, too.
+Also, what General Sherman once said about Art
+seemed to be only too obvious.</p>
+<p>A detail, however, worried Mr. Pawling. Financially,
+he had always been afraid of Jews. And the nose of
+Angelo Puma made him uneasy every time he looked
+at it.</p>
+<p>But an inch is a mile on a man&rsquo;s nose; and his
+own was bigger, yet entirely Yankee; so he had about
+concluded that there was no racial occasion for financial
+alarm.</p>
+<p>What he should have known was that no Jew can
+compete with a Connecticut Yankee; but that any
+half-cast Armenian is master of both. Especially
+when born in Mexico of a Levantine father.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span></div>
+<p>Now, in spite of Angelo Puma&rsquo;s agile gaiety and
+exotic exuberances, his brain remained entirely occupied
+with two matters. One of these concerned the
+possibility of interesting Mr. Pawling in a plot of
+ground on Broadway, now defaced by several taxpayers.</p>
+<p>The other matter which fitfully preoccupied him was
+his unpleasant and unintentional interview with Sondheim.</p>
+<p>For it had come to a point, now, that the perpetual
+bullying of former associates was worrying Mr. Puma
+a great deal in his steadily increasing prosperity.</p>
+<p>The war was over. Besides, long ago he had prudently
+broken both his pledged word and his dangerous
+connections in Mexico, and had started what he believed
+to be a safe and legitimate career in New York,
+entirely free from perilous affiliations.</p>
+<p>Government had investigated his activities; Government
+had found nothing for which to order his internment
+as an enemy alien.</p>
+<p>It had been a close call. Puma realised that. But
+he had also realised that there was no law in Mexico
+ten miles outside of Mexico City;&ndash;&ndash;no longer any German
+power there, either;&ndash;&ndash;when he severed all connections
+with those who had sent him into the United
+States camouflaged as a cinema promoter, and under
+instruction to do all the damage he could to everything
+American.</p>
+<p>But he had not counted on renewing his acquaintance
+with Karl Kastner and Max Sondheim in New
+York. Nor did they reveal themselves to him until he
+had become too prosperous to denounce them and risk
+investigation and internment under the counter-accusations
+with which they coolly threatened him.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span></div>
+<p>So, from the early days of his prosperity in New
+York, it had been necessary for him to come to an
+agreement with Sondheim and Kastner. And the more
+his prosperity increased the less he dared to resent
+their petty tyranny and blackmail, because, whether or
+not they might suffer under his public accusations, it
+was very certain that internment, if not imprisonment
+for a term of years, would be the fate reserved for himself.
+And that, of course, meant ruin.</p>
+<p>So, although Puma ate and drank and danced with
+apparent abandon, and flashed his dazzling smile over
+everybody and everything, his mind, when not occupied
+by Alonzo D. Pawling, was bothered by surmises concerning
+Sondheim. And also, at intervals, he thought
+of Palla Dumont and the Combat Club, and he wondered
+uneasily whether Sondheim&rsquo;s agents had attempted
+to make any trouble at the meeting in his hall
+that evening.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>There had been some trouble. The meeting being
+a public one, under municipal permission, Kastner had
+sent a number of his Bolshevik followers there, instructed
+to make what mischief they could. They were
+recruited from all sects of the Reds, including the American
+Bolsheviki, known commonly as the I. W. W. Also,
+among them were scattered a few pacifists, hun-sympathisers,
+conscientious objectors and other birds of
+analogous plumage, quite ready for interruptions and
+debate.</p>
+<p>Palla presided, always a trifle frightened to find
+herself facing any audience, but ashamed to avoid the
+delegated responsibility.</p>
+<p>Among others on the platform around her were Ilse
+and Marya and Questa Terrett and the birth-control
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span>
+lady&ndash;&ndash;Miss Thane&ndash;&ndash;neat and placid and precise as
+usual, and wearing long-distance spectacles for a more
+minute inspection of the audience.</p>
+<p>Palla opened the proceedings in a voice which was
+clear, and always became steadier under heckling.</p>
+<p>Her favourite proposition&ndash;&ndash;the Law of Love and Service&ndash;&ndash;she
+offered with such winning candour that the
+interruption of derisive laughter, prepared by several
+of Kastner&rsquo;s friends, was postponed; and Terry Hogan,
+I. W. W., said to Jerry Smith, I. W. W.:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God love her, she&rsquo;s but a baby. Lave her chatter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>However, a conscientious objector got up and asked
+her whether she considered that the American army
+abroad had conformed to her Law of Love and Service,
+and when she answered emphatically that every soldier
+in the United States army was fulfilling to the highest
+degree his obligations to that law, both pacifists and
+conscientious objectors dissented noisily, and a student
+from Columbia College got up and began to harangue
+the audience.</p>
+<p>Order was finally obtained: Palla added a word or
+two and retired; and Ilse Westgard came forward.</p>
+<p>Somebody in the audience called out: &ldquo;Say, just because
+you&rsquo;re a good-looker it don&rsquo;t mean you got a
+brain!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse threw back her golden head and her healthy
+laughter rang uncontrolled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Comrade,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;we all have to do the best we
+can with what brain we have, don&rsquo;t we?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; came from her grinning heckler, who seemed
+quite won over by her good humour.</p>
+<p>So, an armistice established, Ilse plunged vigorously
+into her theme:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let me tell you something which you all know in
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span>
+your hearts: any class revolution based on violence and
+terrorism is doomed to failure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be too sure of that!&rdquo; shouted a man.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am sure of it. And you will never see any reign
+of terror in America.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you may see Bolshevism here&ndash;&ndash;Bolshevist propaganda&ndash;&ndash;Bolshevist
+ideas penetrating. You may see
+these ideas accepted by Labor. You may see strikes&ndash;&ndash;the
+most senseless and obsolete weapon ever wielded
+by thinking men; you may see panics, tie-ups, stagnation,
+misery. But you never shall see Bolshevism triumphant
+here, or permanently triumphant anywhere.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because Bolshevism is autocracy!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The hell it is!&rdquo; yelled an I. W. W.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Ilse cheerfully, &ldquo;as you have said it
+is hell. And hell is an end, not a means, not a remedy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because it is the negation of all socialism; the death
+of civilisation. And civilisation has an immortal destiny;
+and that destiny is socialism!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A man interrupted, but she asked him so sweetly for
+a few moments more that he reseated himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Comrades,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I know something about Bolshevism
+and revolution. I was a soldier of Russia.
+I carried a rifle and full pack. I was part of what is
+history. And I learned to be tolerant in the trenches;
+and I learned to love this unhappy human race of ours.
+And I learned what is Bolshevism.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is one of many protests against the exploitation
+of men by men. It is one of the many reactions against
+intolerable wrong. It is not a policy; it is an outburst
+against injustice; against the stupidity of present conditions,
+where the few monopolise the wealth created by
+the many; and the many remain poor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And Bolshevism is the remedy proposed&ndash;&ndash;the violent
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span>
+superimposition of a brand new autocracy upon
+the ruins of the old!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It does not work. It never can work, because it
+imposes the will of one class upon all other classes.
+It excludes all parties excepting its own from government.
+It is, therefore, not democratic. It is a tyranny,
+imposing upon capital and labour alike its will.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And I tell you that Labour has just won the greatest
+of all wars. Do you suppose Labour will endure the
+autocracy of the Bolsheviki? The time is here when
+a more decent division is going to be made between
+the employer and the labourer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care what sort of production it may be,
+the producer is going to receive a much larger share;
+the employer a much smaller. And the producer is
+going to enjoy a better standard of living, opportunities
+for leisure and self-cultivation; and the three spectres
+that haunt him from childhood to grave&ndash;&ndash;lack of
+money to make a beginning; fear for a family left on
+its own resources by his death; terror of poverty in
+old age&ndash;&ndash;shall vanish.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Against these three evil ghosts that haunt his bedside
+when the long day is done, there are going to be
+guarantees. Because those who won for us this righteous
+war, whether abroad or at home, are going to
+have something to say about it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And it will be they, not the Bolsheviki&ndash;&ndash;it will
+be labourer and employer, not incendiary and assassin,
+who shall determine what is to be the policy of this
+Republic toward those to whom it owes its salvation!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A man stood up waving his arms: &ldquo;All right! All
+right! The question is whether the sort of government
+we have is worth saving. You talk very flip
+about the Bolsheviki, but I&rsquo;ll tell you they&rsquo;ll run this
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span>
+country yet, and every other too, and run &rsquo;em to suit
+themselves! It&rsquo;s our turn; you&rsquo;ve had your inning.
+Now, you&rsquo;ll get a dose of what you hand to us if we
+have to ram it down with a gun barrel!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was wild cheering from Kastner&rsquo;s men scattered
+about the hall; cries of &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the stuff! Take away
+their dough! Kick &rsquo;em out of their Fifth Avenue
+castles and set &rsquo;em to digging subways!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse said calmly: &ldquo;Thank you very much for proving
+my contention for all these people who have been so
+kind as to listen to me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I said to you that Bolshevism is merely a new and
+more immoral autocracy which wishes to confiscate all
+property, annihilate all culture and set up in the public
+places a new god&ndash;&ndash;the god of Ignorance!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You have been good enough to corroborate me. And
+I and my audience now know that Bolshevism is on its
+way to America, and that its agents are already here.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is in view of such a danger that this Combat Club
+has been organised. And it was time to organise it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is evident, too, that the newspapers agree with
+us. Let us read you what one of them has to say:</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;We fully realise the atrocity of the Bolshevik propaganda,
+which is really the doctrine of communism and
+anarchy. We realise the perilous ferment which endangers
+civilisation. But in the countries which have
+held fast to moral standards during the war we believe
+the factors of safety are sufficiently great, the forces of
+sanity are far stronger than those of chaos&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Here, those whose r&ocirc;le it was to interrupt with derisive
+laughter, broke out at a preconcerted signal.
+But Ilse read on:</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span></div>
+<blockquote>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;In a word, as a mere matter of self-interest and
+common sense, we can only see the people, as a whole,
+in any country, as opposed to anarchy in any form. In
+our own land, even granted that there are a hundred
+thousand &rdquo;red&ldquo; agitators, or say a quarter of a million&ndash;&ndash;and
+we have no real belief that this is so&ndash;&ndash;what are
+these in a population of one hundred and five millions?
+Are the ninety and nine sane, moral, law abiding men
+and women going to allow themselves to be stampeded
+into ruin by a handful of criminals and lunatics?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;We do not for a moment believe it. These agitators
+and incendiaries have a sort of maniacal impetus that
+fills the air with dust and noise and alarms the credulous.
+Perhaps it may be wise to counteract this with a
+little quiet promotion of ideas of safety and prosperity,
+based on order and law. It may be well to calm the
+nerves of the timorous and it can do no harm to set in
+motion a counter wave of horror and repulsion against
+those who are planning to lead the world back to conditions
+of tribal savagery. Educational work is always
+beneficent. Let us have much of that but no panic.
+The power of truth and reason is in calm confidence.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>And now a bushy-headed man got on his feet and
+levelled his forefinger at Ilse: &ldquo;Take shame for your-selluf!&rdquo;
+he shouted. &ldquo;I know you! You fought mit
+Korniloff! You took orders from Kerensky, from aristocrats,
+from cadets!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse said pleasantly. &ldquo;I fought for Russia, my friend.
+And when the robbers and despoilers of Russia became
+the stronger, I took a vacation.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Some people laughed, but a harsh voice cried: &ldquo;We
+know what you did. You rescued the friend of the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span>
+Romanoffs&ndash;&ndash;that Carmelite nun up there on the platform
+behind you, who calls herself Miss Dumont!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And from the other side of the hall another man
+bawled out: &ldquo;You and the White Nun have done enough
+mischief. And you and your club had better get out
+of here while the going is good!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Estridge, who was standing in the rear of the hall
+with Shotwell, came down along the aisle. Jim followed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who said that?&rdquo; he demanded, scanning the faces
+on that side while Shotwell looked among the seats
+beyond.</p>
+<p>Nobody said anything, for John Estridge stood over
+six feet and Jim looked physically very fit.</p>
+<p>Estridge, standing in the aisle, said in his cool, penetrating
+voice:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This club is a forum for discussion. All are free
+to argue any point. Only swine would threaten violence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now go on and argue. Say what you like. But
+the next man who threatens these ladies or this club
+with violence will have to leave the hall.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;ll put him out?&rdquo; piped an unidentified voice.</p>
+<p>Then the two young men laughed; and their mirth
+was not reassuring to the violently inclined.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>There were disturbances during the evening, but no
+violence, and only a few threats&ndash;&ndash;those that made them
+remaining in prudent incognito.</p>
+<p>Miss Thane made a serene, precise and perfectly
+logical address upon birth control.</p>
+<p>Somebody yelled that the millionaires didn&rsquo;t have to
+resort to it, being already sufficiently sterile to assure
+the dwindling of their class.</p>
+<p>A woman rose and said she had always done what
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span>
+she pleased in the matter, law or no law, but that if it
+were true the Bolsheviki in America were but a quarter
+of a million to a hundred million of the bourgeoisie,
+then it was time to breed and breed to the limit.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And let the kids starve?&rdquo; cried another woman&ndash;&ndash;a
+mere girl. &ldquo;That isn&rsquo;t the way. The way to do is to
+even things with a hundred million hand grenades!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Instantly the place was in an uproar; but Palla
+came forward and said that the meeting was over, and
+Estridge and Shotwell and two policemen kept the
+aisles fairly clear while the wrangling audience made
+their way to the street.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aw, it&rsquo;s all lollipop!&rdquo; said a man. &ldquo;What d&rsquo; yeh
+expect from a bunch of women?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Red Flag Club is better,&rdquo; rejoined another.
+&ldquo;Say, bo! There&rsquo;s somethin&rsquo; doin&rsquo; when Sondheim
+hands it out!&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Ilse went away with Estridge. Palla came along
+among the other women, and turned aside to offer her
+hand to Jim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you expect to take me home?&rdquo; she asked demurely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you expect me to?&rdquo; he inquired uneasily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I? Why should I?&rdquo; She slipped her arm into his
+with a little nestling gesture. &ldquo;And it&rsquo;s a very odd
+thing, Jim, that they left the chafing dish on the table.
+And that before she went to bed my waitress laid
+covers for two.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XVI' id='CHAPTER_XVI'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you worried about this Dumont girl?&rdquo; asked
+Shotwell Senior abruptly.</p>
+<p>His wife did not look up from her book.
+After an interval:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I am.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her husband watched her over the top of his newspaper.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t believe there&rsquo;s anything in it,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;But it&rsquo;s a shame that Jim should worry you so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He doesn&rsquo;t mean to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Probably he doesn&rsquo;t, but what&rsquo;s the difference?
+You&rsquo;re unhappy and he&rsquo;s the reason of it. And it isn&rsquo;t
+as though he were a cub any longer, either. He&rsquo;s old
+enough to know what he&rsquo;s about. He&rsquo;s no Willy
+Baxter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is what makes me anxious,&rdquo; said Helen Shotwell.
+&ldquo;Do you know, dear, that he hasn&rsquo;t dined here
+once this week, yet he seems to go nowhere else&ndash;&ndash;nowhere
+except to her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What sort of woman is she?&rdquo; he demanded, wiping
+his eyeglasses as though preparing to take a long-distance
+look at Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know her only at the Red Cross.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, is she at all common?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.... That is why it is difficult for me to
+talk to Jim about her. There&rsquo;s nothing of that sort
+to criticise.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;No social objections to the girl?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;None. She&rsquo;s an unusual girl.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Attractive?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Unfortunately.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, James, I <i>want</i> him to marry Elorn! And if
+he&rsquo;s going to make himself conspicuous over this
+Dumont girl, I don&rsquo;t think I can bear it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What <i>is</i> the objection to the girl, Helen?&rdquo; he asked,
+flinging his paper onto a table and drawing nearer
+the fire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She isn&rsquo;t at all our kind, James&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you just said&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t mean socially. And still, as far as that
+goes, she seems to care nothing whatever for position
+or social duties or obligations.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not so unusual in these days,&rdquo; he remarked.
+&ldquo;Lots of nice girls are fed up on the social aspects of
+life.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, for example, she has not made the slightest
+effort to know anybody worth knowing. Janet Speedwell
+left cards and then asked her to dinner, and received
+an amiable regret for her pains. No girl can
+afford to decline invitations from Janet, even if her
+excuse is a club meeting.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And two or three other women at the Red Cross
+have asked her to lunch at the Colony Club, and have
+made advances to her on Leila Vance&rsquo;s account, but she
+hasn&rsquo;t responded. Now, you know a girl isn&rsquo;t going
+to get on by politely ignoring the advances of such
+women. But she doesn&rsquo;t even appear to be aware of
+their importance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you ask her to something?&rdquo; suggested
+her husband.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I did,&rdquo; she said, a little sharply. &ldquo;I asked her and
+Leila Vance to dine with us. I intended to ask Elorn,
+too, and let Jim realise the difference if he isn&rsquo;t already
+too blind to see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did she decline?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She did,&rdquo; said Helen curtly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It happened that she had asked somebody to dine
+with her that evening. And I have a horrid suspicion
+it was Jim. If it was, she could have postponed it.
+Of course it was a valid excuse, but it annoyed me to
+have her decline. That&rsquo;s what I tell you, James, she
+has a most disturbing habit of declining overtures
+from everybody&ndash;&ndash;even from&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Helen checked herself, looked at her husband with an
+odd smile, in which there was no mirth; then:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You probably are not aware of it, dear, but that
+girl has also declined Jim&rsquo;s overtures.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim&rsquo;s what?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Invitation.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Invitation to do what?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marry him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Shotwell Senior turned very red.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The devil she did! How do you know?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim told me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That she turned him down?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She declined to marry him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her husband seemed unable to grasp such a fact.
+Never had it occurred to Shotwell Senior that any
+living, human girl could decline such an invitation
+from his only son.</p>
+<p>After a painful silence: &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said in a perplexed
+and mortified voice, &ldquo;she certainly seems to be,
+as you say, a most unusual girl.... But&ndash;&ndash;if
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span>
+it&rsquo;s settled&ndash;&ndash;why do you continue to worry, Helen?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because Jim is very deeply in love with her....
+And I&rsquo;m sore at heart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hard hit, is he?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very unhappy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Shotwell Senior reddened again: &ldquo;He&rsquo;ll have to face
+it,&rdquo; he said.... &ldquo;But that girl seems to be a
+fool!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&ndash;&ndash;wonder.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A girl may change her mind.&rdquo; She lifted her head
+and looked with sad humour at her husband, whom she
+also had kept dangling for a while. Then:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;James, dear, our son <i>is</i> as fine as we think him.
+But he&rsquo;s just a splendid, wholesome, everyday, unimaginative
+New York business man. And he&rsquo;s fallen in
+love with his absolute antithesis. Because this girl is
+all ardent imagination, full of extravagant impulses,
+very lovely to look at, but a perfectly illogical fanatic!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mrs. Vance has told me all about her. She really
+belongs in some exotic romance, not in New York. She&rsquo;s
+entirely irresponsible, perfectly unstable. There is in
+her a generous sort of recklessness which is quite likely
+to drive her headlong into any extreme. And what
+sort of mate would such a girl be for a young man
+whose ambition is to make good in the real estate
+business, marry a nice girl, have a pleasant home and
+agreeable children, and otherwise conform to the
+ordinary conventions of civilisation?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think,&rdquo; remarked her husband grimly, &ldquo;that she&rsquo;d
+keep him guessing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She would indeed! And that&rsquo;s not all, James. For
+I&rsquo;ve got to tell you that the girl entertains some rather
+weird and dreadful socialistic notions. She talks
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span>
+socialism&ndash;&ndash;a mild variety&ndash;&ndash;from public platforms. She
+admits very frankly that she entertains no respect for
+accepted conventions. And while I have no reason to
+doubt her purity of mind and personal chastity, the
+unpleasant and startling fact remains that she proposes
+that humanity should dispense with the marriage ceremony
+and discard it and any orthodox religion as
+obsolete superstitions.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her husband stared at her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For heaven&rsquo;s sake,&rdquo; he began, then got frightfully
+red in the face once more. &ldquo;What that girl needs
+is a plain spanking!&rdquo; he said bluntly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to see
+her or any other girl try to come into this family on
+any such ridiculous terms!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t seem to want to come in on any terms,&rdquo;
+said Helen.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then what are you worrying about?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am worrying about what might happen if she
+ever changed her mind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you say she doesn&rsquo;t believe in marriage!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, that boy of ours isn&rsquo;t crazy,&rdquo; insisted Shotwell
+Senior.</p>
+<p>But his mother remained silent in her deep misgiving
+concerning the sanity of the simpler sex, when mentally
+upset by love. For it seemed very difficult to understand
+what to do&ndash;&ndash;if, indeed, there was anything for
+her to do in the matter.</p>
+<p>To express disapproval of Palla to Jim or to the
+girl herself&ndash;&ndash;to show any opposition at all&ndash;&ndash;would,
+she feared, merely defeat its own purpose and alienate
+her son&rsquo;s confidence.</p>
+<p>The situation was certainly a most disturbing one,
+though not at present perilous.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span></div>
+<p>And Helen would not permit herself to believe that
+it could ever really become an impossible situation&ndash;&ndash;that
+this young girl would deliberately slap civilisation
+in the face; or that her only son would add a kick
+to the silly assault and take the ruinous consequences
+of social ostracism.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>The young girl in question was at that moment
+seated before her piano, her charming head uplifted,
+singing in the silvery voice of an immaculate angel,
+to her own accompaniment, the heavenly Mass of Saint
+Hild&eacute;:</p>
+<table summary=''><tr><td>
+<p class='cg'><span class='indent6'>&nbsp;</span>&ldquo;Love me,<br />
+<span class='indent4'>&nbsp;</span>Adorable Mother!<br />
+<span class='indent6'>&nbsp;</span>Mary,<br />
+<span class='indent4'>&nbsp;</span>I worship no other.<br />
+<span class='indent6'>&nbsp;</span>Save me,<br />
+<span class='indent4'>&nbsp;</span>O, graciously save me<br />
+<span class='indent6'>&nbsp;</span>I pray!<br />
+Let my Darkness be turned into Day<br />
+By the Light of Thy Grace<br />
+<span class='indent4'>&nbsp;</span>And Thy Face,<br />
+<span class='indent6'>&nbsp;</span>I pray!&rdquo;</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+<p>She continued the exquisite refrain on the keys for
+a while, then slowly turned to the man beside her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The one Mass I still love,&rdquo; she murmured absently,
+&ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;memories of childhood, I suppose&ndash;&ndash;when the Sisters
+made me sing the solo&ndash;&ndash;I was only ten years old.&rdquo;
+... She shrugged her shoulders: &ldquo;You know, in
+those days, I was a little devil,&rdquo; she said seriously.</p>
+<p>He smiled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I really was, Jim,&ndash;&ndash;all over everything and wild
+as a swallow. I led the pack; Shadow Hill held us in
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span>
+horror. I remember I fought our butcher&rsquo;s boy once&ndash;&ndash;right
+in the middle of the street&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He did something to a cat which I couldn&rsquo;t stand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you whip him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Jim, it was horrid. We both were dreadfully
+battered. And the constable caught us both, and I
+shall never, never forget my mother&rsquo;s face!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She gazed down at the keys of the piano, touched
+them pensively.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The very deuce was in me,&rdquo; she sighed. &ldquo;Even
+now, unless I&rsquo;m occupied with all my might, something
+begins&ndash;&ndash;to simmer in me&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She turned and looked at him: &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;A sort of enchanted
+madness that makes me wild to seize the whole
+world and set it right!&ndash;&ndash;take it into my arms and defend
+it&ndash;&ndash;die for it&ndash;&ndash;or slay it and end its pain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Too much of an armful,&rdquo; he said with great gravity.
+&ldquo;The thing to do is to select an individual and take
+<i>him</i> to your heart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And slay him?&rdquo; she inquired gaily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly&ndash;&ndash;like the feminine mantis&ndash;&ndash;if you find
+you don&rsquo;t like him. Individual suitors must take their
+chances of being either eaten or adored.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim, you&rsquo;re so funny.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She swung her stool, rested her elbow on the piano,
+and gazed at him interrogatively, the odd, half-smile
+edging her lips and eyes. And, after a little <i>duetto</i>
+of silence:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you suppose I shall ever come to care for you&ndash;&ndash;imprudently?&rdquo;
+she asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t let you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How could you help it? And, as far as that goes,
+how could I, if it happened?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;If you ever come to care at all,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ll
+care enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is the trouble with you,&rdquo; she retorted, &ldquo;you
+don&rsquo;t care enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A slight flush stained his cheek-bones: &ldquo;Sometimes,&rdquo;
+he said, &ldquo;I almost wish I cared less. And that would
+be what you call enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Colour came into her face, too:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you know, Jim, I really don&rsquo;t know how much I
+do care for you? It sounds rather silly, doesn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you care more than you did at first?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Much more?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I told you I don&rsquo;t know how much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not enough to marry me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Must we discuss that again?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He got up, went out to the hall, pulled a book from
+his overcoat pocket, and returned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Would you care to hear what the greatest American
+says on the subject, Palla?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On the subject of marriage?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; he takes the marriage for granted. It&rsquo;s what
+he has to say concerning the obligations involved.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Proceed, dear,&rdquo; she said, laughingly.</p>
+<p>He read, eliminating what was not necessary to make
+his point:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;A race is worthless and contemptible if its men
+cease to work hard and, at need, to fight hard; and if
+its women cease to breed freely. If the best classes do
+not reproduce themselves the nation will, of course, go
+down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;When the ordinary decent man does not understand
+that to marry the woman he loves, as early as
+he can, is the most desirable of all goals; when the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span>
+ordinary woman does not understand that all other
+forms of life are but makeshift substitutes for the life
+of the wife, the mother of healthy children; then the
+State is rotten at heart.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;The woman who shrinks from motherhood is as low
+a creature as a man of the professional pacifist, or
+poltroon, type, who shirks his duty as a soldier.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;The only full life for man or woman is led by
+those men and women who together, with hearts both
+gentle and valiant, face lives of love and duty, who see
+their children rise up to call them blessed, and who
+leave behind them their seed to inherit the earth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;No celibate life approaches such a life in usefulness.
+The mother comes ahead of the nun.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;But if the average woman does not marry and
+become the mother of enough healthy children to permit
+the increase of the race; and if the average man
+does not marry in times of peace and do his full duty
+in war if need arises, then the race is decadent and
+should be swept aside to make room for a better one.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Only that nation has a future whose sons and
+daughters recognise and obey the primary laws of their
+racial being!&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He closed the book and laid it on the piano.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;either we&rsquo;re really a rotten and
+decadent race, and might as well behave like one, or
+we&rsquo;re sound and sane.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Something unusual in his voice&ndash;&ndash;in the sudden grim
+whiteness of his face&ndash;&ndash;disturbed Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want you to marry me,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You care for
+no other man. And if you don&rsquo;t love me enough to
+do it, you&rsquo;ll learn to afterward.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim,&rdquo; she said gently, and now rather white herself,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span>
+&ldquo;that is an outrageous thing to say to me. Don&rsquo;t you
+realise it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry. But I love you&ndash;&ndash;I need you so that I&rsquo;m
+fit for nothing else. I can&rsquo;t keep my mind on my
+work; I can&rsquo;t think of anybody&ndash;&ndash;anything but you....
+If you didn&rsquo;t care for me more or less I
+wouldn&rsquo;t come whining to you. I wouldn&rsquo;t come now
+until I&rsquo;d entirely won your heart&ndash;&ndash;except that&ndash;&ndash;if I
+did&ndash;&ndash;and if you refused me marriage and offered the
+other thing&ndash;&ndash;I&rsquo;d be about through with everything!
+And I&rsquo;d know damned well that the nation wasn&rsquo;t worth
+the powder to blow it to hell if such women as you
+betray it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl flushed furiously; but her voice seemed fairly
+under control.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hadn&rsquo;t you better go, Jim, before you say anything
+more?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will you marry me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He stood up very straight, unstirring, for a long
+time, not looking at her.</p>
+<p>Then he said &ldquo;good-bye,&rdquo; in a low voice, and went
+out leaving her quite pale again and rather badly
+scared.</p>
+<p>As the lower door closed, she sprang to the landing
+and called his name in a frightened voice that had no
+carrying power.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Later she telephoned to his several clubs. At eleven
+she called each club again; and finally telephoned to
+his house.</p>
+<p>At midnight he had not telephoned in reply to the
+messages she had left requesting him to call her.</p>
+<p>Her anxiety had changed to a vague bewilderment.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span>
+Her dismayed resentment at what he had said to her
+was giving place to a strange and unaccustomed sense
+of loneliness.</p>
+<p>Suddenly an overwhelming desire to be with Ilse
+seized her, and she would have called a taxi and started
+immediately, except for the dread that Jim might telephone
+in her absence.</p>
+<p>Yet, she didn&rsquo;t know what it was that she wanted of
+him, except to protest at his attitude toward her. Such
+a protest was due them both&ndash;&ndash;an appeal in behalf of the
+friendship which meant so much to her&ndash;&ndash;which, she
+had abruptly discovered, meant far more to her than
+she supposed.</p>
+<p>At midnight she telephoned to Ilse. A sleepy maid
+replied that Miss Westgard had not yet returned.</p>
+<p>So Palla called a taxi, pinned on her hat and struggled
+into her fur coat, and, taking her latch-key,
+started for Ilse&rsquo;s apartment, feeling need of her in a
+blind sort of way&ndash;&ndash;desiring to listen to her friendly
+voice, touch her, hear her clear, sane laughter.</p>
+<p>A yawning maid admitted her. Miss Westgard had
+dined out with Mr. Estridge, but had not yet returned.</p>
+<p>So Palla, wondering a little, laid aside her coat and
+went into the pretty living room.</p>
+<p>There were books and magazines enough, but after
+a while she gave up trying to read and sat staring
+absently at a photograph of Estridge in uniform, which
+stood on the table at her elbow.</p>
+<p>Across it was an inscription, dated only a few days
+back: &ldquo;To Ilse from Jack, on the road to Asgard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then, as she gazed at the man&rsquo;s handsome features,
+for the first time a vague sense of uneasiness invaded
+her.</p>
+<p>Of a gradually growing comradeship between these
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span>
+two she had been tranquilly aware. And yet, now, it
+surprised her to realise that their comradeship had
+drifted into intimacy.</p>
+<p>Lying back in her armchair, her thoughts hovered
+about these two; and she went back in her mind to
+recollect something of the beginning of this intimacy;&ndash;&ndash;and
+remembered various little incidents which, at the
+time, seemed of no portent.</p>
+<p>And, reflecting, she recollected now what Ilse had
+said to her after the last party she had given&ndash;&ndash;and
+which Palla had not understood.</p>
+<p>What had Ilse meant by asking her to &ldquo;wait&rdquo;? Wait
+for what?... Where was Ilse, now? Why did
+she remain out so late with John Estridge? It was
+after one o&rsquo;clock.</p>
+<p>Of course they must be dancing somewhere or other.
+There were plenty of dances to go to.</p>
+<p>Palla stirred restlessly in her chair. Evidently Ilse
+had not told her maid that she meant to be out late,
+for the girl seemed to have expected her an hour ago.</p>
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s increasing restlessness finally drove her to
+the windows, where she pulled aside the shades and
+stood looking out into the silent night.</p>
+<p>The night was cold and clear and very still. Rarely
+a footfarer passed; seldom a car. And the stillness of
+the dark city increased her nervousness.</p>
+<p>New York has rare phases of uncanny silence, when,
+for a space, no sound disturbs the weird stillness.</p>
+<p>The clang of trains, the feathery whirr of motors,
+the echo of footsteps, the immense, indefinable breathing
+vibration of the iron monster, drowsing on its rock between
+three rivers and the sea, ceases utterly. And a vast
+stillness reigns, mournful, ominous, unutterably sad.</p>
+<p>Palla looked down into the empty street. The dark
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span>
+chill of it seemed to rise and touch her; and she shivered
+unconsciously and turned back into the lighted room.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>It was two o&rsquo;clock. Her eyes were heavy, her heart
+heavier. Why should everything suddenly happen to
+her in that way? Where had Jim gone when he left
+her? And who was it answered the telephone at his
+house when she had called up and asked to speak to him?
+It was a woman&rsquo;s voice&ndash;&ndash;a maid, no doubt&ndash;&ndash;yet, for
+an instant, she had fancied that the voice resembled
+his mother&rsquo;s.</p>
+<p>But it couldn&rsquo;t have been, for Palla had given her
+name, and Mrs. Shotwell would have spoken to her&ndash;&ndash;unless&ndash;&ndash;perhaps
+his mother&ndash;&ndash;disapproved of something&ndash;&ndash;of
+her calling Jim at such an hour.... Or of
+something ... perhaps of their friendship ...
+of herself, perhaps&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>She heard the clock strike and looked across at the
+mantel.</p>
+<p>What was Ilse doing at half-past two in the morning?
+Where could she be?</p>
+<p>Palla involuntarily turned her head and looked at
+the photograph. Of course Ilse was safe with a man
+like John Estridge.... That is to say ...</p>
+<p>Without warning, her face grew hot and the crimson
+tide mounted to the roots of her hair, dyeing throat
+and temples.</p>
+<p>A sort of stunning reaction followed as the tide
+ebbed; she found herself stupidly repeating the word
+&ldquo;safe,&rdquo; as though to interpret what it meant.</p>
+<p>Safe? Yes, Ilse was safe. She knew how to take
+care of herself ... unless....</p>
+<p>Again the crimson tide invaded her skin to the
+temples.... A sudden and haunting fear came
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span>
+creeping after it had ebbed once more, leaving her
+gazing fixedly into space through the tumult of her
+thoughts. And always in dull, unmeaning repetition
+the word &ldquo;safe&rdquo; throbbed in her ears.</p>
+<p>Safe? Safe from what? From the creed they both
+professed? From their common belief? From the consequences
+of living up to it?</p>
+<p>At the thought, Palla sprang to her feet and stood
+quivering all over, both hands pressed to her throat,
+which was quivering too.</p>
+<p>Where was Ilse? What had happened? Had she
+suddenly come face to face with that creed of theirs&ndash;&ndash;that
+shadowy creed which they believed in, perhaps
+because it seemed so unreal!&ndash;&ndash;because the ordeal by
+fire seemed so vague, so far away in that ghostly
+bourne which is called the future, and which remains
+always so inconceivably distant to the young&ndash;&ndash;star-distant,
+remote as inter-stellar dust&ndash;&ndash;aloof as death.</p>
+<p>It was three o&rsquo;clock. There were velvet-dark smears
+under Palla&rsquo;s eyes, little colour in her lips. The weight of
+fatigue lay heavily on her young shoulders; on her mind,
+too, partly stupefied by the violence of her emotions.</p>
+<p>Once she had risen heavily, had gone into the maid&rsquo;s
+room and had told her to go to bed, adding that she
+herself would wait for Miss Westgard.</p>
+<p>That, already, was nearly an hour ago, and the gilt
+hands of the clock were already creeping around the
+gilded dial toward the half hour.</p>
+<p>As it struck on the clear French bell, a key turned
+in the outside door; then the door closed; and Palla
+rose trembling from her chair as Ilse entered, her
+golden hair in lovely disorder, the evening cloak partly
+flung from her shoulders.</p>
+<p>There was a moment&rsquo;s utter silence. Then Ilse
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span>
+stepped swiftly forward and took Palla in her arms.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My darling! What has happened?&rdquo; she asked.
+&ldquo;Why are you here at this hour? You look dreadfully
+ill!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s head dropped on her breast.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; whispered Ilse. &ldquo;Darling&ndash;&ndash;darling&ndash;&ndash;you
+did&ndash;&ndash;you did wait&ndash;&ndash;didn&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s voice was scarcely audible: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know
+what you mean.... I was only frightened about
+you.... I&rsquo;ve been so unhappy.... And Jim
+said&ndash;&ndash;good-bye&ndash;&ndash;and I can&rsquo;t&ndash;&ndash;find him&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want you to answer me! Are you in love with him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.... I don&rsquo;t&ndash;&ndash;think so&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse drew a deep breath.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right, then,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>Then, suddenly, Palla seemed to understand what
+Ilse had meant when she had said, &ldquo;Wait!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And she lifted her head and looked blindly into the
+sea-blue eyes&ndash;&ndash;blindly, desperately, striving to see
+through those clear soul-windows what it might be
+that was looking out at her.</p>
+<p>And, gazing, she knew that she dared not ask Ilse
+where she had been.</p>
+<p>The latter smiled; but her voice was very tender
+when she spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll telephone your maid in the morning. You
+must go to bed, Palla.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alone?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse turned carelessly and laid her cloak across a
+chair. There was a second chamber beyond her own.
+She went into it, turned down the bed and called Palla,
+who came slowly after her.</p>
+<p>They kissed each other in silence. Then Ilse went
+back to her own room.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XVII' id='CHAPTER_XVII'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim,&rdquo; said his mother, &ldquo;Miss Dumont called you
+on the telephone at an unusual hour last night.
+You had gone to your room, and on the chance
+that you were asleep I did not speak to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>That was all&ndash;&ndash;sufficient explanation to discount any
+reproach from her son incident on his comparing notes
+with the girl in question. Also just enough in her
+action to convey to the girl a polite hint that the Shotwell
+family was not at home to people who telephoned
+at that unconventional hour.</p>
+<p>On his way to business that morning, Jim telephoned
+to Palla, but, learning she was not at home, let the
+matter rest.</p>
+<p>In his sullen and resentful mood he no longer cared&ndash;&ndash;or
+thought he didn&rsquo;t, which resulted in the same
+thing&ndash;&ndash;the accumulation of increasing bitterness during
+a dull, rainy working day at the office, and a dogged
+determination to keep clear of this woman until effort
+to remain away from her was no longer necessary.</p>
+<p>For the thing was utterly hopeless; he&rsquo;d had enough.
+And in his bruised heart and outraged common sense
+he was boyishly framing an indictment of modern
+womanhood&ndash;&ndash;lumping it all and cursing it out&ndash;&ndash;swearing
+internally at the entire enfranchised pack which
+the war had set afoot and had licensed to swarm all
+over everything and raise hell with the ancient and
+established order of things.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span></div>
+<p>The stormy dark came early; and in this frame of
+mind when he left the office he sulkily avoided the club.</p>
+<p>He very rarely drank anything; but, not knowing
+what to do, he drifted into the Biltmore bar.</p>
+<p>He met a man or two he knew, but declined all suggestions
+for the evening, turned up his overcoat collar,
+and started through the hotel toward the northern exit.</p>
+<p>And met Marya Lanois face to face.</p>
+<p>She was coming from the tea-room with two or three
+other people, but turned immediately on seeing him
+and came toward him with hand extended.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dear me,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you look very wet. And you
+don&rsquo;t look particularly well. Have you arrived all
+alone for tea?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I had my tea in the bar,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;How are you,
+Marya?&ndash;&ndash;but I musn&rsquo;t detain you&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; he glanced at
+the distant group of people who seemed to be awaiting
+her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You are not detaining me,&rdquo; she said sweetly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your people seem to be waiting&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They may go to the deuce. Are you quite alone?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&ndash;&ndash;yes&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shall we have tea together?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed. &ldquo;But you&rsquo;ve had yours&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you know there are other things that one
+sometimes drinks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There seemed no way out of it. They went into the
+tea-room together and seated themselves.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How is Vanya?&rdquo; he inquired.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Vanya gives a concert to-night in Baltimore.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you didn&rsquo;t go!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. It was rainy. Besides, I hear Vanya play
+when I desire to hear him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Their order was served.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;So you wouldn&rsquo;t go to Baltimore,&rdquo; said Jim smilingly.
+&ldquo;It strikes me, Marya, that you can be a coldblooded
+girl when you wish to be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;After all, what do you know about me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He laughed: &ldquo;Oh, I don&rsquo;t mean that I&rsquo;ve got your
+number&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. Because I have many numbers. I am a complicated
+combination,&rdquo; she added, smiling; &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;yet after
+all, a combination only. And quite simple when one
+discovers the key to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think I know what it is,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mischief.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They laughed. Marya, particularly, was intensely
+amused. She was extremely fetching in her bicorne
+toque and narrow gown of light turquoise, and her
+golden beaver scarf and muff.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mischief,&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;I should say not. There
+seems to be already sufficient mischief loose in the world,
+with the red tide rising everywhere&ndash;&ndash;in Russia, in Germany,
+Austria, Italy, England&ndash;&ndash;yes, and here also the
+crimson tide of Bolshevism begins to move....
+Tell me; you are coming to the club to-morrow evening,
+I hope.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh. Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he repeated, almost sullenly. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve had enough
+of queerness for a while&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim! Do you dare include me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He had to laugh at her pretence of fury: &ldquo;No,
+Marya, you&rsquo;re just a pretty mischief-maker, I suppose&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then what do you mean by &lsquo;queerness&rsquo;? Don&rsquo;t
+you think it&rsquo;s sensible to combat Bolshevism and fight
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span>
+it with argument and debate on its own selected camping
+ground? Don&rsquo;t you think it is high time somebody
+faced this crimson tide&ndash;&ndash;that somebody started to build
+a dyke against this threatened inundation?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The best dykes have machine guns behind them, not
+orators,&rdquo; he said bluntly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My friend, I have seen that, also. And to what
+have machine guns led us in Petrograd, in Moscow, in
+Poland, Finland, Courland&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; She shrugged her
+pretty shoulders. &ldquo;No. I have seen enough blood.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He said: &ldquo;I have seen a little myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I know. But a soldier is always a soldier, as
+a hound is always a hound. The blood of the quarry
+is what their instinct follows. Your goal is death; we
+only seek to tame.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The proper way to check Bolshevism in America is
+to police the country properly, and kick out the outrageous
+gang of domestic Bolsheviki who have exploited
+us, tricked us, lied to us, taxed us unfairly, and in
+spite of whom we have managed to help our allies win
+this war.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then, when this petty, wretched, crooked bunch
+has been swept out, and the nation aired and disinfected,
+and when the burden of taxation is properly
+distributed, and business dares lift its head again, then
+start your debates and propaganda and try to educate
+your enemies if you like. But keep your machine guns
+oiled.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You speak in an uncomplimentary fashion of government,&rdquo;
+said the girl, smiling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am all for government. That does not mean
+that I am for the particular incumbents in office under
+the present Government. I have no use for them.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span>
+Know that this war was won, not through them but in
+spite of them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet I place loyalty first of all&ndash;&ndash;loyalty to the true
+ideals of that Government which some of the present
+incumbents so grotesquely misrepresent.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That means, stand by the ship and the flag she
+flies, no matter who steers or what crew capers about
+her decks.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That means, watch out for all pirates;&ndash;&ndash;open fire
+on anything that flies a hostile flag, red or any other
+colour.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And that&rsquo;s my creed, Marya!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To shoot; not to debate?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An inquest is safer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We shall never agree,&rdquo; said the girl, laughing.
+&ldquo;And I&rsquo;m rather glad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because disagreements are more amusing than any
+<i>entente cordiale</i>, <i>mon ami</i>. It is the opposing forces
+that never bore each other. In life, too&ndash;&ndash;I mean among
+human beings. Once they agree, interest lessens.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nonsense,&rdquo; he said, smiling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, it is quite true. Behold us. We don&rsquo;t agree.
+But I am interested,&rdquo; she added with pretty audacity;
+&ldquo;so please take me to dinner somewhere.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean now, as we are?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Parbleu! Did you wish to go home and dress?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care if you don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Suppose,&rdquo; she suggested, &ldquo;we dine where there is
+something to see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A Broadway joint?&rdquo; he asked, amused.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A joint?&rdquo; she repeated, smilingly perplexed. &ldquo;Is
+that a place where we may dine and see a spectacle
+too and afterward dance?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Something of that sort,&rdquo; he admitted, laughing.
+But under his careless gaiety an ugly determination
+had been hardening; he meant to go no more to Palla;
+he meant to welcome any distraction of the moment
+to help tide him over the long, grey interval that loomed
+ahead&ndash;&ndash;welcome any draught that might mitigate the
+bitter waters he was tasting&ndash;&ndash;and was destined to drain
+to their revolting dregs.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>They went to the Palace of Mirrors and were lucky
+enough to secure a box.</p>
+<p>The food was excellent; the show a gay one.</p>
+<p>Between intermissions he took Marya to the floor
+for a dance or two. The place was uncomfortably
+crowded: uniforms were everywhere, too; and Jim
+nodded to many men he knew, and to a few women.</p>
+<p>And, in the vast, brilliant place, there was not a
+man who saw Marya and failed to turn and follow her
+with his eyes. For Marya had been fashioned to trouble
+man. And that primitively constructed and obviously-minded
+sex never failed to become troubled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;d better enjoy our champagne,&rdquo; remarked
+Marya. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll be a wineless nation before long, I
+suppose.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It seems rather a pity,&rdquo; he remarked, &ldquo;that a man
+shouldn&rsquo;t be free to enjoy a glass of claret. But if the
+unbaked and the half-baked, and the unwashed and the
+half-washed can&rsquo;t be trusted to practise moderation,
+we others ought to abstain, I suppose. Because what
+is best for the majority ought to be the law for all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If it were left to me,&rdquo; said the girl, &ldquo;I&rsquo;d let the
+submerged drink themselves to death.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What on earth are you talking about?&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;I thought you were a socialist!&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I am. I desire no law except that of individual
+inclination.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, that&rsquo;s Bolshevism!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her laughter rang out unrestrained: &ldquo;I believe in
+Bolshevism&ndash;&ndash;for myself&ndash;&ndash;but not for anybody else. In
+other words, I&rsquo;d like to be autocrat of the world. If
+I were, I&rsquo;d let everybody alone unless they interfered
+with me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And in that event?&rdquo; he asked, laughing, as the
+lights all over the house faded to a golden glimmer in
+preparation for the second part of the spectacle. He
+could no longer see her clearly across the little table.
+&ldquo;What would you do if people interfered with you?&rdquo;
+he repeated.</p>
+<p>Marya smiled. The last ray of light smouldered in
+her tiger-red hair; the warm, fragrant, breathing youth
+of her grew vaguer, merging with the shadows; only
+the beryl-tinted eyes, which slanted slightly, remained
+distinct.</p>
+<p>Her voice came to him through the music: &ldquo;If I
+were autocrat, any man who dared oppose me would
+have his choice.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What choice?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The music swelled toward a breathless crescendo.</p>
+<p>She said: &ldquo;Oppose me and you shall learn!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The house burst into a dazzling flood of moon-tinted
+light, all thronged with slim shapes whirling in an
+enchanted dance. Then clouds seemed to gather; the
+moon slid behind them, leaving a frosty demi-darkness
+through which, presently, snow began to fall.</p>
+<p>The girl leaned toward him, watching the spectacle
+in silence. Perhaps unconsciously her left hand, satin-smooth,
+slipped over his&ndash;&ndash;as though the contact were
+a symbol of enjoyment shared.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span></div>
+<p>Light broke the next moment, revealing the spectacle
+on stage and floor in all its tinsel magnificence&ndash;&ndash;snow-nymphs,
+polar-bears, all capering madly until an unearthly
+shriek heralded the coming of a favorite clown,
+who tumbled all the way down the stage steps and continued
+hysterically turning flip-flaps, cart-wheels, and
+somersaults until he landed with a crash at the foot of
+the steps again.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>A large, highly coloured and over-glossy man, passing
+under their box during a dancing intermission, bowed
+rather extravagantly to Jim. He recognised Angelo
+Puma, with contemptuous amusement at his impudence.</p>
+<p>It was evident, too, that Puma was quite ready to
+linger if encouraged&ndash;&ndash;anxious, in fact, to extend his
+hand.</p>
+<p>But his impudence had already ceased to amuse Jim,
+and he said carelessly to Marya, in a voice perfectly
+audible to Puma:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There goes a man who, in collusion with a squinting
+partner of his, once beat me out of a commission.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma&rsquo;s heavy, burning face turned abruptly from
+Marya, whom he had been looking at; and he continued
+on across the floor. And Jim forgot him.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>They remained until the place closed. Then he took
+her home.</p>
+<p>It was an apartment overlooking the park from
+Fifty-ninth Street&ndash;&ndash;a big studio and apparently many
+comfortable rooms&ndash;&ndash;a large, still place where no servants
+were in evidence and where thick velvety carpets
+from Ushak and Sultanabad muffled every footfall.</p>
+<p>She had insisted on his entering for a moment. He
+stood looking about him in the great studio, where
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span>
+Vanya&rsquo;s concert-grand loomed up, a sprawling, shadowy
+shape under the dim drop-light which once had been
+a mosque-lamp in Samarcand.</p>
+<p>The girl flung stole and muff from her, rolled up
+her gloves and took a shot at the piano, then, laughing,
+unpinned her hat and sent it scaling away into
+the golden dusk somewhere.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you sleepy, Jim?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A sudden vision of his trouble in the long, long night
+to face&ndash;&ndash;trouble, insomnia, and the bitterness welling
+ever fresher with the interminable thoughts he could
+not suppress, could not control&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not sleepy,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But don&rsquo;t you want to
+turn in?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She went over to the piano, and, accompanying herself
+on deadened pedal where she stood, sang in a low
+voice the &ldquo;<i>Snow-Tiger</i>,&rdquo; with its uncanny refrain:</p>
+<table summary=''><tr><td>
+<p class='cg'><span class='indent12'>&nbsp;</span>&ldquo;Tiger-eyes<br />
+<span class='indent12'>&nbsp;</span>Tiger-eyes,<br />
+<span class='indent12'>&nbsp;</span>What do you see<br />
+<span class='indent13'>&nbsp;</span>Far in the dark<br />
+<span class='indent13'>&nbsp;</span>Over the snow?<br />
+<span class='indent13'>&nbsp;</span>Far in the dark<br />
+<span class='indent13'>&nbsp;</span>Over the snow,<br />
+Slowly the ghosts of dead men go,&ndash;&ndash;<br />
+Horses and riders under the moon<br />
+Trample along to the dead men&rsquo;s rune,<br />
+<span class='indent12'>&nbsp;</span><i>Slava! Slava!</i><br />
+<span class='indent12'>&nbsp;</span>Over the snow.&rdquo;</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s too hilarious a song,&rdquo; said Jim, laughing.
+&ldquo;May I suggest a little rag to properly subdue us?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t like <i>Tiger-eyes</i>?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve heard more cheerful ditties.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;When I&rsquo;m excited by pleasure,&rdquo; said the girl, &ldquo;I
+sing <i>Tiger-eyes</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Does it subdue you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She looked at him. &ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Still standing, she looked down at the keys, struck
+the muffled chords softly.</p>
+<table summary=''><tr><td>
+<p class='cg'><span class='indent9'>&nbsp;</span>&ldquo;Tiger-eyes<br />
+<span class='indent10'>&nbsp;</span>Tiger-eyes,<br />
+<span class='indent10'>&nbsp;</span>Where do they go,<br />
+<span class='indent10'>&nbsp;</span>Far in the dark<br />
+<span class='indent10'>&nbsp;</span>Over the snow?<br />
+<span class='indent10'>&nbsp;</span>Into the dark,<br />
+<span class='indent10'>&nbsp;</span>Over the snow,<br />
+<span class='indent2'>&nbsp;</span>Only the ghosts of the dead men know<br />
+<span class='indent2'>&nbsp;</span>Where they have come from, whither they go,<br />
+<span class='indent2'>&nbsp;</span>Riding at night by the corpse-light glow,<br />
+<span class='indent10'>&nbsp;</span><i>Slava!</i> <i>Slava!</i><br />
+<span class='indent10'>&nbsp;</span>Over the snow.&rdquo;</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, for the love of Mike&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Marya&rsquo;s laughter pealed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So you don&rsquo;t like <i>Tiger-eyes</i>?&rdquo; she demanded, coming
+from behind the piano.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I sure don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he admitted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The real Russian name of the song is &lsquo;Words!
+Words!&rsquo; And that&rsquo;s all the song is&ndash;&ndash;all that any song
+is&ndash;&ndash;all that anything amounts to&ndash;&ndash;words! words!&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;
+She dropped onto the long couch,&ndash;&ndash;&ldquo;Anything except&ndash;&ndash;love.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You may include that, too,&rdquo; he said, lighting a
+cigarette for her; and she blew a ring of smoke at
+him, saying:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I may&ndash;&ndash;but I won&rsquo;t. For goodness sake leave me
+the last one of my delusions!&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span></div>
+<p>They both laughed and he said she was welcome to
+her remaining delusion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you share it with me?&rdquo; she said, her smile
+innocent enough, save for the audacity of the red mouth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Share your delusion?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, that too.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This wouldn&rsquo;t do. He lighted a cigarette for himself
+and sauntered over to the piano.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope Vanya&rsquo;s concert is a success,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s
+such a charming fellow, Vanya&ndash;&ndash;so considerate, so
+gentle&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; He turned and looked at Marya, and his
+eyes added: &ldquo;Why the devil don&rsquo;t you marry him and
+have a lot of jolly children?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There seemed to be in his clear eyes enough for the
+girl to comprehend something of the question they
+flung at her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t love Vanya,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course you do!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As I might love a child&ndash;&ndash;yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>After a silence: &ldquo;It strikes me,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that you&rsquo;re
+passionately in love.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With yourself,&rdquo; he added, smiling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With <i>you</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This wouldn&rsquo;t do any longer. The place slightly
+stifled him with its stillness, rugs&ndash;&ndash;the odours that came
+from lacquered shapes, looming dimly, flowered and
+golden in the dusk&ndash;&ndash;the aromatic scent of her cigarette&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hell!&rdquo; he muttered under his breath. &ldquo;This is no
+place for a white man.&rdquo; But aloud he said pleasantly:
+&ldquo;My very best wishes for Vanya to-night. Tell him
+so when he returns&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; He put on his overcoat and
+picked up hat and stick.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s infernally late,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;and I&rsquo;ve been a
+beast to keep you up. It was awfully nice of you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She rose from the lounge and walked with him to
+the door.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good night,&rdquo; he said cheerily; but she retained his
+hand, added her other to it, and put up her face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; he said, smilingly, &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t do that,
+Marya.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why can&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her soft breath was on his face; the mouth too near&ndash;&ndash;too
+near&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I can&rsquo;t!&rdquo; he said curtly, but his voice trembled
+a little.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; she whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because&ndash;&ndash;there&rsquo;s Vanya. No, I won&rsquo;t do it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that the reason?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a reason.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t love Vanya. I do love you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please remember&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No! No! I have nothing to remember&ndash;&ndash;unless
+you give me something&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You had better try to remember that Vanya loves
+you. You and I can&rsquo;t do a thing like that to Vanya&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are there no other reasons?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He reddened to the temples: &ldquo;No, there are not&ndash;&ndash;now.
+There is no other reason&ndash;&ndash;except myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yourself?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, damn it, myself! That&rsquo;s all that remains now
+to keep me straight. And I&rsquo;ve been so. That may be
+news to you. Perhaps you don&rsquo;t believe it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it so, Jim?&rdquo; she asked in a voice scarcely audible.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, it is. And so I shall keep on, and play the
+game that way&ndash;&ndash;play it squarely with Vanya, too&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span></div>
+<p>He had lost his heavy colour; he stood looking at her
+with a white, strained, grim expression that tightened
+the jaw muscles; and she felt his powerful hand clenching
+between hers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no use,&rdquo; he said between his set lips, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
+got to go on&ndash;&ndash;see it through in my own fashion&ndash;&ndash;this
+rotten thing called life. I&rsquo;m sorry, Marya, that
+I&rsquo;m not a better sport&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A wave of colour swept her face and her hands suddenly
+crushed his between them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re wonderful,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I do love you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But the tense, grey look had come back into his
+face. Looking at her in silence, presently his gaze
+seemed to become remote, his absent eyes fixed on something
+beyond her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve a rotten time ahead of me,&rdquo; he said, not knowing
+he had spoken. When his eyes reverted to her, his
+features remained expressionless, but his voice was
+almost tender as he said good night once more.</p>
+<p>Her hands fell away; he opened the door and went
+out without looking back.</p>
+<p>He found a taxi at the Plaza. He was swearing
+when he got into it. And all the way home he kept
+repeating to himself: &ldquo;I&rsquo;m one of those cursed, creeping
+Josephs; that&rsquo;s what I am,&ndash;&ndash;one of those pepless, sanctimonious,
+creeping Josephs.... And I always
+loathed that poor fish, too!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII' id='CHAPTER_XVIII'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+</div>
+<p>Shotwell Junior discovered in due course
+of time the memoranda of the repeated messages
+which Palla had telephoned to his several clubs,
+asking him to call her up immediately.</p>
+<p>It was rather late to do that now, but his pulses
+began to quicken again in the old, hopeless way; and
+he went to the telephone booth and called the number
+which seemed burnt into his brain forever.</p>
+<p>A maid answered; Palla came presently; and he
+thought her voice seemed colourless and unfamiliar.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;m perfectly well,&rdquo; she replied to his inquiry;
+&ldquo;where in the world did you go that night? I simply
+couldn&rsquo;t find you anywhere.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What had you wished to say to me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing&ndash;&ndash;except&ndash;&ndash;that I was afraid you were
+angry when you left, and I didn&rsquo;t wish you to part
+with me on such terms. Were you annoyed?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You say it very curtly, Jim.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that all you desired to say to me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.... I was a little troubled....
+Something else went wrong, too;&ndash;&ndash;everything seemed
+to go wrong that night.... I thought perhaps&ndash;&ndash;if
+I could hear your voice&ndash;&ndash;if you&rsquo;d say something
+kind&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Had you nothing else to tell me, Palla?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;No.... What?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you haven&rsquo;t changed your attitude?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Toward you? I don&rsquo;t expect to&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know what I mean!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh. But, Jim, we can&rsquo;t discuss <i>that</i> over the telephone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose not.... Is anything wrong with
+you, Palla? Your voice sounds so tired&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Does it? I don&rsquo;t know why. Tell me, please, what
+did you do that unhappy night?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I went home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Directly?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I telephoned your house about twelve, and was
+informed you were not at home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They thought I was asleep. I&rsquo;m sorry, Palla&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t have telephoned so late,&rdquo; she interrupted,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid that it was your mother who answered;
+and if it was, I received the snub I deserved!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nonsense! It wasn&rsquo;t meant that way&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid it was, Jim. It&rsquo;s quite all right, though.
+I won&rsquo;t do it again.... Am I to see you soon?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, not for a while&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you so busy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no use in my going to you, Palla.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because I&rsquo;m in love with you,&rdquo; he said bluntly,
+&ldquo;and I&rsquo;m trying to get over it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought we were <i>friends</i>, too.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>After a lengthy silence: &ldquo;You&rsquo;re right,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we
+are.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She heard his quick, deep breath like a sigh. &ldquo;Shall
+I come to-night?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m expecting some people, Jim&ndash;&ndash;women who desire
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span>
+to establish a Combat Club in Chicago, and they have
+come on here to consult me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To-morrow night, then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will you be alone?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I expect to be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Once more he said: &ldquo;Palla, is anything worrying
+you? Are you ill? Is Ilse all right?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a pause, then Palla&rsquo;s voice, resolutely
+tranquil. &ldquo;Everything is all right in the world as
+long as you are kind to me, Jim. When you&rsquo;re not,
+things darken and become queer&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Palla!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen! This is to serve notice on you. I&rsquo;m going
+to make a fight for you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>After a silence, he heard her sweet, uncertain laughter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, dear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose it would shock you if I made a fight for&ndash;&ndash;<i>you</i>!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He took it as a jest and laughed at her perverse
+humour. But what she had meant she herself scarcely
+realised; and she turned away from the telephone, conscious
+of a vague excitement invading her and of a
+vaguer consternation, too. For behind the humorous
+audacity of her words, she seemed to realise there remained
+something hidden&ndash;&ndash;something she was on the
+verge of discovering&ndash;&ndash;something indefinable, menacing,
+grave enough to dismay her and drive from her lips
+the last traces of the smile which her audacious jest
+had left there.</p>
+<p>The ladies from Chicago were to dine with her; her
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span>
+maid had hooked her gown; orchids from Jim had just
+arrived, and she was still pinning them to her waist&ndash;&ndash;still
+happily thrilled by this lovely symbol of their
+renewed accord, when the bell rang.</p>
+<p>It was much too early to expect anybody: she fastened
+her orchids and started to descend the stairs for
+a last glance at the table, when, to her astonishment,
+she saw Angelo Puma in the hall in the act of depositing
+his card upon the salver extended by the maid.</p>
+<p>He looked up and saw her before she could retreat:
+she made the best of it and continued on down, greeting
+him with inquiring amiability:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Dumont, a thousand excuses for this so bold
+intrusion,&rdquo; he began, bowing extravagantly at every
+word. &ldquo;Only the urgent importance of my errand
+could possibly atone for a presumption like there never
+has been in all&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please step into the drawing room, Mr. Puma, if
+you have something of importance to say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He followed her on tiptoe, flashing his magnificent
+eyes about the place, still wearing over his evening
+dress the seal overcoat with its gardenia, which was
+already making him famous on Broadway.</p>
+<p>Palla seated herself, wondering a little at the perfumed
+splendour of her landlord. He sat on the extreme
+edge of an arm chair, his glossy hat on his knee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Dumont,&rdquo; he said, laying one white-gloved
+paw across his shirt-front, &ldquo;you shall behold in me a
+desolate man!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry.&rdquo; She looked at him in utter perplexity.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What shall you say to me?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;What just
+reproaches shall you address to me, Miss Dumont!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t know, Mr. Puma,&rdquo; she said, inclined
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span>
+to laugh, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;until you tell me what is your
+errand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Dumont, I am most unhappy and embarrass.
+Because you have pay me in advance for that which I
+am unable to offer you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think I understand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alas! You have pay to me by cheque for six months
+more rent of my hall.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have given to you a lease for six months more,
+and with it an option for a year of renewal.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Dumont, behold me desolate.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because I am force by circumstance over which I
+have no control to cancel this lease and option, and
+ask you most respectfully to be so kind as to secure
+other quarters for your club.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But we can&rsquo;t do that!&rdquo; exclaimed Palla in dismay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am so very sorry&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We can&rsquo;t do it,&rdquo; added Palla with decision. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
+utterly impossible, Mr. Puma. All our meetings are
+arranged for months in advance; all the details are
+completed. We could not disarrange the programme
+adopted. From all over the United States people are
+invited to come on certain fixed dates. All arrangements
+have been made; you have my cheque and I have
+your signed lease. No, we are obliged to hold you to
+your contract, and I&rsquo;m very sorry if it inconveniences
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma&rsquo;s brilliant eyes became tenderly apprehensive.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Dumont,&rdquo; he said in a hushed and confidential
+voice, &ldquo;believe me when I venture to say to you that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span>
+your club should leave for reasons most grave, most
+serious.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What reasons?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The others&ndash;&ndash;the Red Flag Club. Who knows what
+such crazy people might do in anger? They are very
+angry already. They complain that your club has
+interfere with them&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is exactly why we&rsquo;re there, Mr. Puma&ndash;&ndash;to
+interfere with them, neutralise their propaganda, try
+to draw the same people who listen to their violent
+tirades. That is why we&rsquo;re there, and why we refuse
+to leave. Ours is a crusade of education. We chose
+that hall because we desired to make the fight in the
+very camp of the enemy. And I must tell you plainly
+that we shall not give up our lease, and that we shall
+hold you to it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The dark blood flooded his heavy features:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do not desire to take it to the courts,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;I am willing to offer compensation.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We couldn&rsquo;t accept. Don&rsquo;t you understand, Mr.
+Puma? We simply must have that particular hall for
+the Combat Club.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma remained perfectly silent for a few moments.
+There was still, on his thick lips, the suave smile which
+had been stamped there since his appearance in her
+house.</p>
+<p>But in this man&rsquo;s mind and heart there was growing
+a sort of dull and ferocious fear&ndash;&ndash;fear of elements
+already gathering and combining to menace his increasing
+prosperity.</p>
+<p>Sullenly he was aware that this hard-won prosperity
+was threatened. Always its conditions had been unstable
+at best, but now the atmospheric pressure was
+slowly growing, and his sky of promise was not as clear.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span></div>
+<p>Some way, somehow, he must manage to evict these
+women. Twice Sondheim had warned him. And that
+evening Sondheim had sent him an ultimatum by
+Kastner.</p>
+<p>And Puma was perfectly aware that Karl Kastner
+knew enough about him to utterly ruin him in the great
+Republic which was now giving him a fortune and
+which had never discovered that his own treacherous
+mission here was the accomplishment of her ruin.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Puma stood up, heavily, cradling his glossy hat.
+But his urbane smile became brilliant again and he
+made Palla an extravagant bow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It shall be arrange,&rdquo; he said cheerfully. &ldquo;I consult
+my partner&ndash;&ndash;your <i>friend</i>, Mr. Skidder! Yes! So
+shall we arrive at entente.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His large womanish eyes swept the room. Suddenly
+they were arrested by a photograph of Shotwell Junior&ndash;&ndash;in
+a silver frame&ndash;&ndash;the only ornament, as yet, in the
+little drawing room.</p>
+<p>And instantly, within Angelo Puma, the venomous
+instinct was aroused to do injury where it might be
+done safely and without suspicion of intent.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; he exclaimed gaily, &ldquo;my friend, Mr. Shotwell!
+It is from him, Miss Dumont, you have purchase
+this so beautiful residence!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He bent to salute with a fanciful inclination the
+photograph of the man who had spoken so contemptuously
+of him the evening previous.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Shotwell also adores gaiety,&rdquo; he said laughingly.
+&ldquo;Last night I beheld him at the Palace of
+Mirrors&ndash;&ndash;and with an attractive young lady of your
+club, Miss Dumont&ndash;&ndash;the charming young Russian lady
+with whom you came once to pay me the rent&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; He
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span>
+kissed his hand in an ecstasy of recollection. &ldquo;So
+beautiful a young lady! So gay were they in their
+box! Ah, youth! youth! Ah, the happiness and folly
+when laughter bubbles in our wine!&ndash;&ndash;the magic wine of
+youth!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He took his leave, moving lightly to the door, almost
+grotesque in his elaborate evolutions and adieux.</p>
+<p>Palla went slowly upstairs.</p>
+<p>The evening paper lay on a table in the living room.
+She unfolded it mechanically; looked at it but saw no
+print, merely an unsteady haze of greyish tint on
+which she could not seem to concentrate.</p>
+<p>Marya and Jim ... together.... That
+was the night he went away angry.... The
+night he told her he had gone directly home....
+But it couldn&rsquo;t have been.... He couldn&rsquo;t have
+lied....</p>
+<p>She strove to recollect as she sat there staring at the
+newspaper.... What was it that beast had said
+about it?... Of course&ndash;&ndash;<i>last</i> night!...
+Marya and Jim had been together last night....
+But where was Vanya?... Oh, yes....
+Last night Vanya was away ... in Baltimore.</p>
+<p>The paper dropped to her lap; she sat looking
+straight ahead of her.</p>
+<p>What had so shocked her then about Jim and Marya
+being together? True, she had not supposed them to
+be on such terms&ndash;&ndash;had not even thought about it....</p>
+<p>Yes, she <i>had</i> thought about it, scarcely conscious
+of her own indefinable uneasiness&ndash;&ndash;a memory, perhaps,
+of that evening when the Russian girl had been at little
+pains to disguise her interest in this man. And Palla
+had noticed it&ndash;&ndash;noticed that Marya was seated too
+near him&ndash;&ndash;noticed that, and the subtle attitude of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span>
+provocation, and the stealthy evolution of that occult
+sorcery which one woman instantly divines in another
+and finds slightly revolting.</p>
+<p>Was it merely that memory which had been evoked
+when Puma&rsquo;s laughing revelation so oddly chilled her?&ndash;&ndash;the
+suspected and discovered predilection of this
+Russian girl for Jim? Or was it something else, something
+deeper, some sudden and more profound illumination
+which revealed to her that, in the depths of her,
+she was afraid?</p>
+<p>Afraid? Afraid of what?</p>
+<p>Her charming young head sank; the brown eyes
+stared at the floor.</p>
+<p>She was beginning to understand what had chilled
+her, what she had unconsciously been afraid of&ndash;&ndash;<i>her
+own creed!</i>&ndash;&ndash;when applied to another woman.</p>
+<p>And this was the second time that this creed of hers
+had risen to confront her, and the second time she had
+gazed at it, chilled by fear: once, when she had waited
+for Ilse to return; and now once again.</p>
+<p>For now she began to comprehend how ruthless that
+creed could become when professed by such a girl as
+Marya Lanois.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>She was still seated there when Marya came in, her
+tiger-red hair in fascinating disorder from the wind,
+her skin fairly breathing the warm fragrance of exotic
+youth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My Palla! How pale you seem!&rdquo; she exclaimed,
+embracing her. &ldquo;You are quite well? Really? Then
+I am reassured!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She went to the mirror and tucked in a burnished
+strand or two of hair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;These Chicago ladies&ndash;&ndash;they have not arrived, I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span>
+see. Am I then so early? For I see that Ilse is not
+yet here&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is only a quarter to eight,&rdquo; said Palla, smiling;
+but the brown eyes were calmly measuring this lithe and
+warm and lovely thing with green eyes&ndash;&ndash;measuring it
+intently&ndash;&ndash;taking its measure&ndash;&ndash;taking, for the first
+time in her life, her measure of any woman.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Was Vanya&rsquo;s concert a great success?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Vanya has not yet returned.&rdquo; She shrugged.
+&ldquo;There was nothing in New York papers.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose you were very nervous last night,&rdquo; said
+Palla.</p>
+<p>For a moment Marya continued to arrange her hair
+by the aid of the mantel mirror, then she turned very
+lithely and let her green gaze rest full on Palla&rsquo;s face.</p>
+<p>What she might possibly have divined was hidden
+behind the steady brown eyes that met hers may have
+determined her attitude and words; for she laughed
+with frank carelessness and plunged into it all:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fancy, Palla, my encountering Jim Shotwell in the
+Biltmore, and dining with him at that noisy Palace of
+Mirrors last night! Did he tell you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t seen him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;Over the telephone, perhaps?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, he did not mention it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, it was most amusing. It is the unpremeditated
+that is delightful. And can you see us in that
+dreadful place, as gay as a pair of school children?
+And we must laugh at nothing and find it enchanting&ndash;&ndash;and
+we must dance amid the hoi polloi and clap our
+hands for the encore too!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A light peal of laughter floated from her lips at the
+recollections evoked:</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;And after! Can you see us, Palla, in Vanya&rsquo;s
+studio, too wide awake to go our ways!&ndash;&ndash;and the song
+I sang at that unearthly hour&ndash;&ndash;the song I sing always
+when happily excited&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The bell rang; the first guest had arrived.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XIX' id='CHAPTER_XIX'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+</div>
+<p>Vanya&rsquo;s concert had been enough of a success to
+attract the attention of genuine music-lovers
+and an impecunious impresario&ndash;&ndash;an irresponsible
+promoter celebrated for rushing headlong into
+things and being kicked headlong out of them.</p>
+<p>All promising virtuosi had cut their wisdom teeth
+on him; all had acquired experience and its accompanying
+toothache; none had acquired wealth until free of
+this ubiquitous impresario.</p>
+<p>His name was Wilding: he seized upon Vanya; and
+that gentle and disconcerted dreamer offered no resistance.</p>
+<p>So Wilding began to haunt Vanya&rsquo;s apartment at
+all hours of the day, rushing in with characteristic
+enthusiasm to discuss the vast campaign of nation-wide
+concerts which in his mind&rsquo;s eye were already
+materialising.</p>
+<p>Marya had no faith in him and was becoming very
+tired of his noise and bustle in the stillness and subdued
+light which meant home to her, and which this
+loud, excitable, untidy man was eternally invading.</p>
+<p>Always he was shouting at Vanya: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a knock-out!
+It will go big! big! big! We got &rsquo;em started in Baltimore!&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;a
+fact, but none of his doing! &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll play
+Philadelphia next; I&rsquo;m fixin&rsquo; it for you. All you gotta
+do is go there and the yelling starts. Well, I guess.
+Some riot, believe <i>me</i>!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Wilding had no money in the beginning. After a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span>
+while, Vanya had none, or very little; but the impresario
+wore a new fur coat and spats. And Broadway
+winked wearily and said: &ldquo;He&rsquo;s got another!&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;doubtless
+deeming specification mere redundancy.</p>
+<p>Yet, somehow, Wilding did manage to book Vanya
+in Philadelphia&ndash;&ndash;at a somewhat distant date, it is true&ndash;&ndash;but
+it was something with which to begin the promised
+&ldquo;nation-wide tour&rdquo; under the auspices of Dawson
+B. Wilding.</p>
+<p>Marya had money of her own, but trusted none of
+it in Wilding&rsquo;s schemes. In fact, she had come to detest
+him thoroughly, and whenever he was announced she
+would rise like some beautiful, disgusted feline, which
+something has disturbed in her dim and favourite corner,
+and move lithely away to another room. And it
+almost seemed as though her little, warm, closely-chiselled
+ears actually flattened with bored annoyance as
+the din of Wilding&rsquo;s vociferous greeting to Vanya arose
+behind her.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>One day toward Christmas time, she said to Vanya, in
+her level, satin-smooth voice:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know, <i>mon ami</i>, I am tiring rapidly of this
+great fool who comes shouting and tramping into our
+home. And when I am annoyed beyond my nerve
+capacity, I am likely to leave.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Vanya said gently that he was sorry that he had
+entered into financial relations with a man who annoyed
+her, but that it could scarcely be helped now.</p>
+<p>He was seated at his piano, not playing, but scoring.
+And he resumed his composition after he had spoken,
+his grave, delicate head bent over the ruled sheets, a
+gold pencil held between his long fingers.</p>
+<p>Marya lounged near, watched him. Not for the first
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span>
+time, now, did his sweet temper and gentleness vaguely
+irritate her&ndash;&ndash;string her nerves a little tighter until
+they began to vibrate with an indefinable longing to
+say something to arouse this man&ndash;&ndash;startle him&ndash;&ndash;awaken
+him to a physical tensity and strength.... Such
+as Shotwell&rsquo;s for example....</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Vanya?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He looked up absently, the beauty of dreams still
+clouding his eyes.</p>
+<p>And suddenly, to her own astonishment, her endurance
+came to its end. She had never expected to say
+what she was now going to say to him. She had never
+dreamed of confession&ndash;&ndash;of enlightening him. And now,
+all at once, she knew she was going to do it, and that
+it was a needless and cruel and insane and useless thing
+to do, for it led her nowhere, and it would leave him
+in helpless pain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Vanya,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I am in love with Jim Shotwell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>After a few moments, she turned and slowly crossed
+the studio. Her hat and coat lay on a chair. She
+put them on and walked out.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>The following morning, Palla, arriving to consult
+Marya on a matter of the Club&rsquo;s business, discovered
+Vanya alone in the studio.</p>
+<p>He was lying on the lounge when she entered, and he
+looked ill, but he rose with all his characteristic grace
+and charm and led her to a chair, saluting her hand as
+he seated her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marya has not yet arrived?&rdquo; she inquired.</p>
+<p>His delicate features became very grave and still.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought,&rdquo; added Palla, &ldquo;that Marya usually
+breakfasted at eleven&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Something in his expression checked her; and she
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span>
+fell silent, fascinated by the deathly whiteness of his
+face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am sorry to tell you,&rdquo; he said, in a pleasant and
+steady voice, &ldquo;that Marya has not returned.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why&ndash;&ndash;why, I didn&rsquo;t know she was away&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yesterday she decided. Later she was good enough
+to telephone from the Hotel Rajah, where, for the
+present, she expects to remain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Vanya!&rdquo; Palla&rsquo;s involuntary exclamation
+brought a trace of colour into his cheeks.</p>
+<p>He said: &ldquo;It is not her fault. She was loyal and
+truthful. One may not control one&rsquo;s heart....
+And if she is in love&ndash;&ndash;well, is she not free to love him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who&ndash;&ndash;is&ndash;&ndash;it?&rdquo; asked Palla faintly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Shotwell, it appears.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In the dead silence, Vanya passed his hand slowly
+across his temples; let it drop on his knee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Freedom above all else,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;freedom to
+love, freedom to cease loving, freedom to love anew....
+Well ... it is curious&ndash;&ndash;the scheme of
+things.... Love must remain inexplicable. For
+there is no analysis. I think there never could be any
+man who cared as I have cared, as I do care for
+her....&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He rose, and to Palla he seemed already a trifle
+stooped;&ndash;&ndash;it may have been his studio coat, which
+fitted badly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, Vanya dear&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; Palla looked at him miserably,
+conscious of her own keen fears as well as of his sorrow.
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think she&rsquo;ll come back? Do you suppose
+it is really so serious&ndash;&ndash;what she thinks about&ndash;&ndash;Mr.
+Shotwell?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He shook his head: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.... If it is
+so, it is so. Freedom is of first importance. Our creed
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span>
+is our creed. We must abide by what we teach and
+believe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He nodded absently, staring palely into space.</p>
+<p>Perhaps his lost gaze evoked the warm-skinned,
+sunny-haired girl who had gone out of the semi-light of
+this still place, leaving the void unutterably vast around
+him. For this had been the lithe thing&rsquo;s silken lair&ndash;&ndash;the
+slim and supple thing with beryl eyes&ndash;&ndash;here where
+thick-piled carpets of the East deadened every human
+movement&ndash;&ndash;where no sound stirred, nor any air&ndash;&ndash;where
+dull shapes loomed, lacquered and indistinct, and an
+odour of Chinese lacquer and nard haunted the tinted
+dusk.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Like one of those lazy, golden, jewelled sea-creatures
+of irresponsible freedom brought seemed to fill the girl
+cooler currents arouses a restlessness infernal, Marya&rsquo;s
+first long breath of freedom subtly excited her.</p>
+<p>She had no definite ideas, no plans. She was merely
+tired of Vanya.</p>
+<p>Perhaps her fresh, wholesome contact with Jim had
+started it&ndash;&ndash;the sense of a clean vitality which had seemed
+to envelop her like the delicious, half-resented chill
+of a spring-pool plunge. For the exhilaration possessed
+her still; and the sudden stimulation which the sense
+of irresponsible freedom brought seemed to fill the girl
+with a new vigour.</p>
+<p>Foot-loose, heart-loose, her green eyes on the open
+world where it stretched away into infinite horizons,
+she paced her new nest in the Hotel Rajah, tingling
+with subdued excitement, innocent of the faintest regret
+for what had been.</p>
+<p>For a week she lived alone, enjoying the sensation
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span>
+of being hidden, languidly savouring the warm
+comfort of isolation.</p>
+<p>She had not sent for her belongings. She purchased
+new personal effects, enchanted to be rid of familiar
+things.</p>
+<p>There was no snow. She walked a great deal, moving
+in unaccustomed sections of the city at all hours, skirting
+in the early winter dusk the glitter of Christmas
+preparations along avenues and squares, lunching where
+she was unlikely to encounter anybody she knew, dining,
+too, at hazard in unwonted places&ndash;&ndash;restaurants she
+had never heard of, tea-rooms, odd corners.</p>
+<p>Vanya wrote her. She tossed his letters aside,
+scarcely read. Ilse and Palla wrote her, and telephoned
+her. She paid them no attention.</p>
+<p>The metropolitan jungle fascinated her. She adored
+her liberty, and looked out of beryl-green eyes across
+the border of license, where ghosts of the half-world
+swarmed in no-man&rsquo;s-land.</p>
+<p>Conscious that she had been fashioned to trouble
+man, the knowledge merely left her indefinitely contented,
+save when she remembered Jim. But that he
+had checked her drift toward him merely excited her;
+for she knew she had been made to trouble such as he;
+and she had seen his face that night....</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Ilse, on her way home to dress&ndash;&ndash;for she was going
+out somewhere with Estridge&ndash;&ndash;stopped for tea at Palla&rsquo;s
+house, and found her a little disturbed over an anonymous
+letter just delivered&ndash;&ndash;a typewritten sheet bluntly
+telling her to take her friends and get out of the hall
+where the Combat Club held its public sessions; and
+warning her of serious trouble if she did not heed this
+&ldquo;friendly&rdquo; advice.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Pouf!&rdquo; exclaimed Ilse contemptuously, &ldquo;I get those,
+too, and tear them up. People who talk never strike.
+Are you anxious, darling?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla smiled: &ldquo;Not a bit&ndash;&ndash;only such cowardice saddens
+me.... And the days are grey enough....&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why do you say that? I think it is a wonderful
+winter&ndash;&ndash;a beautiful year!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla lifted her brown eyes and let them dwell on
+the beauty of this clear-skinned, golden-haired girl who
+had discovered beauty in the aftermath of the world&rsquo;s
+great tragedy.</p>
+<p>Ilse smiled: &ldquo;Life is good,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;This world
+is all to be done over in the right way. We have it
+all before us, you and I, Palla, and those who love
+and understand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am wondering,&rdquo; said Palla, &ldquo;who understands us.
+I&rsquo;m not discouraged, but&ndash;&ndash;there seems to be so much
+indifference in the world.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course. That is our battle to overcome it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. But, dear, there seems to be so much hatred,
+too, in the world. I thought the war had ended, but
+everywhere men are still in battle&ndash;&ndash;everywhere men
+are dying of this fierce hatred that seems to flame up
+anew across the world; everywhere men fight and slay
+to gain advantage. None yields, none renounces, none
+gives. It is as though love were dead on earth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Love is being reborn,&rdquo; said Ilse cheerfully. &ldquo;Birth
+means pain, always&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Without warning, a hot flush flooded her face; she
+averted it as the tea-tray was brought and set on a
+table before Palla. When her face cooled, she leaned
+back in her chair, cup in hand, a sort of confused
+sweetness in her blue eyes.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span></div>
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s heart was beating heavily as she leaned on
+the table, her cup untasted, her idle fingers crumbing
+the morsel of biscuit between them.</p>
+<p>After a moment she said: &ldquo;So you have concluded
+that you care for John Estridge?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I care,&rdquo; said Ilse absently, the same odd, sweet
+smile curving her cheeks.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is&ndash;&ndash;wonderful,&rdquo; said Palla, not looking at
+her.</p>
+<p>Ilse remained silent, her blue gaze aloof.</p>
+<p>A maid came and turned up the lamps, and went
+away again.</p>
+<p>Palla said in a low voice: &ldquo;Are you&ndash;&ndash;afraid?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They both remained silent until she rose to go. Palla,
+walking with her to the head of the stairs, holding one
+of her hands imprisoned, said with an effort: &ldquo;I am
+frightened, dear.... I can&rsquo;t help it....
+You will be certain, first, won&rsquo;t you?&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is as certain as death,&rdquo; said Ilse in a low, still
+voice.</p>
+<p>Palla shivered; she passed one arm around her; and
+they stood so for a while. Then Ilse&rsquo;s arm tightened,
+and the old gaiety glinted in her sea-blue eyes:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is your house in order too, Palla?&rdquo; she asked.
+&ldquo;Turn around, little enigma! There; I can look into
+those brown eyes now. And I see nothing in them to
+answer me my question.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean Jim?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t seen him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For how long?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Weeks. I don&rsquo;t know how long it has been&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you quarrelled?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. We seem to. This is quite the most serious
+one yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You are not in love with him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Ilse, I don&rsquo;t know. He simply can&rsquo;t understand
+me. I feel so bruised and tired after a controversy
+with him. He seems to be so merciless to my opinions&ndash;&ndash;so
+violent&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You poor child.... After all, Palla, freedom
+also means the liberty to change one&rsquo;s mind....
+If you should care to change yours&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t change my inmost convictions.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Those&ndash;&ndash;no.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have not changed them. I almost wish I could.
+But I&rsquo;ve got to be honest.... And he can&rsquo;t understand
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse smiled and kissed her: &ldquo;That is scarcely to be
+wondered at, as you don&rsquo;t seem to know your own mind.
+Perhaps when you do he, also, may understand you.
+Good-bye! I must run&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla watched her to the foot of the stairs; the door
+closed; the engine of a taxi began to hum.</p>
+<p>Her telephone was ringing when she returned to the
+living room, and the quick leap of her heart averted
+her of the hope revived.</p>
+<p>But it was a strange voice on the wire,&ndash;&ndash;a man&rsquo;s
+voice, clear, sinister, tainted with a German accent:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Iss this Miss Dumont? Yess? Then this I haff
+to say to you: You shall find yourself in serious
+trouble if you do not move your foolish club of vimmen
+out of the vicinity of which you know. We giff you
+one more chance. So shall you take it or you shall
+take some consequences! <i>Goot-night!</i>&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The instrument clicked in her ear as the unknown
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span>
+threatener hung up, leaving her seated there, astonished,
+hurt, bewildered.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>The man who &ldquo;hung up on her&rdquo; stepped out of a
+saloon on Eighth Avenue and joined two other men
+on the corner.</p>
+<p>The man was Karl Kastner; the other two were
+Sondheim and Bromberg.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get her?&rdquo; growled the latter, as all three started
+east.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yess. And now we shall see what we shall see.
+We start the finish now already. All foolishness shall
+be ended. Now we fix Puma.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They continued on across the street, clumping along
+with their overcoat collars turned up, for it had turned
+bitter cold and the wind was rising.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t think it&rsquo;s a plant?&rdquo; inquired Sondheim,
+for the third time.</p>
+<p>Bromberg blew his red nose on a dirty red handkerchief.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll plant Puma if he tries any of that,&rdquo; he said
+thickly.</p>
+<p>Kastner added that he feared investigation more
+than they did because he had more at stake.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dot guy he iss rich like a millionaire,&rdquo; he added.
+&ldquo;Ve make him pay some dammach, too.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How&rsquo;s he going to fire that bunch of women if they
+got a lease?&rdquo; demanded Bromberg.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who the hell cares how he does it?&rdquo; grunted Sondheim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure,&rdquo; added Kastner; &ldquo;let him dig up. You buy
+anybody if you haff sufficient coin. Effery time! Yess.
+Also! Let him dig down into his pants once. So shall
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span>
+he pay them, these vimmen, to go avay und shut up
+mit their mischief what they make for us already!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sondheim was still muttering about &ldquo;plants&rdquo; in the
+depths of his soiled overcoat-collar, when they arrived
+at the hall and presented themselves at the door of
+Puma&rsquo;s outer office.</p>
+<p>A girl took their message. After a while she returned
+and piloted them out, and up a wide flight of stairs
+to a door marked, &ldquo;No admittance.&rdquo; Here she knocked,
+and Puma&rsquo;s voice bade them enter.</p>
+<p>Angelo Puma was standing by a desk when they
+trooped in, keeping their hats on. The room was
+ventilated and illumined in the daytime only by a very
+dirty transom giving on a shaft. Otherwise, there
+were no windows, no outlet to any outer light and air.</p>
+<p>Two gas jets caged in wire&ndash;&ndash;obsolete stage dressing-room
+effects&ndash;&ndash;lighted the room and glimmered on
+Puma&rsquo;s polished top-hat and the gold knob of his walking-stick.</p>
+<p>As for Puma himself, he glanced up stealthily from
+the scenario he was reading as he stood by the big
+desk, but dropped his eyes again, and, opening a
+drawer, laid away the typed manuscript. Then he
+pulled out the revolving desk chair and sat down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; he inquired, lighting a cigar.</p>
+<p>There was an ominous silence among the three men
+for another moment. Then Puma looked up, puffing
+his cigar, and Sondheim stepped forward from the
+group and shook his finger in his face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What yah got planted around here for us? Hey?&rdquo;
+he demanded in a low, hoarse voice. &ldquo;Come on now,
+Puma! What yeh think yeh got on us?&rdquo; And to
+Kastner and Bromberg: &ldquo;Go ahead, boys, look for a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span>
+dictaphone and them kind of things. And if this wop
+hollers I&rsquo;ll do him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A ruddy light flickered in Puma&rsquo;s eyes, but the cool
+smile lay smoothly on his lips, and he did not even turn
+his head to watch them as they passed along the walls,
+sounding, peering, prying, and jerking open the door
+of the cupboard&ndash;&ndash;the only furniture there except the
+desk and the chair on which Puma sat.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What the hell&rsquo;s the matter with yeh?&rdquo; snarled
+Sondheim, suddenly stooping to catch Puma&rsquo;s eye,
+which had wandered as though bored by the proceedings.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; said Puma, coolly; &ldquo;what&rsquo;s the matter
+with you, Max?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Kastner came around beside him and said in his
+thin, sinister tone:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know it vat I got on you, Angelo?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So? Also! Vas iss it you do about doze vimmen?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They won&rsquo;t go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In Bromberg&rsquo;s voice sounded an ominous roar:
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t hand us nothing like that! You hear what
+I&rsquo;m telling you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma shrugged: &ldquo;I hand you what I have to hand
+you. They have the lease. What is there for me
+to do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Buy &rsquo;em off!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I try. They will not.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You offer &rsquo;em enough and they&rsquo;ll quit!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. They will not. They say they are here to
+fight you. They laugh at my money. What shall
+I do?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you one thing you&rsquo;ll do, and do it damn
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span>
+quick!&rdquo; roared Bromberg. &ldquo;Hand over that money
+we need!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you bellow in so loud a manner,&rdquo; said Puma,
+&ldquo;they could hear you in the studio.... How
+much do you ask for?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Two thousand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What yeh mean by &lsquo;No&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What I say to you, that I have not two thousand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You lying greaser&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do not lie. I have paid my people and there remains
+but six hundred dollars in my bank.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When do we get the rest?&rdquo; asked Sondheim, as Puma
+tossed the packet of bills onto the desk.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When I make it,&rdquo; replied Puma tranquilly. &ldquo;You
+will understand my receipts are my capital at present.
+What else I have is engaged already in my new theatre.
+If you will be patient you shall have what I can spare.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Bromberg rested both hairy fists on the desk and
+glared down at Puma.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s this new guy you got to go in with you?
+What&rsquo;s the matter with our getting a jag of his coin?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean Mr. Pawling?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yeh. Who the hell is that duck what inks his
+whiskers?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A partner.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, let him shove us ours then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You wish to ruin me?&rdquo; inquired Puma placidly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not while you&rsquo;re milkin&rsquo;,&rdquo; said Sondheim, showing
+every yellow fang in a grin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then do not frighten Mr. Pawling out. Already
+you have scared my other partner, Mr. Skidder, like
+there never was any rabbits scared. You are foolish.
+If you are reasonable, I shall make money and you
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span>
+shall have your share. If you are not, then there is
+no money to give you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sondheim said: &ldquo;Take a slant at them yellow-backs,
+Karl.&rdquo; And Kastner screwed a powerful jeweller&rsquo;s
+glass into his eye and began a minute examination of
+the orange-coloured treasury notes, to find out whether
+they were marked bills.</p>
+<p>Bromberg said heavily: &ldquo;See here, Angelo, you gotta
+quit this damned stalling! You gotta get them women
+out, and do it quick or we&rsquo;ll blow your dirty barracks
+into the North River!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sondheim began to wag his soiled forefinger again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yeh quit us cold when things was on the fritz.
+Now, yeh gotta pay. If you wasn&rsquo;t nothing but a wop
+skunk yeh&rsquo;d stand in with us. The way you&rsquo;re fixed
+would help us all. But now yeh makin&rsquo; money and yeh
+scared o&rsquo; yeh shadow!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Bromberg cut in: &ldquo;And you&rsquo;ll be outside when the
+band starts playing. Look what&rsquo;s doing all over the
+world! Every country is starting something! You
+watch Berlin and Rosa Luxemburg and her bunch.
+Keep your eye peeled, Angy, and see what we and the
+I. W. W. start in every city of the country!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Kastner, having satisfied himself that the bills had
+not been marked, and pocketed his jeweller&rsquo;s glass,
+pushed back his lank blond hair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yess,&rdquo; he said in his icy, incisive voice, &ldquo;yoost vatch
+out already! Dot crimson tide it iss rising the vorld all
+ofer! It shall drown effery aristocrat, effery bourgeois,
+effery intellectual. It shall be but a red flood ofer all
+the vorld vere noddings shall live only our peoble off the
+proletariat!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And where the hell will you be then, Angelo?&rdquo;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span>
+sneered Bromberg. &ldquo;By God, we won&rsquo;t have to ask you
+for our share of your money then!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Again Sondheim leaned over him and wagged his
+nicotine-dyed finger:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You get the rest of our money! Understand? And
+you get them women out!&ndash;&ndash;or I tell you we&rsquo;ll blow you
+and your joint to Hoboken! Get that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have understood,&rdquo; said Puma quietly; but his
+heavy face was a muddy red now, and he choked a
+little when he spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Give us a date and stick to it,&rdquo; added Bromberg.
+&ldquo;Set it yourself. And after that we won&rsquo;t bother to
+do any more jawin&rsquo;. We&rsquo;ll just attend to business&ndash;&ndash;<i>your</i>
+business, Puma!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>After a long silence, Puma said calmly: &ldquo;How much
+you want?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ten thousand,&rdquo; said Sondheim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And them women out of this,&rdquo; added Bromberg.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or ve get you,&rdquo; ended Kastner in his deadly voice.</p>
+<p>Puma lifted his head and looked intently at each
+one of them in turn. And seemed presently to come to
+some conclusion.</p>
+<p>Kastner forestalled him: &ldquo;You try it some monkey
+trick and you try it no more effer again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s your date for the cash?&rdquo; insisted Sondheim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;February first,&rdquo; replied Puma quietly.</p>
+<p>Kastner wrote it on the back of an envelope.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Und dese vimmen?&rdquo; he inquired.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll get a lawyer&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The hell with that stuff!&rdquo; roared Bromberg. &ldquo;Get
+&rsquo;em out! Scare &rsquo;em out! Jesus Christ! how long
+d&rsquo;yeh think we&rsquo;re going to stand for being hammered
+by that bunch o&rsquo; skirts? They got a lot o&rsquo; people
+sore on us now. The crowd what uster come around
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span>
+is gettin&rsquo; leery. And who are these damned women?
+One of &rsquo;em was a White Nun, when they did the business
+for the Romanoffs. One of &rsquo;em fired on the
+Bolsheviki&ndash;&ndash;that big blond girl with yellow hair, I mean!
+Wasn&rsquo;t she one of those damned girl-soldiers? And
+look what she&rsquo;s up to now&ndash;&ndash;comin&rsquo; over here to talk
+us off the platform!&ndash;&ndash;the dirty foreigner!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; growled Bromberg, &ldquo;and there&rsquo;s that redheaded
+wench of Vanya&rsquo;s!&ndash;&ndash;some Grand Duke&rsquo;s slut,
+they say, before she quit him for the university to start
+something else&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Kastner cut in in his steely voice: &ldquo;If you do not
+throw out these women, Puma, we fix them and your
+hall and you&ndash;&ndash;all at one time, my friend. Also! Iss
+it then for February the first, our understanding? Or
+iss it, a little later, the end of all your troubles,
+Angelo?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma got up, nodded his acceptance of their ultimatum,
+and opened the door for them.</p>
+<p>When they trooped out, under the brick arch, they
+noticed his splendid limousine waiting, and as they
+shuffled sullenly away westward, Bromberg, looking
+back, saw Puma come out and jump lightly into the
+car.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Swine!&rdquo; he snarled, facing the bitter wind once more
+and shuffling along beside his silent brethren.</p>
+<p>Puma went east, then north to the Hotel Rajah,
+where, in a private room, he was to complete a financial
+transaction with Alonzo B. Pawling.</p>
+<p>Skidder, too, came in at the same time, squinting
+rapidly at his partner; and together they moved toward
+the elevator.</p>
+<p>The elevator waited a moment more to accommodate
+a willowy, red-haired girl in furs, whose jade eyes
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span>
+barely rested on Puma&rsquo;s magnificent black ones as he
+stepped aside to make way for her with an extravagant
+bow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Some skirt,&rdquo; murmured Skidder in his ear, as the
+car shot upward.</p>
+<p>Marya left the car at the mezzanine floor: Puma&rsquo;s
+eyes were like coals for a moment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know that dame?&rdquo; inquired Skidder, his eyes
+fairly snapping.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No.&rdquo; He did not add that he had seen her at the
+Combat Club and knew her to belong to another man.
+But his black eyes were almost blazing as he stepped
+from the elevator, for in Marya&rsquo;s insolent glance he
+had caught a vague glimmer of fire&ndash;&ndash;merely a green
+spark, very faint&ndash;&ndash;if, indeed, it had been there at
+all....</p>
+<p>Pawling himself opened the door for them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it all right? Do we get the parcel?&rdquo; were his
+first words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a knock-out!&rdquo; cried Skidder, slapping him on
+the back. &ldquo;We got the land, we got the plans, we got
+the iron, we got the contracts!&ndash;&ndash;Oh, boy!&ndash;&ndash;our dough
+is in&ndash;&ndash;go look at it and smell it for yourself! So get
+into the jack, old scout, and ante up, because we break
+ground Wednesday and there&rsquo;ll be bills before then,
+you betcha!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When the cocktails were brought, Puma swallowed
+his in a hurry, saying he&rsquo;d be back in a moment, and
+bidding Skidder enlighten Mr. Pawling during the
+interim.</p>
+<p>He summoned the elevator, got out at the mezzanine,
+and walked lightly into the deserted and cloister-like
+perspective, his shiny hat in his hand.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span></div>
+<p>And saw Marya standing by the marble ramp, looking
+down at the bustle below.</p>
+<p>He stopped not far away. He had made no sound
+on the velvet carpet. But presently she turned her
+head and the green eyes met his black ones.</p>
+<p>Neither winced. The sheer bulk of the beast and the
+florid magnificence of its colour seemed to fascinate her.</p>
+<p>She had seen him before, and scarcely noted him.
+She remembered. But the world was duller, then, and
+the outlook grey. And then, too, her still, green eyes
+had not yet wandered beyond far horizons, nor had her
+heart been cut adrift to follow her fancy when the tides
+stirred it from its mooring&ndash;&ndash;carrying it away, away
+through deeps or shallows as the currents swerved.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XX' id='CHAPTER_XX'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+</div>
+<p>The pale parody on that sacred date which once
+had symbolised the birth of Christ had come
+and gone; the ghastly year was nearing its
+own death&ndash;&ndash;the bloodiest year, for all its final triumph,
+that the world had ever witnessed&ndash;&ndash;<i>l&rsquo;ann&eacute;e horrible</i>!</p>
+<p>Nor was the end yet, of all this death and dying:
+for the Crimson Tide, washing through Russia, eastward,
+seethed and eddied among the wrecks of empires,
+lapping Poland&rsquo;s bones, splashing over the charred
+threshold of the huns, creeping into the Balkans, crawling
+toward Greece and Italy, menacing Scandinavia,
+and arousing the stern watchers along the French
+frontier&ndash;&ndash;the ultimate eastward barrier of human
+liberty.</p>
+<p>And unless, despite the fools who demur, that barrier
+be based upon the Rhine, that barrier will fall one day.</p>
+<p>Even in England, where the captive navies of the
+anti-Christ now sulked at anchor under England&rsquo;s consecrated
+guns, some talked glibly of rule by Soviet.
+All Ireland bristled now, baring its teeth at government;
+vast armies, disbanding, were becoming dully
+restless; and armed men, disarming, began to wonder
+what now might be their destiny and what the destiny
+of the world they fought for.</p>
+<p>And everywhere, among all peoples, swarmed the
+stealthy agents of the Red Apocalypse, whispering discontent,
+hinting treasons, stirring the unhappy to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span>
+sullen anger, inciting the simple-minded to insanity, the
+ignorant to revolution. For four years it had been
+a battle between Light and Night; and now there
+threatened to be joined in battle the uttermost forces
+of Evolution and Chaos&ndash;&ndash;the spiritual Armageddon at
+last, where Life and Light and Order must fight a final
+fight with Degeneracy, Darkness and Death.</p>
+<p>And always, everywhere, that hell-born Crimson Tide
+seemed to be rising. All newspapers were full of it,
+sounding the universal alarm. And Civilisation merely
+stared at the scarlet flood&ndash;&ndash;gawked stupidly and unstirring&ndash;&ndash;while
+the far clamour of massacre throughout
+Russia grew suddenly to a crashing discord in Berlin,
+shaking the whole world with brazen dissonance.</p>
+<p>Like the first ominous puff before the tempest, the
+deadly breath of the Black Death&ndash;&ndash;called &ldquo;influenza,&rdquo;
+but known of old among the verminous myriads of the
+East&ndash;&ndash;swept over the earth from East to West. Millions
+died; millions were yet to perish of it; yet the
+dazed world, still half blind with blood and smoke, sat
+helpless and unstirring, barring no gates to this
+pestilence that stalked the stricken earth at noon-day.</p>
+<p>New York, partly paralysed by sacrifice and the
+blood-sucking antics of half-crazed congressmen, gorged
+by six years feeding after decades of starvation, welcomed
+the incoming soldiers in a bewildered sort of way,
+making either an idiot&rsquo;s din of dissonance or gaping in
+stupid silence as the huge troop-ships swept up the bay.</p>
+<p>The battle fleet arrived&ndash;&ndash;the home squadron and the
+&ldquo;6th battle squadron&rdquo;&ndash;&ndash;and lay towering along the
+Hudson, while officers and jackies swarmed the streets&ndash;&ndash;streets
+now thronged by wounded, too&ndash;&ndash;pallid
+cripples in olive drab, limping along slowly beneath
+lowering skies, with their citations and crosses and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span>
+ribbons and wound chevrons in glinting gold under the
+relighted lustres of the metropolis.</p>
+<p>So the false mockery of Christmas came to the city&ndash;&ndash;a
+forced festival, unutterably sad, for all that the end
+of the war was subject of thanks in every church and
+synagogue. And so the mystic feast ended, scarcely
+heeded amid the slow, half-crippled groping for financial
+readjustment in the teeth of a snarling and vindictive
+Congress, mean in its envy, meaner in revenge&ndash;&ndash;a
+domestic brand of sectional Bolsheviki as dirty and
+degenerate as any anarchist in all Russia.</p>
+<p>The President had sailed away&ndash;&ndash;(<i>Slava! Slava!
+Nechevo!</i>)&ndash;&ndash;and the newspapers were preparing to tell
+their disillusioned public all about it, if permitted.</p>
+<p>And so dawned the New Year over the spreading
+crimson flood, flecking the mounting tide with brighter
+scarlet as it crept ever westward, ever wider, across a
+wounded world.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Palla had not seen Jim for a very long time now.
+Christmas passed, bringing neither gift nor message,
+although she had sent him a little remembrance&ndash;&ndash;<i>The
+Divine Pantheon</i>, by an unfrocked Anglican clergyman,
+one Loxon Fettars, recently under detention pending investigation
+concerning an alleged multiplicity of wives.</p>
+<p>The New Year brought no greeting from him, either;
+nobody she knew had seen him, and her pride had revolted
+at writing him after she had telephoned and left
+a message at his club&ndash;&ndash;her usual concession after a
+stormy parting.</p>
+<p>And there was another matter that was causing her
+a constantly increasing unrest&ndash;&ndash;she had not seen Marya
+for many a day.</p>
+<p>Quiet grief for what now appeared to be a friendship
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span>
+ended&ndash;&ndash;at other times a tingle of bitterness that
+he had let it end so relentlessly&ndash;&ndash;and sometimes, at
+night, the secret dread&ndash;&ndash;eternally buried yet perennially
+resurrected&ndash;&ndash;the still, hidden, ever-living fear of
+Marya; these the girl knew, now, as part of life.</p>
+<p>And went on, steadily, with her life&rsquo;s business, as
+though moving toward a dark horizon where clouds
+towered gradually higher, reflecting the glimmer of
+unseen lightning.</p>
+<p>Somehow, lately, a vague sensation of impending
+trouble had invaded her; and she never entirely shook
+it off, even in her lighter moods, when there was gay
+company around her; or in the warm flush of optimistic
+propaganda work; or in the increasingly exciting sessions
+of the Combat Club, now interrupted nightly by
+fierce outbreaks from emissaries of the Red Flag Club,
+who were there to make mischief.</p>
+<p>Also, there had been an innovation established among
+her company of moderate socialists; a corps of missionary
+speakers, who volunteered on certain nights to
+speak from the classic soap-box on street corners, urging
+the propaganda of their panacea, the Law of Love
+and Service.</p>
+<p>Twice already, despite her natural timidity and
+dread of public speaking, Palla had faced idle, half-curious,
+half sneering crowds just east or west of Broadway;
+had struggled through with what she had come to
+say; had gently replied to heckling, blushed under insult,
+stood trembling by her guns to the end.</p>
+<p>Ilse was more convincing, more popular with her gay
+insouciance and infectious laughter, and her unexpected
+and enchanting flashes of militancy, which always
+interested the crowd.</p>
+<p>And always, after these soap-box efforts, both Palla
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span>
+and Ilse were insulted over the telephone by unknown
+men. Their mail, also, invariably contained abusive
+or threatening letters, and sometimes vile ones; and
+Estridge purchased pistols for them both and exacted
+pledges that they carry them at night.</p>
+<p>On the evening selected for Palla&rsquo;s third essay in
+street oratory, she slipped her pistol into her muff and
+set out alone, not waiting for Ilse, who, with John
+Estridge, was to have met her after dinner at her house,
+and, as usual, accompany her to the place selected.</p>
+<p>But they knew where she was to speak, and she did
+not doubt they would turn up sooner or later at the
+rendezvous.</p>
+<p>All that day the dull, foreboding feeling had been
+assailing her at intervals, and she had been unable to
+free herself entirely from the vague depression.</p>
+<p>The day had been grey; when she left the house a
+drizzle had begun to wet the flagstones, and every
+lamp-post was now hooded with ghostly iridescence.</p>
+<p>She walked because she had need of exercise, not even
+deigning to unfurl her umbrella against the mist which
+spun silvery ovals over every electric globe along Fifth
+Avenue, and now shrouded every building above the
+fourth story in a cottony ocean of fog.</p>
+<p>When finally she turned westward, the dark obscurity
+of the cross-street seemed to stretch away into infinite
+night and she hurried a little, scarcely realising why.</p>
+<p>There did not seem to be a soul in sight&ndash;&ndash;she noticed
+that&ndash;&ndash;yet suddenly, halfway down the street, she discovered
+a man walking at her elbow, his rubber-shod
+feet making no sound on the wet walk.</p>
+<p>Palla had never before been annoyed by such attentions
+in New York, yet she supposed it must be the
+reason for the man&rsquo;s insolence.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span></div>
+<p>She hastened her steps; he moved as swiftly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I know who you are, and
+where you&rsquo;re going. And we&rsquo;ve stood just about
+enough from you and your friends.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In the quick revulsion from annoyance and disgust
+to a very lively flash of fright, Palla involuntarily
+slackened her pace and widened the distance between her
+and this unknown.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You better right-about-face and go home!&rdquo; he said
+quietly. &ldquo;You talk too damn much with your face.
+And we&rsquo;re going to stop you. See?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At that her flash of fear turned to anger:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Try it,&rdquo; she said hotly; and hurried on, her hand
+clutching the pistol in her wet muff, her eyes fixed on
+the unknown man.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve a mind to dust you good and plenty right here,&rdquo;
+he said. &ldquo;Quit your running, now, and beat it back
+again&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; His vise-like grip was on her left arm, almost
+jerking her off her feet; and the next moment she
+struck him with her loaded pistol full in the face.</p>
+<p>As he veered away, she saw the seam open from his
+cheek bone to his chin&ndash;&ndash;saw the white face suddenly
+painted with wet scarlet.</p>
+<p>The sight of the blood made her sick, but she kept
+her pistol levelled, backing away westward all the while.</p>
+<p>There was an iron railing near; he went over and
+leaned against it as though stupefied.</p>
+<p>And all the while she continued to retreat until,
+behind her, his dim shape merged into the foggy dark.</p>
+<p>Then Palla turned and ran. And she was still breathing
+fast and unevenly when she came to that perfect
+blossom of vulgarity and apotheosis of all American
+sham&ndash;&ndash;Broadway&ndash;&ndash;where in the raw glare from a million
+lights the senseless crowds swept north and south.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span></div>
+<p>And here, where Jew-manager and gentile ruled the
+histrionic destiny of the United States&ndash;&ndash;here where
+art, letters, service, industry, business had each developed
+its own species of human prostitute&ndash;&ndash;two
+muddy-brained torrents of humanity poured in opposite
+directions, crowding, shoving, shuffling along in the endless,
+hopeless Hunt for Happiness.</p>
+<p>She had made, in the beginning of her street-corner
+career, arrangements with a neighbouring boot-black to
+furnish one soap-box on demand at a quarter of a
+dollar rent for every evening.</p>
+<p>She extracted the quarter from her purse and paid
+the boy; carried the soap-box herself to the curb; and,
+with that invariable access of fright which attacked her
+at such moments, mounted it to face the first few people
+who halted out of curiosity to see what else she meant
+to do.</p>
+<p>Columns of passing umbrellas hid her so that not
+many people noticed her; but gradually that perennial
+audience of shabby opportunists which always gathers
+anywhere from nowhere, ringed her soap-box. And
+Palla began to speak in the drizzling rain.</p>
+<p>For some time there were no interruptions, no jeers,
+no doubtful pleasantries. But when it became more
+plain to the increasing crowd that this smartly though
+simply gowned young woman had come to Broadway
+in the rain for the purpose of protesting against all
+forms of violence, including the right of the working
+people to strike, ugly remarks became audible, and now
+and then a menacing word was flung at her, or some
+clenched hand insulted her and amid a restless murmur
+growing rougher all the time.</p>
+<p>Once, to prove her point out of the mouth of the proletariat
+itself, she quoted from Rosa Luxemburg; and a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span>
+well-dressed man shouldered his way toward her and in
+a low voice gave her the lie.</p>
+<p>The painful colour dyed her face, but she went on
+calmly, explaining the different degrees and extremes
+of socialism, revealing how the abused term had been
+used as camouflage by the party committed to the utter
+annihilation of everything worth living for.</p>
+<p>And again, to prove her point, she quoted:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Socialism does not mean the convening of Parliaments
+and the enactment of laws; it means the overthrow
+of the ruling classes with all the brutality at the
+disposal of the proletariat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The same well-dressed man interrupted again:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say, who pays you to come here and hand out that
+Wall Street stuff?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nobody pays me,&rdquo; she replied patiently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right, then, if that&rsquo;s true why don&rsquo;t you tell us
+something about the interests and the profiteers and
+all them dirty games the capitalists is rigging up?
+Tell us about the guy who wants us to pay eight cents
+to ride on his damned cars! Tell us about the geezers
+who soak us for food and coal and clothes and rent!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You stand there chirping to us about Love and
+Service and how we oughta give. <i>Give!</i> Jesus!&ndash;&ndash;we
+ain&rsquo;t got anything left to give. They ain&rsquo;t anything to
+give our wives or our children,&ndash;&ndash;no, nor there ain&rsquo;t
+enough left to feed our own faces or pay for a patch
+on our pants! <i>Give?</i> Hell! The interests <i>took</i> it.
+And you stand there twittering about Love and Service!
+We oughta serve &rsquo;em a brick on the neck and love
+&rsquo;em with a black-jack!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How far would that get you?&rdquo; asked Palla gently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As far as their pants-pockets anyway!&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;And when you empty those, who is to employ and
+pay you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t worry,&rdquo; he sneered, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ll do the employing
+after that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And will your employees do to you some day what
+you did to your employers with a black-jack?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The crowd laughed, but her heckler shook his fist
+at her and yelled:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t I telling you that we&rsquo;ll be sitting in these
+damn gold-plated houses and payin&rsquo; wages to these
+here fat millionaires for blackin&rsquo; our shoes?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean that when Bolshevism rules there are to
+be rich and poor just the same as at present?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Again the crowd laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right!&rdquo; bawled the man, waving both arms above
+his head, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;yes, I do mean it! It will be our turn
+then. Why not? What do we want to split fifty-fifty
+with them soft, fat millionaires for? Nix on that
+stuff! It will be hog-killing time, and you can bet your
+thousand-dollar wrist watch, Miss, that there&rsquo;ll be some
+killin&rsquo; in little old New York!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He had backed out of the circle and disappeared in
+the crowd before Palla could attempt further reasoning
+with him. So she merely shook her head in gentle disapproval
+and dissent:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is the use,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;of exchanging one form
+of tyranny for another? Why destroy the autocracy
+of the capitalist and erect on its ruins the autocracy
+of the worker?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How can class distinctions be eradicated by fanning
+class-hatred? In a battle against all dictators, why
+proclaim dictatorship&ndash;&ndash;even of the proletariat?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All oppression is hateful, whether exercised by God
+or man&ndash;&ndash;whether the oppressor be that murderous,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span>
+stupid, treacherous, tyrannical bully in the Old Testament,
+miscalled God, or whether the oppressor be the
+proletariat which screamed for the blood of Jesus
+Christ and got it!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Free heart, free mind, free soul!&ndash;&ndash;anything less
+means servitude, not service&ndash;&ndash;hatred, not love!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A man in the outskirts of the crowd shouted: &ldquo;Say,
+you&rsquo;re some rag-chewer, little girl! Go to it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She laughed, then glanced at her wrist watch.</p>
+<p>There were a few more words she might say before
+the time she allowed herself had expired, and she found
+courage to go on, striving to explain to the shifting
+knot of people that the battle which now threatened
+civilisation was the terrible and final fight between
+Order and Disorder and that, under inexorable laws
+which could never change, order meant life and survival;
+disorder chaos and death for all living things.</p>
+<p>A few cheered her as she bade them good-night, picked
+up her soap-box and carried it back to her boot-black
+friend, who inhabited a shack built against the family-entrance
+side of a saloon.</p>
+<p>She was surprised that Ilse and John Estridge had
+not appeared&ndash;&ndash;could scarcely understand it, as she
+made her way toward a taxicab.</p>
+<p>For, in view of the startling occurrence earlier in the
+evening, and the non-appearance of Ilse and Estridge,
+Palla had decided to return in a taxi.</p>
+<p>The incident&ndash;&ndash;the boldness of the unknown man and
+vicious brutality of his attitude, and also a sickening
+recollection of her own action and his bloody face&ndash;&ndash;had
+really shocked her, even more than she was aware of
+at the time.</p>
+<p>She felt tired and strained, and a trifle faint now,
+where she lay back, swaying there on her seat, her
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span>
+pistol clutched inside her muff, as the ramshackle vehicle
+lurched its noisy way eastward. And always that dull
+sense of something sinister impending&ndash;&ndash;that indefinable
+apprehension&ndash;&ndash;remained with her. And she gazed
+darkly out on the dark streets, possessed by a melancholy
+which she did not attempt to analyse.</p>
+<p>Yet, partly it came from the ruptured comradeship
+which always haunted her mind, partly because of Ilse
+and the uncertainty of what might happen to her&ndash;&ndash;may
+have happened already for all Palla knew&ndash;&ndash;and
+partly because&ndash;&ndash;although she did not realise it&ndash;&ndash;in the
+profound deeps of her girl&rsquo;s being she was vaguely
+conscious of something latent which seemed to have lain
+hidden there for a long, long time&ndash;&ndash;something inert,
+inexorable, indestructible, which, if it ever stirred from
+its intense stillness, must be reckoned with in years to
+come.</p>
+<p>She made no effort to comprehend what this thing
+might be&ndash;&ndash;if, indeed, it really existed&ndash;&ndash;no pains to
+analyse it or to meditate over the vague indications
+of its presence.</p>
+<p>She seemed merely to be aware of something indefinable
+concealed in the uttermost depths of her.</p>
+<p>It was Doubt, unborn.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>The taxi drew up before her house. Rain was falling
+heavily, as she ran up the steps&ndash;&ndash;a cold rain through
+which a few wet snowflakes slanted.</p>
+<p>Her maid heard the rattle of her night-key and
+came to relieve her of her wet things, and to say that
+Miss Westgard had telephoned and had left a number
+to be called as soon as Miss Dumont returned.</p>
+<p>The slip of paper bore John Estridge&rsquo;s telephone
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span>
+number and Palla seated herself at her desk and called
+it.</p>
+<p>Almost immediately she heard Ilse&rsquo;s voice on the wire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is the matter, dear?&rdquo; inquired Palla with the
+slightest shiver of that premonition which had haunted
+her all day.</p>
+<p>But Ilse&rsquo;s voice was cheerful: &ldquo;We were so sorry not
+to go with you this evening, darling, but Jack is feeling
+so queer that he&rsquo;s turned in and I&rsquo;ve sent for a physician.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shall I come around?&rdquo; asked Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; replied Ilse calmly, &ldquo;but I&rsquo;ve an idea Jack
+may need a nurse&ndash;&ndash;perhaps two.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; faltered Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. But he is running a high temperature
+and he says that it feels as though something were
+wrong with his appendix.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You see Jack is almost a physician himself, so if
+it really is acute appendicitis we must know as soon
+as possible.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is there <i>anything</i> I could do?&rdquo; pleaded Palla.
+&ldquo;Darling, I do so want to be of use if&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll let you know, dear. There isn&rsquo;t anything so far.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you going to stay there to-night?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; replied Ilse calmly. &ldquo;Tell me, Palla,
+how did the soap-box arguments go?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not very well. I was heckled. I&rsquo;m such a wretched
+public speaker, Ilse;&ndash;&ndash;I can never remember what rejoinders
+to make until it&rsquo;s too late.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She did not mention her encounter with the unknown
+man; Ilse had enough to occupy her.</p>
+<p>They chatted a few moments longer, then Ilse promised
+to call her if necessary, and said good-night.</p>
+<p>A little after midnight Palla&rsquo;s telephone rang beside
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span>
+her bed and she started upright with a pang of fear
+and groped for the instrument.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jack is seriously ill,&rdquo; came the level voice of Ilse.
+&ldquo;We have taken him to the Memorial Hospital in one
+of their ambulances.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;W&ndash;&ndash;what is it?&rdquo; asked Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They say it is pneumonia.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Ilse!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not afraid. Jack is in magnificent physical
+condition. He is too splendid not to win the fight....
+And I shall be with him.... I shall not
+let him lose.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell me what I can do, darling!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing&ndash;&ndash;except love us both.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do&ndash;&ndash;I do indeed&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Both, Palla!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Y&ndash;&ndash;yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Do you understand?</i>&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I&ndash;&ndash;I think I do. And I do love you&ndash;&ndash;love you
+both&ndash;&ndash;devotedly&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You must, <i>now</i>.... I am going home to get
+some things. Then I shall go to the hospital. You
+can call me there until he is convalescent.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will they let you stay there?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have volunteered for general work. They are
+terribly short-handed and they are glad to have me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come to-morrow,&rdquo; said Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. Wait.... Good-night, my darling.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XXI' id='CHAPTER_XXI'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+</div>
+<p>As a mischievous caricaturist, in the beginning,
+draws a fairly good portrait of his victim and
+then gradually habituates his public to a series
+of progressively exaggerated extravagances, so progressed
+the programme of the Bolsheviki in America,
+revealing little by little their final conception of liberty
+and equality in the bloody and distorted monster which
+they had now evolved, and which they publicly owned
+as their ideal emblem.</p>
+<p>In the Red Flag Club, Sondheim shouted that a Red
+Republic was impossible because it admitted on an
+equality the rich and well-to-do.</p>
+<p>Karl Kastner, more cynical, coolly preached the autocracy
+of the worker; told his listeners frankly that
+there would always be masters and servants in the
+world, and asked them which they preferred to be.</p>
+<p>With the new year came sporadic symptoms of
+unrest;&ndash;&ndash;strikes, unwarranted confiscations by Government,
+increasingly bad service in public utilities controlled
+by Government, loose talk in a contemptible
+Congress, looser gabble among those who witlessly lent
+themselves to German or Bolshevik propaganda&ndash;&ndash;or
+both&ndash;&ndash;by repeating stories of alleged differences between
+America and England, America and France,
+America and Italy.</p>
+<p>The hen-brained&ndash;&ndash;a small minority&ndash;&ndash;misbehaved as
+usual whenever the opportunity came to do the wrong
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span>
+thing; the meanest and most contemptible partisanship
+since the shameful era of the carpet bagger prevailed
+in a section of the Republic where the traditions of
+great men and great deeds had led the nation to expect
+nobler things.</p>
+<p>For the same old hydra seemed to be still alive on
+earth, lifting, by turns, its separate heads of envy,
+intolerance, bigotry and greed. Ignorance, robed with
+authority, legally robbed those comfortably off.</p>
+<p>The bleat of the pacifist was heard in the land.
+Those who had once chanted in sanctimonious chorus,
+&ldquo;He kept us out of war,&rdquo; now sang sentimental hymns
+invoking mercy and forgiveness for the crucifiers of
+children and the rapers of women, who licked their lips
+furtively and leered at the imbecile choir. Representatives
+of a great electorate vaunted their patriotism
+and proudly repeated: &ldquo;We forced him into war!&rdquo;
+Whereas they themselves had been kicked headlong
+into it by a press and public at the end of its martyred
+patience.</p>
+<p>There appeared to be, so far, no business revival.
+Prosperity was penalised, taxed to the verge of blackmail,
+constantly suspected and admonished; and the
+Congressional Bolsheviki were gradually breaking the
+neck of legitimate enterprise everywhere throughout
+the Republic.</p>
+<p>And everywhere over the world the crimson tide crept
+almost imperceptibly a little higher every day.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Toward the middle of January the fever which had
+burnt John Estridge for a week fell a degree or two.</p>
+<p>Palla, who had called twice a day at the Memorial
+Hospital, was seated that morning in a little room
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span>
+near the disinfecting plant, talking to Ilse, who had
+just laid aside her mask.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You look rather ill yourself,&rdquo; said Ilse in her cheery,
+even voice. &ldquo;Is anything worrying you, darling?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.... You are.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I!&rdquo; exclaimed the girl, really astonished. &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sometimes,&rdquo; murmured Palla, &ldquo;my anxiety makes
+me almost sick.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Anxiety about <i>me</i>!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You know why,&rdquo; whispered Palla.</p>
+<p>A bright flush stained Ilse&rsquo;s face: she said calmly:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But our creed is broad enough to include all things
+beautiful and good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla shrank as though she had been struck, and sat
+staring out of the narrow window.</p>
+<p>Ilse lifted a basket of soiled linen and carried it
+away. When, presently, she returned to take away
+another basket, she inquired whether Palla had made
+up her quarrel with Jim Shotwell, and Palla shook her
+head.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you really suppose Marya has made mischief
+between you?&rdquo; asked Ilse curiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I don&rsquo;t know, Ilse,&rdquo; said the girl listlessly. &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t know what it is that seems to be so wrong with
+the world&ndash;&ndash;with everybody&ndash;&ndash;with me&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She rose nervously, bade Ilse adieu, and went out
+without turning her head&ndash;&ndash;perhaps because her brown
+eyes had suddenly blurred with tears.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Half way to Red Cross headquarters she passed the
+Hotel Rajah. And why she did it she had no very
+clear idea, but she turned abruptly and entered the
+gorgeous lobby, went to the desk, and sent up her name
+to Marya Lanois.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span></div>
+<p>It appeared, presently, that Miss Lanois was at home
+and would receive her in her apartment.</p>
+<p>The accolade was perfunctory: Palla&rsquo;s first glance
+informed her that Marya had grown a trifle more
+svelte since they had met&ndash;&ndash;more brilliant in her distinctive
+coloration. There was a tawny beauty about
+the girl that almost blazed from her hair and delicately
+sanguine skin and lips.</p>
+<p>They seated themselves, and Marya lighted the cigarette
+which Palla had refused; and they fell into the
+animated, gossiping conversation characteristic of such
+reunions.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Vanya?&rdquo; repeated Marya, smiling, &ldquo;no, I have not
+seen him. That is quite finished, you see. But I hope
+he is well. Do you happen to know?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He seems&ndash;&ndash;changed. But he is working hard, which
+is always best for the unhappy. And he and his somewhat
+vociferous friend, Mr. Wilding, are very busy
+preparing for their Philadelphia concert.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wilding,&rdquo; repeated Marya, as though swallowing
+something distasteful. &ldquo;He was the last straw! But
+tell me, Palla, what are you doing these jolly days of
+the new year?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing.... Red Cross, canteen, club&ndash;&ndash;and recently
+I go twice a day to the Memorial Hospital.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;John Estridge is ill there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is the matter with him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pneumonia.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh. I am so sorry for Ilse!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; Her eyes rested
+intently on Palla&rsquo;s for a moment; then she smiled subtly,
+as though sharing with Palla some occult understanding.</p>
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s face whitened a little: &ldquo;I want to ask you
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span>
+a question, Marya.... You know our belief&ndash;&ndash;concerning
+life in general.... Tell me&ndash;&ndash;since
+your separation from Vanya, do you still believe in
+that creed?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do I still believe in my own personal liberty to do
+as I choose? Of course.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;From the moral side?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Moral!&rdquo; mocked Marya, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;What are morals?
+Artificial conventions accidentally established! Haphazard
+folkways of ancient peoples whose very origin
+has been forgotten! What is moral in India is immoral
+in England: what is right in China is wrong in
+America. It&rsquo;s purely a matter of local folkways&ndash;&ndash;racial
+customs&ndash;&ndash;as to whether one is or is not immoral.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ethics apply to the Greek <i>Ethos</i>; morals to the
+Latin <i>Mores</i>&ndash;&ndash;<i>moeurs</i> in French, <i>sitte</i> in German,
+<i>custom</i> in English;&ndash;&ndash;and all mean practically the same
+thing&ndash;&ndash;metaphysical hair-splitters to the contrary&ndash;&ndash;which
+is simply this: all beliefs are local, and local
+customs or morals are the result. Therefore, they don&rsquo;t
+worry me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla sat with her troubled eyes on the careless,
+garrulous, half-smiling Russian girl, and trying to
+follow with an immature mind the half-baked philosophy
+offered for her consumption.</p>
+<p>She said hesitatingly, almost shyly: &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve wondered
+a little, Marya, how it ever happened that such an
+institution as marriage became practically universal&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marriage isn&rsquo;t an institution,&rdquo; exclaimed Marya
+smilingly. &ldquo;The family, which existed long before
+marriage, is the institution, because it has a definite
+structure which marriage hasn&rsquo;t.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marriage always has been merely a locally varying
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span>
+mode of sex association. No laws can control it. Local
+rules merely try to regulate the various manners of
+entering into a marital state, the obligations and personal
+rights of the sexes involved. What really controls
+two people who have entered into such a relation
+is local opinion&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She snapped her fingers and tossed aside her cigarette:
+&ldquo;You and I happen to be, locally, in the minority
+with our opinions, that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla rose and walked slowly to the door. &ldquo;Have
+you seen Jim recently?&rdquo; she managed to say carelessly.</p>
+<p>Marya waited for her to turn before replying:
+&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t <i>you</i> seen him?&rdquo; she asked with the leisurely
+malice of certainty.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, not for a long while,&rdquo; replied Palla, facing
+with a painful flush this miserable crisis to which her
+candour had finally committed her. &ldquo;We had a little
+difference.... Have you seen him lately?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Marya&rsquo;s sympathy flickered swift as a dagger:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What a shame for him to behave so childishly!&rdquo; she
+cried. &ldquo;I shall scold him soundly. He&rsquo;s like an infant&ndash;&ndash;that
+boy&ndash;&ndash;the way he sulks if you deny him anything&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;
+She checked herself, laughed in a confused
+way which confessed and defied.</p>
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s fixed smile was still stamped on her rigid
+lips as she made her adieux. Then she went out with
+death in her heart.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>At the Red Cross his mother exchanged a few words
+with her at intervals, as usual, during the s&eacute;ance.</p>
+<p>The conversation drifted toward the subject of religious
+orders in Russia, and Mrs. Shotwell asked her how
+it was that she came to begin a novitiate in a country
+where Catholic orders had, she understood, been forbidden
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span>
+permission to establish themselves in the realm
+of the Greek church.</p>
+<p>Palla explained in her sweet, colourless voice that the
+Czar had permitted certain religious orders to establish
+themselves&ndash;&ndash;very few, however,&ndash;&ndash;the number of
+nuns of all orders not exceeding five hundred. Also
+she explained that they were forbidden to make converts
+from the orthodox religion, which was why the Empress
+had sternly refused the pleading of the little Grand
+Duchess.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do not think,&rdquo; added Palla, &ldquo;that the Bolsheviki
+have left any Catholic nuns in Russia, unless perhaps
+they have spared the Sisters of Mercy. But I hear that
+non-cloistered orders like the Dominicans, and cloistered
+orders such as the Carmelites and Ursulines have
+been driven away.... I don&rsquo;t know whether this
+is true.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Shotwell, her eyes on her flying needle, said
+casually: &ldquo;Have you never felt the desire to reconsider&ndash;&ndash;to
+return to your novitiate?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl, bending low over her work, drew a deep,
+still breath.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;it has occurred to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Does it still appeal to you at times?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl lifted her honest eyes: &ldquo;In life there are
+moments when any refuge appeals.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Refuge from what?&rdquo; asked Helen quietly.</p>
+<p>Palla did not evade the question: &ldquo;From the unkindness
+of life,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;But I have concluded that
+such a motive for cloistered life is a cowardly one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Was that your motive when you took the white
+veil?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, not then.... It seemed to be an overwhelming
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span>
+need for service and adoration.... It&rsquo;s
+strange how faiths change though need remains.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You still feel that need?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; said the girl simply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see. Your clubs and other service give you what
+you require to satisfy you and make you happy and
+contented.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As Palla made no reply, Helen glanced at her askance;
+and caught a fleeting glimpse of tragedy in this girl&rsquo;s still
+face&ndash;&ndash;the face of a cloistered nun burnt white&ndash;&ndash;purged
+utterly of all save the mystic passion of the spirit.</p>
+<p>The face altered immediately, and colour came into
+it; and her slender hands were steady as she turned
+her bandage and cut off the thread.</p>
+<p>What thoughts concerning this girl were in her mind,
+Helen could neither entirely comprehend nor analyse.
+At moments a hot hatred for the girl passed over her
+like flame&ndash;&ndash;anger because of what she was doing to her
+only son.</p>
+<p>For Jim had changed; and it was love for this woman
+that had changed him&ndash;&ndash;which had made of him the
+silent, listless man whose grey face haunted his mother&rsquo;s
+dreams.</p>
+<p>That he, dissipating all her hopes of him, had fallen
+in love with Palla Dumont was enough unhappiness,
+it seemed; but that this girl should have found it
+possible to refuse him&ndash;&ndash;that seemed to Helen a monstrous
+thing.</p>
+<p>And even were Jim able to forget the girl and free
+himself from this exasperating unhappiness which almost
+maddened his mother, still she must always afterward
+remember with bitterness the girl who had rejected her
+only son.</p>
+<p>Not since Palla had telephoned on that unfortunate
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span>
+night had she or Helen ever mentioned Jim. The
+mother, expecting his obsession to wear itself out, had
+been only too glad to approve the rupture.</p>
+<p>But recently, at moments, her courage had weakened
+when, evening after evening, she had watched her son
+where he sat so silent, listless, his eyes dull and remote
+and the book forgotten on his knees.</p>
+<p>A steady resentment for all this change in her son
+possessed Helen, varied by flashes of impulse to seize
+Palla and shake her into comprehension of her responsibility&ndash;&ndash;of
+her astounding stupidity, perhaps.</p>
+<p>Not that she wanted her for a daughter-in-law.
+She wanted Elorn. But now she was beginning to
+understand that it never would be Elorn Sharrow.
+And&ndash;&ndash;save when the change in Jim worried her too
+deeply&ndash;&ndash;she remained obstinately determined that he
+should not bring this girl into the Shotwell family.</p>
+<p>And the amazing paradox was revealed in the fact
+that Palla fascinated her; that she believed her to be
+as fine as she was perverse; as honest as she was beautiful;
+as spiritually chaste as she knew her to be mentally
+and bodily untainted by anything ignoble.</p>
+<p>This, and because Palla was the woman to whom
+her son&rsquo;s unhappiness was wholly due, combined to
+exercise an uncanny fascination on Helen, so that she
+experienced a constant and haunting desire to be near
+the girl, where she could see her and hear her voice.</p>
+<p>At moments, even, she experienced a vague desire to
+intervene&ndash;&ndash;do something to mitigate Jim&rsquo;s misery&ndash;&ndash;yet
+realising all the while she did not desire Palla to
+relent.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>As for Palla, she was becoming too deeply worried
+over the darkening aspects of life to care what Helen
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span>
+thought, even if she had divined the occult trend of
+her mind toward herself.</p>
+<p>One thing after another seemed to crowd more
+threateningly upon her;&ndash;&ndash;Jim&rsquo;s absence, Marya&rsquo;s attitude,
+and the certainty, now, that she saw Jim;&ndash;&ndash;and
+then the grave illness of John Estridge and her
+apprehensions regarding Ilse; and the increasing difficulties
+of club problems; and the brutality and hatred
+which were becoming daily more noticeable in the opposition
+which she and Ilse were encountering.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>After a tiresome day, Palla left a new Hostess
+House which she had aided to establish, and took a
+Fifth Avenue bus, too weary to walk home.</p>
+<p>The day had been clear and sunny, and she wondered
+dully why it had left with her the impression of grey
+skies.</p>
+<p>Dusk came before she arrived at her house. She went
+into her unlighted living room, and threw herself on
+the lounge, lying with eyes closed and the back of one
+gloved hand across her temples.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>When a servant came to turn up the lamp, Palla
+had bitten her lip till the blood flecked her white glove.
+She sat up, declined to have tea, and, after the maid
+had departed, she remained seated, her teeth busy with
+her under lip again, her eyes fixed on space.</p>
+<p>After a long while her eyes swerved to note the
+clock and what its gilt hands indicated.</p>
+<p>And she seemed to arrive at a conclusion, for she
+went to her bedroom, drew a bath, and rang for her
+maid.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want my rose evening gown,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;It needs
+a stitch or two where I tore it dancing.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span></div>
+<p>At six, not being dressed yet, she put on a belted
+chamber robe and trotted into the living room, as confidently
+as though she had no doubts concerning what
+she was about to do.</p>
+<p>It seemed to take a long while for the operator to
+make the connection, and Palla&rsquo;s hand trembled a little
+where it held the receiver tightly against her ear.
+When, presently, a servant answered:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please say to him that a client wishes to speak to
+him regarding an investment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Finally she heard his voice saying: &ldquo;This is Mr.
+James Shotwell Junior; who is it wishes to speak to
+me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A client,&rdquo; she faltered, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;who desires to&ndash;&ndash;to
+participate with you in some plan for the purpose of&ndash;&ndash;of
+improving our mutual relationship.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Palla.&rdquo; She could scarcely hear his voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&ndash;&ndash;I&rsquo;m so unhappy, Jim. Could you come to-night?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He made no answer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose you haven&rsquo;t heard that Jack Estridge
+is very ill?&rdquo; she added.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. What is the trouble?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pneumonia. He&rsquo;s a little better to-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She heard him utter: &ldquo;That&rsquo;s terrible. That&rsquo;s a bad
+business.&rdquo; Then to her: &ldquo;Where is he?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She told him. He said he&rsquo;d call at the hospital.
+But he said nothing about seeing her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wondered,&rdquo; came her wistful voice, &ldquo;whether, perhaps,
+you would dine here alone with me this evening.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why do you ask me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because&ndash;&ndash;I&ndash;&ndash;our last quarrel was so bitter&ndash;&ndash;and
+I feel the hurt of it yet. It hurts even physically,
+Jim.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I did not mean to do such a thing to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I know you didn&rsquo;t. But that numb sort of
+pain is always there. I can&rsquo;t seem to get rid of it, no
+matter what I do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you very busy still?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.... I saw&ndash;&ndash;Marya&ndash;&ndash;to-day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is that unusual?&rdquo; he asked indifferently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. I haven&rsquo;t seen her since&ndash;&ndash;since she and Vanya
+separated.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh! Have they separated?&rdquo; he asked with such
+unfeigned surprise that the girl&rsquo;s heart leaped wildly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you know it? Didn&rsquo;t Marya tell you?&rdquo; she
+asked shivering with happiness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t seen her since I saw you,&rdquo; he replied.</p>
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s right hand flew to her breast and rested there
+while she strove to control her voice. Then:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please, Jim, let us forgive and break bread again
+together. I&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; she drew a deep, unsteady breath&ndash;&ndash;&ldquo;I
+can&rsquo;t tell you how our separation has made me feel.
+I don&rsquo;t quite know what it&rsquo;s done to me, either. Perhaps
+I can understand if I see you&ndash;&ndash;if I could only
+see you again&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There ensued a silence so protracted that a shaft of
+fear struck through her. Then his voice, pleasantly
+collected:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be around in a few minutes.&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>She was scared speechless when the bell rang&ndash;&ndash;when
+she heard his unhurried step on the stair.</p>
+<p>Before he was announced by the maid, however, she
+had understood one problem in the scheme of things&ndash;&ndash;realised
+it as she rose from the lounge and held out
+her slender hand.</p>
+<p>He took it and kept it. The maid retired.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Palla,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; she said, rather breathlessly, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;I know
+now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His voice and face seemed amiable and lifeless; his
+eyes, too, remained dull and incurious; but he said:
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think I understand. What is it you know?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shall I tell you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you wish.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His pleasant, listless manner chilled her; she hesitated,
+then turned away, withdrawing her hand.</p>
+<p>When she had seated herself on the sofa he dropped
+down beside her in his old place. She lighted a cigarette
+for him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell me about poor old Jack,&rdquo; he said in a low
+voice.</p>
+<p>Their dinner was a pleasant but subdued affair.
+Afterward she played for him&ndash;&ndash;interrupted once by
+a telephone call from Ilse, who said that John&rsquo;s temperature
+had risen a degree and the only thing to do was
+to watch him every second. But she refused Palla&rsquo;s offer
+to join her at the hospital, saying that she and the
+night nurse were sufficient; and the girl went slowly
+back to the piano.</p>
+<p>But, somehow, even that seemed too far away from
+her lover&ndash;&ndash;or the man who once had been her avowed
+lover. And after idling-with the keys for a few minutes
+she came back to the lounge where he was seated.</p>
+<p>He looked up from his revery: &ldquo;This is most comfortable,
+Palla,&rdquo; he said with a slight smile.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you like it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You need not go away at all&ndash;&ndash;if it pleases you.&rdquo;
+Her voice was so indistinct that for a moment he did
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span>
+not comprehend what she had said. Then he turned
+and looked at her. Both were pale enough now.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is what&ndash;&ndash;what I was going to tell you,&rdquo; she
+said. &ldquo;Is it too late?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Too late!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To say that I am&ndash;&ndash;in love with you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He flushed heavily and looked at her in a dazed way.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean&ndash;&ndash;if you want me&ndash;&ndash;I am&ndash;&ndash;am not afraid any
+more&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They had both risen instinctively, as though to face
+something vital. She said:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t ask me to submit to any degrading ceremony....
+I love you enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He said slowly: &ldquo;Do you realise what you say?
+You are crazy! You and your socialist friends pretend
+to be fighting anarchy. You preach against
+Bolshevism! You warn the world that the Crimson
+Tide is rising. And every word you utter swells it!
+<i>You</i> are the anarchists yourselves! You are the Bolsheviki
+of the world! You come bringing disorder
+where there is order; you substitute unproven theory
+for proven practice!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like the hun, you come to impose your will on a
+world already content with its own God and its own
+belief! And that is autocracy; and autocracy is what
+you say you oppose!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you and your friends that it was not wolves
+that were pupped in the sand of the shaggy Prussian
+forests when the first Hohenzollern was dropped. It
+was swine! Swine were farrowed;&ndash;&ndash;not even <i>sanglier</i>,
+but decadent domestic swine;&ndash;&ndash;when Wilhelm and his
+degenerate litter came out to root up Europe! And
+<i>they</i> were the first real Bolsheviki!&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span></div>
+<p>He turned and began to stride to and fro; his pale,
+sunken face deeply shadowed, his hands clenching and
+unclenching.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What in God&rsquo;s name,&rdquo; he said fiercely, &ldquo;are women
+like you doing to us! What do you suppose happens
+to such a man as I when the girl he loves tells him
+she cares only to be his mistress! What hope is there
+left in him?&ndash;&ndash;what sense, what understanding, what
+faith?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t have to tell me that the Crimson Tide
+is rising. I saw it in the Argonne. I wish to God I
+were back there and the hun was still resisting. I wish
+I had never lived to come back here and see what demoralisation
+is threatening my own country from that
+cursed germ of wilful degeneracy born in the Prussian
+twilight, fed in Russian desolation, infecting the whole
+world&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His voice died in his throat; he walked swiftly past
+her, turned at the threshold:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve known three of you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;you and Ilse
+and Marya. I&rsquo;ve seen a lot of your associates and
+acquaintances who profess your views. And I&rsquo;ve seen
+enough.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He hesitated; then when he could control his voice
+again:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s bad enough when a woman refuses marriage
+to a man she does not love. That man is going to be
+unhappy. But have you any idea what happens to
+him when the girl he loves, and who says she cares
+for him, refuses marriage?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was terrible even when you cared for me only a
+little. But&ndash;&ndash;but now&ndash;&ndash;do you know what I think of
+your creed? I hate it as you hated the beasts who slew
+your friend! Damn your creed! To hell with it!&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span></div>
+<p>She covered her face with both hands: there was a
+noise like thunder in her brain.</p>
+<p>She heard the door close sharply in the hall below.</p>
+<p>This was the end.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XXII' id='CHAPTER_XXII'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+</div>
+<p>She felt a trifle weak. In her ears there lingered
+a dull, confused sensation, like the echo of things
+still falling. Something had gone very wrong
+with the scheme of nature. Even beneath her feet,
+now, the floor seemed unsteady, unreliable.</p>
+<p>A half-darkness dimmed her eyes; she laid one slim
+hand on the sofa-back and seated herself, fighting instinctively
+for consciousness.</p>
+<p>She sat there for a long while. The swimming faintness
+passed away. An intense stillness seemed to invade
+her, and the room, and the street outside. And for
+vast distances beyond. Half hours and hours rang
+clearly through the silence from the mantel-clock. So
+still was the place that a sheaf of petals falling from
+a fading rose on the piano seemed to fill the room with
+ghostly rustling.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>This, then, was the finish. Love had ended. Youth
+itself was ending, too, here in the dead silence of this
+lamplit room.</p>
+<p>There remained nothing more. Except that ever
+darkening horizon where, at the earth&rsquo;s ends, those
+grave shapes of cloud closed out the vista of remote
+skies.</p>
+<p>There seemed to be no shelter anywhere in the vast
+nakedness of the scheme of things&ndash;&ndash;no shadow under
+which to crouch&ndash;&ndash;no refuge.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span></div>
+<p>Dim visions of cloistered forms, moving in a blessed
+twilight, grew and assumed familiar shape amid the
+dumb desolation reigning in her brain. The spectral
+temptation passed, repassed; processional, recessional
+glided by, timed by her heart&rsquo;s low rhythm.</p>
+<p>But, little by little, she came to understand that there
+was no refuge even there; no mystic glow in the dark
+corridors of her own heart; no source of light save
+from the candles glimmering on the high altar; no
+aureole above the crucifix.</p>
+<p>Always, everywhere, there seemed to be no shelter,
+no roof above the scheme of things.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>She heard the telephone. As she slowly rose from
+the sofa she noted the hour as it sounded;&ndash;&ndash;four
+o&rsquo;clock in the morning.</p>
+<p>A man&rsquo;s voice was speaking&ndash;&ndash;an unhurried, precise,
+low-pitched, monotonous voice:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This&ndash;&ndash;is&ndash;&ndash;the&ndash;&ndash;Memorial Hospital. Doctor&ndash;&ndash;Willis&ndash;&ndash;speaking.
+Mr.&ndash;&ndash;John&ndash;&ndash;Estridge&ndash;&ndash;died&ndash;&ndash;at&ndash;&ndash;ten minutes&ndash;&ndash;to&ndash;&ndash;four.
+Miss Westgard&ndash;&ndash;wishes&ndash;&ndash;to&ndash;&ndash;go&ndash;&ndash;to&ndash;&ndash;your&ndash;&ndash;residence&ndash;&ndash;and&ndash;&ndash;remain&ndash;&ndash;over&ndash;&ndash;night&ndash;&ndash;if&ndash;&ndash;convenient....
+Thank you. Miss&ndash;&ndash;Westgard&ndash;&ndash;will&ndash;&ndash;go&ndash;&ndash;to&ndash;&ndash;you&ndash;&ndash;immediately. Good-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Palla rose from her chair in the unfurnished drawing-room,
+went out into the hall, admitted Ilse, then locked
+and chained the two front doors.</p>
+<p>When she turned around, trembling and speechless,
+they kissed. But it was only Palla&rsquo;s mouth that
+trembled; and when they mounted the stairs it was
+Ilse&rsquo;s arm that supported Palla.</p>
+<p>Except that her eyes were heavy and seemed smeared
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span>
+with deep violet under the lower lids, Ilse did not appear
+very much changed.</p>
+<p>She took off her furs, hat, and gloves and sat down
+beside Palla. Her voice was quite clear and steady;
+there appeared to be no sign of shock or of grief, save
+for a passing tremor of her tired eyes now and then.</p>
+<p>She said: &ldquo;We talked a little together, Jack and I,
+after I telephoned to you.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That was the last. His hand began to burn in
+mine steadily, like something on fire. And when, presently,
+I found he was not asleep, I motioned to the
+night nurse.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The change seemed to come suddenly; she went to
+find one of the internes; I sat with my hand on his
+pulse.... There were three physicians there....
+Jack was not conscious after midnight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s lips and throat were dry and aching and her
+voice almost inaudible:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Darling,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;darling&ndash;&ndash;if I could
+give him back to you and take his place!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse smiled, but her heavy eyelids quivered:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The scheme of things is so miserably patched together....
+Except for the indestructible divinity
+within each one of us, it all would be so hopeless....
+I had never been able to imagine Jack and
+Death together&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; She looked up at the clock. &ldquo;He
+was alive only an hour ago.... Isn&rsquo;t it strange&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Ilse, Ilse! I wish this God who deals out such
+wickedness and misery had struck me down instead!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Neither seemed to notice the agnostic paradox in this
+bitter cry wrung from a young girl&rsquo;s grief.</p>
+<p>Ilse closed her eyes as though to rest them, and sat
+so, her steady hand on Palla&rsquo;s. And, so resting, said
+in her unfaltering voice:</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Jack, of course, lives.... But it seems a long
+time to wait to see him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jack lives,&rdquo; whispered Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course.... Only&ndash;&ndash;it seems so long a time to
+wait.... I wanted to show him&ndash;&ndash;how kind love has
+been to us&ndash;&ndash;how still more wonderful love could have
+been to us ... for I could have borne him many
+children.... And now I shall bear but one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>After a silence, Palla lifted her eyes. In them the
+shadow of terror still lingered; there was not an atom
+of colour in her face.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Ilse slept that night, though Palla scarcely closed
+her eyes. Dreadful details of the coming day rose up
+to haunt her&ndash;&ndash;all the ghastly routine necessary before
+the dead lie finally undisturbed by the stir and movement
+of many footsteps&ndash;&ndash;the coming and going of the
+living.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Because what they called pneumonia was the Black
+Death of the ancient East, they had warned Ilse to
+remain aloof from that inert thing that had been her
+lover. So she did not look upon his face again.</p>
+<p>There were relatives of sorts at the chapel. None
+spoke to her. The sunshine on the flower-covered
+casket was almost spring like.</p>
+<p>And in the cemetery, too, there was no snow; and,
+under the dead grass, everywhere new herbage tinted
+the earth with delicate green.</p>
+<p>Ilse returned from the cemetery with Palla. Her
+black veil and garments made of her gold hair and
+blond skin a vivid beauty that grief had not subdued.</p>
+<p>That deathless courage which was part of her seemed
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span>
+to sustain the clear glow of her body&rsquo;s vigour as it
+upheld her dauntless spirit.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you see Jim in the chapel?&rdquo; she asked quietly.</p>
+<p>Palla nodded. She had seen Marya, also. After a
+little while Ilse said gravely:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think it no treachery to creed when one submits
+to the equally vital belief of another. I think our creed
+includes submission, because that also is part of love.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla lifted her face in flushed surprise:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is there any compromising with truth?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think love is the greatest truth. What difference
+does it make how we love?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Does not our example count? You had the courage
+of your belief. Do you counsel me to subscribe to
+what I do not believe by acquiescing in it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse closed her sea-blue eyes as though fatigued. She
+said dreamily:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think that to believe in love and mating and the
+bearing of children is the only important belief in the
+world. But under what local laws you go about doing
+these things seems to be of minor importance,&ndash;&ndash;a matter,
+I should say, of personal inclination.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse wished to go home. That is, to her own apartment,
+where now were enshrined all her memories of
+this dead man who had given to her womanhood that
+ultimate crown which in her eyes seemed perfect.</p>
+<p>She said serenely to Palla: &ldquo;Mine is not the loneliness
+that craves company with the living. I have a
+long time to wait; that is all. And after a while I
+shall not wait alone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So you must not grieve for me, darling. You see
+I know that Jack lives. It&rsquo;s just the long, long wait
+that calls for courage. But I think it is a little easier
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span>
+to wait alone until&ndash;&ndash;until there are two to wait&ndash;&ndash;for
+him&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will you call me when you want me, Ilse?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Always, darling. Don&rsquo;t grieve. Few women know
+happiness. I have known it. I know it now. It shall
+not even die with me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She smiled faintly and turned to enter her doorway;
+and Palla continued on alone toward that dwelling
+which she called home.</p>
+<p>The mourning which she had worn for her aunt, and
+which she had worn for John Estridge that morning,
+she now put off, although vaguely inclined for it. But
+she shrank from the explanations in which it was certain
+she must become involved when on duty at the
+Red Cross and the canteen that afternoon.</p>
+<p>Undressed, she sent her maid for a cup of tea, feeling
+too tired for luncheon. Afterward she lay down
+on her bed, meaning merely to close her eyes for a
+moment.</p>
+<p>It was after four in the afternoon when she sat up
+with a start&ndash;&ndash;too late for the Red Cross; but she could
+do something at the canteen.</p>
+<p>She went about dressing as though bruised. It
+seemed to take an interminable time. Her maid called
+a taxi; but the short winter daylight had nearly gone
+when she arrived at the canteen.</p>
+<p>She remained there on kitchen duty until seven, then
+untied her white tablier, washed, pinned on her hat,
+and went out into the light-shot darkness of the streets
+and turned her steps once more toward home.</p>
+<p>There is, among the weirder newspapers of the
+metropolis, a sheet affectionately known as &ldquo;pink-and-punk,&rdquo;
+the circulation of which seems to depend upon
+its distribution of fake &ldquo;extras.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span></div>
+<p>As Palla turned into her street, shabby men with
+hoarse voices were calling an extra and selling the newspaper
+in question.</p>
+<p>She bought one, glanced at the headlines, then, folding
+it, unlocked her door.</p>
+<p>Dinner was announced almost immediately, but she
+could not touch it.</p>
+<p>She sank down on the sofa, still wearing her furs and
+hat. After a little while she opened her newspaper.</p>
+<p>It seemed that a Bolsheviki plot had been discovered
+to murder the premiers and rulers of the allied nations,
+and to begin simultaneously in every capital and principal
+city of Europe and America a reign of murder
+and destruction.</p>
+<p>In fact, according to the account printed in startling
+type, the Terrorists had already begun their destructive
+programme in Philadelphia. Half a dozen buildings&ndash;&ndash;private
+dwellings and one small hotel&ndash;&ndash;had been more
+or less damaged by bombs. A New York man named
+Wilding, fairly well known as an impresario, had been
+killed outright; and a Russian pianist, Vanya Tchernov,
+who had just arrived in Philadelphia to complete arrangements
+for a concert to be given by him under
+Mr. Wilding&rsquo;s management, had been fatally injured
+by the collapse of the hotel office which, at that moment,
+he was leaving in company with Mr. Wilding.</p>
+<p>A numbness settled over Palla&rsquo;s brain. She did not
+seem to be able to comprehend that this affair concerned
+Vanya&ndash;&ndash;that this newspaper was telling her that Vanya
+had been fatally hurt somewhere in Philadelphia.</p>
+<p>Hours later, while she was lying on the lounge with
+her face buried in the cushions, and still wearing her
+hat and furs, somebody came into the room. And when
+she turned over she saw it was Ilse.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span></div>
+<p>Palla sat up stupidly, the marks of tears still glistening
+under her eyes. Ilse picked up the newspaper from
+the couch, laid it aside, and seated herself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So you know about Vanya?&rdquo; she said calmly.</p>
+<p>Palla nodded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t know all. Marya called me on the telephone
+a few minutes ago to tell me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Vanya is dead,&rdquo; whispered Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. They found an unmailed letter directed to
+Marya in his pockets. That&rsquo;s why they notified her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>After an interval: &ldquo;So Vanya is dead,&rdquo; repeated
+Palla under her breath.</p>
+<p>Ilse sat plaiting the black edges of her handkerchief.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s such a&ndash;&ndash;a senseless interruption&ndash;&ndash;death&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;
+she murmured. &ldquo;It seems so wanton, so meaningless in
+the scheme of things ... to make two people wait
+so long&ndash;&ndash;so long!&ndash;&ndash;to resume where they had been
+interrupted&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla asked coldly whether Marya had seemed
+greatly shocked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know, Palla. She called me up and told me.
+I asked her if there was anything I could do; and she
+answered rather strangely that what remained for her
+to do she would do alone. I don&rsquo;t know what she
+meant.&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>Whether Marya herself knew exactly what she meant
+seemed not to be entirely clear to her. For, when Mr.
+Puma, dressed in a travelling suit and carrying a
+satchel, arrived at her apartment in the Hotel Rajah,
+and entered the reception room with his soundless,
+springy step, she came out of her bedroom partly
+dressed, and still hooking her waist.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What are you doing here?&rdquo; she demanded contemptuously,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span>
+looking him over from, head to foot. &ldquo;Did
+you really suppose I meant to go to Mexico with you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His heavy features crimsoned: &ldquo;What pleasantry is
+this, my Marya?&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; he began; but the green blaze
+in her slanting eyes silenced him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The difference,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;between us is this. You
+run from those who threaten you. I kill them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of&ndash;&ndash;of what nonsense are you speaking!&rdquo; he stammered.
+&ldquo;All is arranged that we shall go at
+eleven&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said wearily, &ldquo;one sometimes plays with
+stray animals for a few moments&ndash;&ndash;and that is all. And
+that is all I ever saw in you, Angelo&ndash;&ndash;a stray beast
+to amuse and entertain me between two yawns and a
+cup of tea.&rdquo; She shrugged, still twisted lithely in her
+struggle to hook her waist. &ldquo;You may go,&rdquo; she added,
+not even looking at him, &ldquo;or, if you are not too
+cowardly, you may come with me to the Red Flag Club.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In God&rsquo;s name what do you mean&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mean? I mean to take my pistol to the Red Flag
+Club and kill some Bolsheviki. That is what I mean,
+my Angelo&ndash;&ndash;my ruddy Eurasian pig!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She slipped in the last hook, turned and enveloped
+him again with an insolent, slanting glance: &ldquo;<i>Allons!</i>
+Do you come to the Red Flag?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Marya&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes or no! <i>Allez!</i>&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My God, are&ndash;&ndash;are you then demented?&rdquo; he faltered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My God, I&rsquo;m not,&rdquo; she mimicked him, &ldquo;but I can&rsquo;t
+answer for what I might do to you if you hang around
+this apartment any longer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She came slowly toward him, her hands bracketed on
+her hips, her strange eyes narrowing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen to me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I have loved many times.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span>
+But never <i>you</i>! One doesn&rsquo;t love your kind. One experiments,
+possibly, if idle.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A man died to-day whom I loved; but was too stupid
+to love enough. Perhaps he knows now how stupid
+I am.... Unless they blew his soul to pieces,
+also. <i>Allez!</i> Good-night. I tell you I have business
+to attend to, and you stand there rolling your woman&rsquo;s
+eyes at me!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Damn you!&rdquo; he said between his teeth. &ldquo;What is
+the matter with you&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He had caught her arm; she wrenched it free, tearing
+the sleeve to her naked shoulder.</p>
+<p>Then she went to her desk and took a pistol from an
+upper drawer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t go,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I shall have to shoot
+you and leave you here kicking on the carpet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In God&rsquo;s name, Marya!&rdquo; he cried hoarsely, &ldquo;who
+is it you shall kill at the hall?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shall kill Sondheim and Bromberg and Kastner,
+I hope. What of it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But&ndash;&ndash;if I go to-night&ndash;&ndash;the others will say <i>I</i> did it!
+I can&rsquo;t run away if you do such thing! I can not go
+into Mexico but they shall arrest me before I am at
+the border&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Eurasian pig, I shall admit the killing!&rdquo; she said
+with a green gleam in her eyes that perhaps was
+laughter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, my Marya,&rdquo; he explained in agony, the sweat
+pouring from his temples, &ldquo;but if they think me your
+accomplice they shall arrest me. Me&ndash;&ndash;I can not wait&ndash;&ndash;I
+shall be ruined if I am arrest! You do not comprehend.
+I have not said it to you how it is that I am
+compel to travel with some money which&ndash;&ndash;which is not&ndash;&ndash;my
+own.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span></div>
+<p>Marya looked at him for a long while. Suddenly
+she flung the pistol into a corner, threw back her head
+while peal on peal of laughter rang out in the room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A thief,&rdquo; she said, fairly holding her slender sides
+between gemmed fingers: &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;Just a Levantine thief,
+after all! Not a thing to shoot. Not a man. No!
+But a giant cockroach from the tropics. Ugh! Too
+large to place one&rsquo;s foot upon!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She came leisurely forward, halted, inspected him
+with laughing insolence:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And the others&ndash;&ndash;Kastner, Sondheim&ndash;&ndash;and the other
+vermin? You were quite right. Why should I kill
+them&ndash;&ndash;merely because to-day a real man died? What
+if they are the same species of vermin that slew Vanya
+Tchernov? They are not men to pay for it. My pistol
+could not make a dead man out of a live louse! No,
+you are quite correct. You know your own kind. It
+would be no compliment to Vanya if I should give these
+vermin the death that real men die!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Puma stood close to the door, furtively passing a
+thick tongue over his dry, blanched lips.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you will not interfere?&rdquo; he asked softly.</p>
+<p>She shrugged her shoulders: one was bare with the
+torn sleeve dangling. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said wearily. &ldquo;Run
+home, painted pig. After all, the world is mostly
+swine.... I, too, it seems&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; She half raised
+her arms, but the gesture failed, and she stood thinking
+again and staring at the curtained window. She did
+not hear him leave.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XXIII' id='CHAPTER_XXIII'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
+</div>
+<p>In the strange, springlike weather which prevailed
+during the last days of January, Vanya was buried
+under skies as fleecy blue as April&rsquo;s, and Marya
+Lanois went back to the studio apartment where she
+and Vanya had lived together. And here, alone, in the
+first month of the new year, she picked up again the
+ravelled threads of life, undecided whether to untangle
+them or to cut them short and move on once more to
+further misadventure; or to Vanya; or somewhere&ndash;&ndash;or
+perhaps nowhere. So, pending some decision, she left
+her pistol loaded.</p>
+<p>Afternoon sunshine poured into the studio between
+antique silken curtains, now drawn wide to the outer
+day for the first time since these two young people had
+established for themselves a habitation.</p>
+<p>And what, heretofore, even the lighted mosque-lamps
+had scarcely half revealed, now lay exposed to outer
+air and daylight, gilded by the sun&ndash;&ndash;cabinets and chests
+of ancient lacquer; deep-toned carpets in which slumbered
+jewelled fires of Asia; carved gods from the East,
+crusted with soft gold; and tapestries of silk shot with
+amethyst and saffron, centred by dragons and guarded
+by the burning pearl.</p>
+<p>Over all these, and the great mosque lantern drooping
+from above, the false-spring sunshine fell; and
+through every open window flowed soft, deceptive winds,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span>
+fluttering the leaves of music on the piano, stirring the
+clustered sheafs of growing jonquils and narcissus, so
+that they swayed in their Chinese bowls.</p>
+<p>Marya, in black, arranged her tiger-ruddy hair before
+an ancient grotesquerie set with a reflecting glass
+in which, on some days, one could see the form of the
+Lord Buddha, though none could ever tell from whence
+the image came.</p>
+<p>Where Vanya had left his music opened on the piano
+rack, the sacred pages now stirred slightly as the soft
+wind blew; and scented bells of Frisia swayed and bowed
+around a bowl where gold-fish glowed.</p>
+<p>Marya, at the piano, reading at sight from his inked
+manuscript, came presently to the end of what was
+scored there&ndash;&ndash;merely the first sketch for a little spring
+song.</p>
+<p>Some day she would finish it as part of a new debt&ndash;&ndash;new
+obligations she had now assumed in the slowly increasing
+light of new beliefs.</p>
+<p>As she laid Vanya&rsquo;s last manuscript aside, under it
+she discovered one of her own&ndash;&ndash;a cynical, ribald,
+pencilled parody which she remembered she had
+scribbled there in an access of malicious perversity.</p>
+<p>As though curious to sound the obscurer depths of
+what she had been when this jeering cynicism expressed
+her mood, she began to read from her score and words,
+playing and intoning:</p>
+<table summary=''><tr><td>
+<p class='center cg'>&ldquo;CROQUE-MITAINE.</p>
+<p class='cg'><br />
+<span class='indent4'>&nbsp;</span>&ldquo;Parfa&icirc;t qu&rsquo;on attend La Mar&eacute;e Rouge,<br />
+<span class='indent5'>&nbsp;</span>La chose est positive.<br />
+<span class='indent5'>&nbsp;</span>On n&rsquo;sait pas quand el&rsquo; bouge,<br />
+<span class='indent5'>&nbsp;</span>Mais on sait qu&rsquo;el&rsquo; arrive.<br />
+<span class='indent8'>&nbsp;</span>La Mar&eacute;e Rouge arrivera<br />
+<span class='indent8'>&nbsp;</span>Et tout le monde en cr&egrave;vera!
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class='indent4'>&nbsp;</span>&ldquo;Croque&rsquo;morts, sacristains et abb&eacute;s,<br />
+<span class='indent5'>&nbsp;</span>Dans leurs sacr&eacute;&rsquo;s boutiques<br />
+<span class='indent5'>&nbsp;</span>Se cachent aupr&egrave;s des machab&eacute;&rsquo;s<br />
+<span class='indent5'>&nbsp;</span>En r&eacute;p&egrave;tant des cantiques.<br />
+<span class='indent5'>&nbsp;</span>Pape, cardinal, et sacr&eacute; soeur<br />
+<span class='indent5'>&nbsp;</span>Miaulent avec tout leurs cliques,<br />
+<span class='indent5'>&nbsp;</span>Lorsque les Bolsheviks reprenn &rsquo;nt en choeur;<br />
+<span class='indent8'>&nbsp;</span>Mort aux saligaudes chic!<br />
+<br />
+<span class='indent4'>&nbsp;</span>&ldquo;La Mar&eacute;e Rouge montera<br />
+<span class='indent5'>&nbsp;</span>Et la bourgeoisie en cr&egrave;vera!&rdquo;</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+<p>The vicious irony of the atrocious parody&ndash;&ndash;words
+and music&ndash;&ndash;died out in the sunny silence: for a few
+moments the girl sat staring at the scored page; then
+she leaned forward, and, taking the manuscript in both
+hands, tore it into pieces.</p>
+<p>She was still occupied in destroying the unclean thing
+when a servant appeared, and in subdued voice announced
+Palla and Ilse.</p>
+<p>They came in as Marya swept the tattered scraps of
+paper into an incense-bowl, dropped a lighted match
+upon them, and set the ancient bronze vessel on the
+sill of the open window.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Some of my vileness I am burning,&rdquo; she said, coming
+forward and kissing Ilse on both cheeks.</p>
+<p>Then, looking Palla steadily in the eyes, she bent forward
+and touched her lips with her own.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nechevo,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;the thing that dwelt within
+me for a time has continued on its way to hell, I hope.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She took the pale girl by both hands: &ldquo;Do you
+understand?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And Palla kissed her.</p>
+<p>When they were seated: &ldquo;What religious order
+would be likely to accept me?&rdquo; she asked serenely. And
+answered her own question: &ldquo;None would tolerate me&ndash;&ndash;no
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span>
+order with its rigid systems of inquiry and its
+merciless investigations.... And yet&ndash;&ndash;I wonder.... Perhaps,
+as a lay-sister in some missionary
+order&ndash;&ndash;where few care to serve&ndash;&ndash;where life resembles
+death as one twin the other.... I don&rsquo;t know: I
+wonder, Palla.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla asked her in a low voice if she had seen the
+afternoon paper. Marya did not reply at once; but
+presently over her face a hot rose-glow spread and
+deepened. Then, after a silence:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The paper mentioned me as Vanya&rsquo;s wife. Is that
+what you mean? Yes; I told them that.... It
+made no difference, for they would have discovered it
+anyway. And I scarcely know why I made Vanya lie
+about it to you all;&ndash;&ndash;why I wished people to think
+otherwise.... Because I have been married to
+Vanya since the beginning.... And I can not
+explain why I have not told you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She touched a rosebud in the vase that stood beside
+her, broke the stem absently, and sat examining it in
+silence. And, after a few moments:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As a child I was too imaginative.... We do
+not change&ndash;&ndash;we women. Married, unmarried, too wise,
+or too innocent, we remain what we were when our
+mothers bore us.... Whatever we do, we never
+change within: we remain, in our souls, what we first
+were. And unaltered we die.... In morgue or
+prison or Potter&rsquo;s Field, where lies a dead female thing
+in a tattered skirt, there, hidden somewhere under rag
+and skin and bone, lies a dead girl-child.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She laid the unopened rosebud on Palla&rsquo;s knees; her
+preoccupied gaze wandered around that silent, sunlit
+place.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I could have taken my pistol,&rdquo; she said softly,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span>
+&ldquo;and I could have killed a few among those whose
+doctrines at last slew Vanya.... Or I could have
+killed myself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She turned and her remote gaze came back to fix
+itself on Palla.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, somehow, I think that Vanya would grieve....
+And he has grieved enough. Do you think so,
+Palla?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse said thoughtfully: &ldquo;There is always enough
+death on earth. And to live honestly, and love undauntedly,
+and serve humanity with a clean heart is
+the most certain way to help the slaying of that thing
+which murdered Vanya.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla gazed at Marya, profoundly preoccupied by
+the astounding revelation that she had been Vanya&rsquo;s
+legal wife; and in her brown eyes the stunned wonder
+of it still remained, nor could she seem to think of anything
+except of that amazing fact.</p>
+<p>When they stood up to take leave of Marya, the rosebud
+dropped from Palla&rsquo;s lap, and Marya picked it
+up and offered it again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It should open,&rdquo; she said, her strange smile glimmering.
+&ldquo;Cold water and a little salt, my Palla&ndash;&ndash;that
+is all rosebuds need&ndash;&ndash;that is all we women need&ndash;&ndash;a
+little water to cool and freshen us; a little salt for all
+the doubtful worldly knowledge we imbibe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She took Palla&rsquo;s hands and bent her lips to them,
+then lifted her tawny head:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do words matter? <i>Slava, slava</i>, under the
+moon! Words are but symbols of needs&ndash;&ndash;your need
+and Ilse&rsquo;s and mine&ndash;&ndash;and Jack&rsquo;s and Vanya&rsquo;s&ndash;&ndash;and the
+master-word differs as differ our several needs. And
+if I say Christ and Buddha and I are one, let me so
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span>
+believe, if that be my need. Or if, from some high
+minarette, I lift my voice proclaiming the unity of
+God!&ndash;&ndash;or if I confess the Trinity!&ndash;&ndash;or if, for me, the
+god-fire smoulders only within my own accepted soul&ndash;&ndash;what
+does it matter? Slava, slava&ndash;&ndash;the word and the
+need spell Love&ndash;&ndash;whatever the deed, Palla&ndash;&ndash;my Palla!&ndash;&ndash;whatever
+the deed, and despite it.&rdquo;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>As they came, together, to Palla&rsquo;s house and entered
+the empty drawing-room, Ilse said:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In mysticism there seems to be no reasoning&ndash;&ndash;nothing
+definite save only an occult and overwhelming restlessness....
+Marya may take the veil ... or
+nurse lepers ... or she may become a famous
+courtesan.... I do not mean it cruelly. But, in
+the mystic, the spiritual, the intellectual and the physical
+seem to be interchangeable, and become gradually
+indistinguishable.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is a frightful analysis,&rdquo; murmured Palla. A
+little shiver passed over her and she laid the rosebud
+against her lips.</p>
+<p>Ilse said: &ldquo;Marya is right: love is the world&rsquo;s overwhelming
+need. The way to love is to serve; and if
+we serve we must renounce something.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They locked arms and began to pace the empty room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What should I renounce?&rdquo; asked Palla faintly.</p>
+<p>Ilse smiled that wise, wholesome smile of hers:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Suppose you renounce your own omniscience, darling,&rdquo;
+she suggested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I do not think myself omniscient,&rdquo; retorted the girl,
+colouring.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No? Well, darling, from where then do you derive
+your authority to cancel the credentials of the Most
+High?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;What!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On what authority except your own omniscience do
+you so confidently preach the non-existence of omnipotence?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla turned her flushed face in sensitive astonishment
+under the gentle mockery.</p>
+<p>Ilse said: &ldquo;Love has many names; and so has God.
+And all are good. If, to you, God means that little
+flame within you, then that is good. And so, to others,
+according to their needs.... And it is the same
+with love.... So, if for the man you love, love
+can be written only as a phrase&ndash;&ndash;if the word love be
+only one element in a trinity of which the other two
+are Law and Wedlock&ndash;&ndash;does it really matter, darling?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean I&ndash;&ndash;I am to renounce my&ndash;&ndash;creed?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ilse shook her head: &ldquo;Who cares? The years develop
+and change everything&ndash;&ndash;even creeds. Do you
+think your lover would care whether, at twenty-odd, you
+worship the flaming godhead itself, or whether you
+guard in spirit that lost spark from it which has become
+entangled with your soul?&ndash;&ndash;whether you really do believe
+the man-made law that licenses your mating; or
+whether you reject it as a silly superstition? To a
+business man, convention is merely a safe procedure
+which, ignored, causes disaster&ndash;&ndash;he knows that whenever
+he ignores it&ndash;&ndash;as when he drives a car bearing no
+license; and the police stop him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I never expected to hear this from you, Ilse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You are unmarried.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, Palla.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The girl stared at her: &ldquo;Did you <i>marry</i> Jack?&rdquo;
+she gasped.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. In the hospital.&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Ilse!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He asked me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; her mouth quivered and she bent her head
+and placed her hand on Ilse&rsquo;s arm for guidance, because
+the starting tears were blinding her now. And at last
+she found her voice: &ldquo;I meant I am so thankful&ndash;&ndash;darling&ndash;&ndash;it&rsquo;s
+been a&ndash;&ndash;a nightmare&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It would have been one to me if I had refused him.
+Except that Jack wished it, I did not care.... But
+I have lately learned&ndash;&ndash;some things.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&ndash;&ndash;you consented because he wished it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course. Is not that our law?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you so construe the Law of Love and Service?
+Does it permit us to seek protection under false pretences;
+to say yes when we mean no; to kneel before a
+God we do not believe in; to accept immunity under a
+law we do not believe in?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If all this concerned only one&rsquo;s self, then, no! Or,
+if the man believed as we do, no! But even then&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;
+she shook her head slowly, &ldquo;unless <i>all</i> agree, it is unfair.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Unfair?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, it is unfair if you have a baby. Isn&rsquo;t it, darling?
+Isn&rsquo;t it unfair and tyrannical?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean that a child should not arbitrarily be
+placed by its parents at what it might later consider a
+disadvantage?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course I mean just that. Do you know, Palla,
+what Jack once said of us? He said&ndash;&ndash;rather brutally,
+I thought&ndash;&ndash;that you and I were immaturely un-moral
+and pitiably unbaked; and that the best thing for both
+of us was to marry and have a few children before we
+tried to do any more independent thinking.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s reply was: &ldquo;He was such a dear!&rdquo; But what
+she said did not seem absurd to either of them.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span></div>
+<p>Ilse added: &ldquo;You know yourself, darling, what a
+relief it was to you to learn that I had married Jack.
+I think you even said something like, &lsquo;Thank God,&rsquo; when
+you were choking back the tears.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla flushed brightly: &ldquo;I meant&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; but her voice
+ended in a sob. Then, all of a sudden, she broke down&ndash;&ndash;went
+all to pieces there in the dim and empty little
+drawing-room&ndash;&ndash;down on her knees, clinging to Ilse&rsquo;s
+skirts....</p>
+<p>She wished to go to her room alone; and so Ilse,
+watching her climb the stairs as though they led to
+some dread calvary, opened the front door and went
+her lonely way, drawing the mourning veil around her
+face and throat.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XXIV' id='CHAPTER_XXIV'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2>
+</div>
+<p>Leila Vance, lunching with Elorn Sharrow at
+the Ritz, spoke of Estridge:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There seem to be so many of these well-born
+men who marry women we never heard of.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps we ought to have heard of them,&rdquo; suggested
+Elorn, smilingly. &ldquo;The trouble may lie with us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It does, dear. But it&rsquo;s something we can&rsquo;t help,
+unless we change radically. Because we don&rsquo;t stand the
+chance we once did. We never have been as attractive
+to men as the other sort. But once men thought they
+couldn&rsquo;t marry the other sort. Now they think they
+can. And they do if they have to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What other sort?&rdquo; asked Elorn, not entirely understanding.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The sort of girl who ignores the customs which
+make us what we are. We don&rsquo;t stand a chance with
+professional women any more. We don&rsquo;t compare in
+interest to girls who are arbiters of their own destinies.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Take the stage as an illustration. Once the popularity
+of women who made it their profession was due
+partly to glamour, partly because that art drew to it
+and concentrated the very best-looking among us. But
+it&rsquo;s something else now that attracts men; it&rsquo;s the attraction
+of women who are doing something&ndash;&ndash;clever,
+experienced, interesting, girls who know how to take
+care of themselves and who are not afraid to give to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span>
+men a frank and gay companionship outside those
+conventional limits which circumscribe us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Elorn nodded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s quite true,&rdquo; said Leila. &ldquo;The independent professional
+girl to-day, whatever art or business engages
+her, is the paramount attraction to men.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A few do sneak back to us after a jolly caper in the
+open&ndash;&ndash;a few timid ones, or snobs of sorts&ndash;&ndash;thrifty,
+perhaps, or otherwise material, or cautious. But that&rsquo;s
+about all we get as husbands in these devilish days of
+general feminine <i>bouleversement</i>. And it&rsquo;s a sad and
+instructive fact, Elorn. But there seems to be nothing
+to do about it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Elorn said musingly: &ldquo;The main thing seems to be
+that men admire a girl&rsquo;s effort to get somewhere&ndash;&ndash;when
+she happens to be good-looking.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a cynical fact, dear; they certainly do. And
+now that they realise they have to marry these girls
+if they want them&ndash;&ndash;why, they do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Elorn dissected her ice. &ldquo;You know Stanley
+Wardner,&rdquo; she remarked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mortimer Wardner&rsquo;s son?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Elorn nodded. &ldquo;He became a queer kind of sculptor.
+I think it is called a Concentrationist. Well, he&rsquo;s concentrated
+for life, now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Whom did he marry?&rdquo; asked Leila, laughing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A girl named Questa Terrett. You never heard of
+her, did you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. And I can imagine the moans and groans of
+the Mortimer Wardners.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have heard so. She lives&ndash;&ndash;<i>they</i> live now, together,
+in Abdingdon Square, where she possesses a studio and
+nearly a dozen West Highland terriers.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What else does she do?&rdquo; inquired Leila, still laughing.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;She writes cleverly when she needs an income; otherwise,
+she produces obscure poems with malice aforethought,
+and laughs in her sleeve, they say, when the
+precious-minded rave.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Leila reverted to Estridge:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I had no idea he was married,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Palla
+Dumont introduced his widow to me the other day&ndash;&ndash;a
+most superb and beautiful creature. But, oh dear I&ndash;&ndash;can
+you fancy her having once served as a girl-soldier
+in the Russian Battalion of Death!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The slightest shadow crossed Elorn&rsquo;s face.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By the way,&rdquo; added Leila, following quite innocently
+her trend of thought, &ldquo;Helen Shotwell tells me that her
+son is going back to the army if he can secure a
+commission.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I believe so,&rdquo; said Elorn serenely.</p>
+<p>Leila went on: &ldquo;I fancy there&rsquo;ll be a lot of them.
+A taste of service seems to spoil most young men for a
+piping career of peace.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He cares nothing for his business.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Real estate. He is with my father, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course. I remember&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; She suddenly seemed
+to recollect something else, also&ndash;&ndash;not, perhaps, quite
+certain of it, but instinctively playing safe. So she
+refrained from saying anything about this young man&rsquo;s
+recent devotion to her friend, Palla Dumont, although
+that was the subject which she had intended to introduce.</p>
+<p>And, smiling to herself, she thought it a close call,
+because she had meant to ask Elorn whether she knew
+why the Shotwell boy had so entirely deserted her little
+friend Palla.</p>
+<p>The Shotwell boy himself happened to be involved
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span>
+at that very moment, in matters concerning a friend
+of Mrs. Vance&rsquo;s little friend Palla&ndash;&ndash;in fact, he had
+been trying, for the last half hour, to find this friend
+of Palla&rsquo;s on the telephone. The friend in question
+was Alonzo D. Pawling. And he was being vigorously
+paged at the Hotel Rajah.</p>
+<p>As for Jim, he remained seated in the private office
+of Angelo Puma, whither he had been summoned in professional
+capacity by one Skidder, the same being Elmer,
+and partner of the Puma aforesaid.</p>
+<p>The door was locked; the room in disorder. Safe,
+letter-files, cupboards, desks had been torn open and
+their contents littered the place.</p>
+<p>Skidder, in an agony of perspiring fright, kept
+running about the room like a distracted squirrel. Jim
+watched him, darkly preoccupied with other things, including
+the whereabouts of Mr. Pawling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You say,&rdquo; he said to Skidder, &ldquo;that Mr. Pawling
+will confirm what you have told me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;John D. Pawling knows damn well I own this plant!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jim shook his head: &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, but that isn&rsquo;t sufficient.
+I can only repeat to you that there is no
+point in calling me in at present. You have no legal
+right to offer this property for sale. It belongs, apparently,
+to the creditors of your firm. What you
+require first of all is a lawyer&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want a lawyer and I don&rsquo;t want publicity
+before I get something out of this dirty mess that
+scoundrel left behind!&rdquo; cried Skidder, snapping his eyes
+like mad and swinging his arms. &ldquo;I got to get something,
+haven&rsquo;t I? Isn&rsquo;t this property mine? Can&rsquo;t I
+sell it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Apparently not, under the terms of your agreement
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span>
+with Puma,&rdquo; replied Jim, wearily. &ldquo;However, I&rsquo;m willing
+to hear what Mr. Pawling has to say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean to tell me, Puma fixed it so I&rsquo;m stuck
+with all his debts? You mean to say my own personal
+property is subject to seizure to satisfy&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I certainly do mean just that, Mr. Skidder. But
+I&rsquo;m not a lawyer&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you I want to get something for myself before
+I let loose any lawyers on the premises! I&rsquo;ll make
+it all right with you&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s out of the question. We wouldn&rsquo;t touch the
+property&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take a quarter of its value in spot cash! I&rsquo;ll
+give you ten thousand to put it through to-day!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why can&rsquo;t you understand that what you suggest
+would amount to collusion?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What I propose is to get a slice of what&rsquo;s mine!&rdquo;
+yelled Skidder, fairly dancing with fury. &ldquo;D&rsquo;yeh think
+I&rsquo;m going to let that crooked wop, Puma, do this to
+me just like that! D&rsquo;yeh think he&rsquo;s going to get away
+with all my money and all Pawling&rsquo;s money and leave
+me planted on my neck while about a million other guys
+come and sell me out and fill their pants pockets with
+what&rsquo;s mine?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jim said: &ldquo;If Mr. Pawling is the very rich man you
+say he is, he&rsquo;s not going to let the defalcation of this
+fellow, Puma, destroy such a paying property.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Damn it, I don&rsquo;t want him to buy it in for himself
+and freeze me out! I can&rsquo;t stop him, either; Puma&rsquo;s got
+all my money except what&rsquo;s in this parcel. And you
+betcha life I hang onto this, creditors or no creditors,
+and Pawling to the contrary! He knows damn well
+it belongs to me. Try him again at the Rajah&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re paging him. I left the number. But I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span>
+tell you the proper thing for you to do is to go to a
+lawyer, and then to the police,&rdquo; repeated Jim. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s
+nothing else to do. This fellow, Puma, may have run
+for the Mexican border, or he may still be in the United
+States. Without a passport he couldn&rsquo;t very easily
+get on any trans-Atlantic boat or any South American
+boat either. The proper procedure is to notify the
+police&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nix on the police!&rdquo; shouted Skidder. &ldquo;That&rsquo;ll start
+the land-slide, and the whole shooting-match will go.
+I want <i>this</i> property. If the papers show it&rsquo;s subject
+to the firm&rsquo;s liabilities, then that dirty skunk altered
+the thing. It&rsquo;s forgery.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I never was fool enough to lump this parcel in with
+our assets. Not me. It&rsquo;s forgery; that&rsquo;s what it is,
+and this parcel belongs to me, privately&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;See an attorney,&rdquo; repeated Jim patiently. &ldquo;You
+can&rsquo;t keep a thing like this out of the papers, Mr.
+Skidder. Why, here&rsquo;s a man, Angelo Puma, who
+pounces on every convertible asset of his firm, stuffs
+a valise full of real money, and beats it for parts unknown.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a matter for the police. You can&rsquo;t hope to
+hide it for more than a day or two longer. Your firm
+is bankrupt through the rascality of a partner. He&rsquo;s
+gone with all the money he could scrape together. He
+converted everything into cash; he lied, swindled, stole,
+and skipped. And what he didn&rsquo;t take must remain to
+satisfy the firm&rsquo;s creditors. You can&rsquo;t conceal conditions,
+slyly pocket what Puma has left and then call
+in an attorney. That&rsquo;s criminal. You have your contracts
+to fulfil; you have a studio full of people whose
+salaries are nearly due; you have running expenses;
+you have notes to meet; you have obligations to face
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span>
+when a dozen or so contractors for your new theatre
+come to you on Saturday&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean that&rsquo;s all up to me?&rdquo; shrieked Skidder,
+squinting horribly at a framed photograph of Puma.
+And suddenly he ran at it and hurled it to the floor
+and began to kick it about with strange, provincial
+maledictions:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dern yeh, yeh poor blimgasted thing! I&rsquo;ll skin
+yeh, yeh dumb-faced, ring-boned, two-edged son-of-a-skunk!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The telephone&rsquo;s clamour silenced him. Jim answered:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who? Oh, long-distance. All right.&rdquo; And he
+waited. Then, again: &ldquo;Who wants him?... Yes,
+he&rsquo;s here in the office, now.... Yes, he&rsquo;ll come to
+the &rsquo;phone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And to Skidder: &ldquo;Shadow Hill wants to speak to
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t go. By God, if this thing is out!&ndash;&ndash;Who the
+hell is it wants to speak to me? Wait! Maybe it&rsquo;s
+Alonzo D. Pawling!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shall I inquire?&rdquo; And he asked for further information
+over the wire. Then, presently, and turning
+again to Skidder:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;d better come to the wire. It seems to be the
+Chief of Police who wants you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Skidder&rsquo;s unhealthy skin became ghastly. He came
+over and took the instrument:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What d&rsquo;ye want, Chief? Sure it&rsquo;s me, Elmer....
+Hey? Who? Alonzo D. Pawling? My God,
+is he dead? Took <i>pizen</i>! W-what for! He&rsquo;s a rich
+man, ain&rsquo;t he?... Speculated?... You say
+he took the bank&rsquo;s funds? Trust funds? What!&rdquo;
+he screeched&ndash;&ndash;&ldquo;put &rsquo;em into <i>my</i> company! He&rsquo;s a liar!
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span>
+... I don&rsquo;t care what letters he left!...
+Well, all right then. Sure, I&rsquo;ll get a lawyer&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell him to hold that wire!&rdquo; cut in Jim; and took
+the receiver from Skidder&rsquo;s shaking fingers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is the Shadow Hill Trust Company insolvent?&rdquo; he
+asked. &ldquo;You say that the bank closed its doors this
+morning? Have you any idea of its condition?
+Looted? Is it entirely cleaned out? Is there no chance
+for depositors? I wish to inquire about the trust funds,
+bonds and other investments belonging to a friend of
+mine, Miss Dumont.... Yes, I&rsquo;ll wait.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He turned a troubled and sombre gaze toward
+Skidder, who sat there pasty-faced, with sagging jaw,
+staring back at him. And presently:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.... Yes, this is Mr. Shotwell, a friend of
+Miss Dumont.... Yes.... Yes.... Yes....
+I see.... Yes, I shall try to communicate
+with her immediately.... Yes, I suppose the news
+will be published in the evening papers.... Certainly....
+Yes, I have no doubt that she will go at
+once to Shadow Hill.... Thank you.... Yes,
+it does seem rather hopeless.... I&rsquo;ll try to find
+her and break it to her.... Thank you. Good-bye.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He hung up the receiver, took his hat and coat, his
+eyes fixed absently on Skidder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;d better beat it to your attorney,&rdquo; he remarked,
+and went out.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>He could not find Palla. She was not at the Red
+Cross, not at the canteen, not at the new Hostess House.</p>
+<p>He telephoned Ilse for information, but she was not
+at home.</p>
+<p>Twice he called at Palla&rsquo;s house, leaving a message
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span>
+the last time that she should telephone him at the club
+on her arrival.</p>
+<p>He went to the club and waited there, trying to read.
+At a quarter to six o&rsquo;clock no message from her had
+come.</p>
+<p>Again he telephoned Ilse; she had not returned. He
+even telephoned to Marya, loath to disturb her; but
+she, also, was not at home.</p>
+<p>The chances that he could break the news to Palla
+before she read it in the evening paper were becoming
+negligible. He had done his best to forestall them. But
+at six the evening papers arrived at the club. And in
+every one of them was an account of the defalcation
+and suicide of the Honorable Alonzo D. Pawling, president
+of the Shadow Hill Trust Company. But nothing
+yet concerning the defalcation and disappearance
+of Angelo Puma.</p>
+<p>Jim had no inclination to eat, but he tried to at
+seven-thirty, still waiting and hoping for a message
+from Palla.</p>
+<p>He tried her house again about half past eight. This
+time the maid answered that Miss Dumont had telephoned
+from down town that she would dine out and
+go afterward to the Combat Club. And that if Mr.
+Shotwell desired to see her he should call at her house
+after ten o&rsquo;clock.</p>
+<p>So Jim hastened to the cloak-room, got his hat and
+coat, found the starter, secured a taxi, bought an evening
+paper and stuffed it into his pocket, and started
+out to find Palla at the Combat Club. For it seemed evident
+to him that she had not yet read the evening paper;
+and he hoped he might yet encounter her in time to prepare
+her for news which, according to the newspapers,
+appeared even blacker than he had supposed it might be.</p>
+<div class='chsp'>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span>
+<a name='CHAPTER_XXV' id='CHAPTER_XXV'></a>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2>
+</div>
+<p>As he left the taxi in front of the dirty brick archway
+and flight of steps leading to the hall, where
+he expected to find Palla, he noticed a small
+crowd of wrangling foreigners gathered there&ndash;&ndash;men
+and women&ndash;&ndash;and a policeman posted near, calm and
+indifferent, juggling his club at the end of its leather
+thong.</p>
+<p>Jim paused to inquire if there had been any trouble
+there that evening.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said the policeman, &ldquo;there&rsquo;s two talking-clubs
+that chew the rag in that joint. It&rsquo;s the Reds&rsquo;
+night, but wan o&rsquo; the ladies of the other club showed
+up&ndash;&ndash;Miss Dumont&ndash;&ndash;and the Reds yonder was all for
+chasing her out. So we run in a couple of &rsquo;em&ndash;&ndash;that
+feller Sondheim and another called Bromberg. They&rsquo;re
+wanted, anyhow, in Philadelphia.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is there a meeting inside?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure. The young lady went in to settle it peaceful
+like; and she&rsquo;s inside now jawin&rsquo; at them Reds to
+beat a pink tea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you apprehend any violence?&rdquo; asked Jim uneasily.</p>
+<p>The policeman juggled his club and eyed him. &ldquo;I&ndash;&ndash;guess&ndash;&ndash;not,&rdquo;
+he drawled. And, to the jabbering,
+wrangling crowd on pavement and steps: &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;Hey, you!
+Go in or stay out, one or the other, now! Step lively;
+you&rsquo;re blockin&rsquo; the sidewalk.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A number of people mounted the steps and went in
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span>
+with Jim. As the doors to the hall opened, a flare of
+smoky light struck him, and he pushed his way into the
+hall, where a restless, murmuring audience, some seated,
+others standing, was watching a number of men and
+women on the rostrum.</p>
+<p>There seemed to be more wrangling going on there&ndash;&ndash;knots
+of people disputing and apparently quite oblivious
+of the audience.</p>
+<p>And almost immediately he caught sight of Palla on
+the platform. But even before he could take a step
+forward in the crowded aisle, he saw her force her way
+out of an excited group of people and come to the
+edge of the platform, lifting a slim hand for silence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Put her out!&rdquo; shouted some man&rsquo;s voice. A dozen
+other voices bawled out incoherencies; Palla waited;
+and after a moment or two there were no further interruptions.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please let me say what I have to say,&rdquo; she said in that
+shy and gentle way she had when facing hostile listeners.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Speak louder!&rdquo; yelled a young man. &ldquo;Come on,
+silk-stockings!&ndash;&ndash;spit it out and go home to mother!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish I could,&rdquo; she said.</p>
+<p>Her rejoinder was so odd and unexpected that stillness
+settled over the place.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But all I can do,&rdquo; she added, in an even, colourless
+voice, &ldquo;is to go home. And I shall do that after I have
+said what I have to say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At that moment there was a commotion in the rear
+of the hall. A dozen policemen filed into the place,
+pushing their way right and left and ranging themselves
+along the wall. Their officer came into the aisle:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If there&rsquo;s any disorder in this place to-night, I&rsquo;ll
+run in the whole bunch o&rsquo; ye!&rdquo; he said calmly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right. Hit out, little girl!&rdquo; cried the young
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span>
+man who had interrupted before. &ldquo;We gotta lot of
+business to fix up after you&rsquo;ve gone to bed, so get busy!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I, also, have some business to fix up,&rdquo; she said in
+the same sweet, emotionless voice, &ldquo;&ndash;&ndash;business of setting
+myself right by admitting that I have been wrong.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because, on this spot where I am standing, I have
+spoken against the old order of things. I have said
+that there is no law excepting only the law of Love and
+Service. I have said that there is no God other than
+the deathless germ of deity within each one of us. I
+have said that the conventions and beliefs and usages
+and customs of civilisation were old, outworn, and
+tyrannical; and that there was no need to regard them
+or to obey the arbitrary laws based on them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In other words, I have preached disorder while attempting
+to combat it: I have preached revolution while
+counselling peace; I have preached bigotry where I have
+demanded toleration.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For there is no worse bigot than the free-thinker
+who demands that the world subscribe to his creed;
+no tyrant like the under-dog when he becomes the upper
+one; no autocracy to compare with mob rule!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can not obtain freedom for all by imposing
+that creed upon anybody by the violence of revolutionary
+ukase!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can not wreck any edifice until all who enjoy
+ownership in it agree to its demolition. You can not
+build for all unless each voluntarily comes forward to
+aid with stone and mortar.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Anarchy leaves the majority roofless. What is the
+use of saying, &lsquo;Let them perish&rsquo;? What is the use of
+trying to rebuild the world that way? You can&rsquo;t do
+it, even if you set fire to the world and start your endless
+war of human murder.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;If you were the majority you would not need to do
+it. But you are the minority, and there are too many
+against you.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Only by infinite pains and patience can you alter
+the social structure to better it. Cautious and wary
+replacement is the only method, not exploding a mine
+beneath the keystone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The world has won out from barbarism so far. It
+must continue to emerge by degrees. And if beliefs and
+laws and customs be obsolete, only by general agreement
+may they be modified without danger to all. Not
+the violent revolt of one or a dozen or a thousand can
+alter what has, so far, nourished and sustained civilisation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is the Prussian belief. Bolshevism was sired
+by Karl Marx and was hatched out in the shaggy
+gloom of the Prussian wilderness.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It does not belong anywhere else; it does not belong
+on the plains of Russia or in her forests or on her
+mountains. It is a Prussian thing&ndash;&ndash;a misbegotten
+monster born of a vile and decadent race,&ndash;&ndash;a horrible
+parasite, like that one which carries typhus, infects
+as it spreads from the degraded race that hatched it,
+crawling from country to country and leaving behind
+it dead minds, dead hearts, dead souls, and rotting
+flesh.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For order and disorder can not both reign paramount
+on this planet! The one shall slay the other.
+And Bolshevism is disorder&ndash;&ndash;a violent and tyrannical
+and autocratic attempt to utterly destroy the vast
+majority for the benefit of the microscopic minority.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can not do it, you Terrorists! Prussia tried
+terrorism on the world. Where is she to-day? You
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span>
+can not teach by frightfulness. You can not scare
+beliefs out of anybody.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Method, order, education&ndash;&ndash;there is no other chance
+for any propagandist to-day.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have stood here night after night proclaiming that
+my personal conception of right and wrong, of truth
+and falsehood, of law and morals was the only intelligent
+one, and that I should ignore and disregard any
+other opinion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What I preached was Bolshevism! And I was such
+a fool I didn&rsquo;t know it. But that&rsquo;s what I preached.
+For it is an incitement to disorder to proclaim one&rsquo;s
+self above obedience to what has been established as
+a law to govern all.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is an insidious counsel to violence, revolution,
+Bolshevism and utter anarchy to say to people that
+they should disregard any law formed by all for the
+common weal.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If the marriage law seems unnecessary, unjust, then
+only by common consent can it be altered; and until
+it is altered, any who disregard it strike at civilisation!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If the laws governing capital and labour seem cruel,
+stupid, tyrannical, only by general consent can they
+be altered safely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You of the Bolsheviki can not come among us dripping
+with human blood, showing us your fangs, and
+expect from us anything except a fusillade.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And your propaganda, also, is not human. It is
+Prussian. Do you suppose, you foreign-born, that you
+can come here among this free people and begin your
+operations by cursing our laws and institutions and
+telling us we are not free?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because we tolerate you, do you suppose we don&rsquo;t
+know that in most of the larger cities there are now
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span>
+organised Soviets, similar to those in Russia, that
+anarchists are now conducting schools, and that the
+radical propaganda which has taken on new life since
+the signing of the armistice is gaining headway in those
+parts of the country where there are large foreign-born
+populations?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you suppose we don&rsquo;t know Prussianism when
+we see it, after these last four years?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you suppose we have not read the <i>Staats-Zeitung</i>
+editorial of December 8, which in part was as follows:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Hundreds of thousands of our boys are standing
+now over there in the old homeland, which for nineteen
+months was enemy country and is that still, but which,
+as President Wilson promised, will soon be a land of
+peace again, rich in diligent work, rich in true and
+good people.... As the whole happy life of
+this blessed region presents a picture to the spectator,
+it is to be wondered whether his (the American soldier&rsquo;s)
+memory will awaken on what he read of this country
+(Germany) at home long ago, whether he will feel a
+slight blush of shame in his cheeks and anger for those
+who, not from their own knowledge but from doubtful
+sources, branded a whole great people, 70,000,000, as
+barbarians, huns, murderers of children and church
+robbers. And whether he (the American soldier) will
+at the same time make a pledge in his heart to combat
+those lies and rumours when he is back home again, and
+to tell the truth about those (the Germans) living behind
+those mountains.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Palla&rsquo;s face flushed and she came close to the edge of
+the platform:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have been warned that if I came here to-night
+I&rsquo;d have trouble. The anonymous writers who send me
+letters talk about bombs.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you imagine because you murdered Vanya
+Tchernov in Philadelphia the other day that you can
+frighten anybody dumb?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you you don&rsquo;t know what you&rsquo;re doing. You&rsquo;re
+dazed and scared and bewildered by finding yourselves
+suddenly in the open world after all those lurking years
+in hiding. As a forest wolf, his eyes dazzled by the
+sun, runs blindly across a field of new mown hay, dodging
+where there is nothing to dodge, leaping over
+shadows, so you, emerging from darkness, start out
+across the fertile world, the sun of civilisation blinding
+you so that you run as though stupefied and frightened,
+shying at straws, dodging zephyrs, leaping a pool
+of dew as though it were the Volga.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What are you afraid of? You have nothing to
+fear except yourselves out here in the sunny open!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Behold your enemies&ndash;&ndash;yourselves!&ndash;&ndash;selfish, defiant,
+full of false council, of envy, of cowardice, of treachery.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For there would be no sorrow, no injustice in the
+world if we&ndash;&ndash;each one of us&ndash;&ndash;were true to our better
+selves! You know it! You can not come out of darkness
+and range the open world like wolves! Civilisation
+will kill you!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you can come out of your long twilight bearing
+yourselves like men&ndash;&ndash;and find, by God&rsquo;s grace, that
+you <i>are</i> men!&ndash;&ndash;that you are fashioned like other men
+to stand upright in the light without blinking and slinking
+and dodging into cover.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For the haymakers will not climb and stone you; the
+herds will not stampede; no watch-dogs of civilisation
+will attack you if you come out into the fields looking
+like men, behaving like men, asking to share the world&rsquo;s
+burdens like men, and like men giving brain and brawn
+to make more pleasant and secure the only spot in the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span>
+solar system dedicated by the Most High to the development
+of mankind!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a dead silence in the place.</p>
+<p>Palla slowly lifted her head and raised her right
+hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I desire,&rdquo; she said in a low, grave voice, &ldquo;to acknowledge
+here my belief in law, in order, and in a divine,
+creative, and responsible wisdom. And in ultimate
+continuation.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She turned away as a demonstration began, and Jim
+saw her putting on her coat. There was some scattering
+applause, but considerable disorder where men in
+the audience began to harangue each other and shake
+dirty fingers under one another&rsquo;s noses. Two personal
+encounters and one hair-pulling were checked by bored
+policemen: a girl got up and began to shout that she
+was a striking garment worker and that she had neither
+money, time, nor inclination to wait until some amateur
+silk-stocking felt like raising her wages.</p>
+<p>On the platform Karl Kastner had come forward,
+and his icy, incisive, menacing voice cut the growing
+tumult.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You haff heard with patience thiss so silly prattle
+of a rich young girl&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; he began. &ldquo;Now it is a poor
+man who speaks to you out of a heart full of bitterness
+against this law and order which you haff heard
+so highly praised.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For this much-praised law and order it hass to-night
+assassinated free speech; it has arrested our comrades,
+Nathan Bromberg and Max Sondheim; it hass
+fill our hall with policemen. And I wonder if there iss,
+perhaps, a little too much law and order in the world,
+und iff <i>vielleicht</i>, there may be too many policemen as
+vell as capitalist-little-girls in thiss hall.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Und, sometimes, too, I am wondering why iss it ve
+do not kill a few&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;ll do!&rdquo; interrupted the sergeant of police,
+striding down the aisle. &ldquo;Come on, now, Karl; you
+done it that time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>An angry roar arose all around him; he nodded to
+his men:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Run in any cut-ups,&rdquo; he said briefly; climbed up
+to the rostrum, and laid his hand on Kastner&rsquo;s arm.</p>
+<p>At the same moment a stunning explosion shook the
+place and plunged it into darkness. Out of the smoke-choked
+blackness burst an uproar of shrieks and
+screams; plaster and glass fell everywhere; police
+whistles sounded; a frantic, struggling mass of
+humanity fought for escape.</p>
+<p>As Jim reeled out into the lobby, he saw Palla leaning
+against the wall, with blood on her face.</p>
+<p>Before the first of the trampling horde emerged he
+had caught her by the arm and had led her down the
+steps to the street.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve blown up the&ndash;&ndash;the place,&rdquo; she stammered,
+wiping her face with her gloved hand in a dazed sort
+of way.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you badly hurt?&rdquo; he asked unsteadily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t think so&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He had led her as far as the avenue, now echoing
+with the clang of fire engines and the police patrol.
+And out of the darkness, from everywhere, swarmed the
+crowd that only a great city can conjure instantly and
+from nowhere.</p>
+<p>Blood ran down her face from a cut over her temple.
+A tiny triangular bit of glass still glittered in the
+wound; and he removed it and gave her his handkerchief.</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361' name='page_361'></a>361</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Was Ilse there, too?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. Nobody went to-night except myself....
+Why were you there, Jim?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why in God&rsquo;s name did <i>you</i> go there all alone
+among those Reds!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She shook her head wearily:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I had to.... What a horrible thing to happen!...
+I am so tired, Jim. Could you get me
+home?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He found a taxi nearer Broadway and directed the
+driver to stop at a drug-store. Here he insisted that
+the tiny cut on Palla&rsquo;s temple be properly attended to.
+But it proved a simple matter; there was no glass in it,
+and the bleeding ceased before they reached her house.</p>
+<p>At the door he took leave of her, deeming it no time
+to subject her to any further shock that night; but
+she retained her hold on his arm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want you to come in, Jim.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You said you were tired; and you&rsquo;ve had a terrible
+shock&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That is why I need you,&rdquo; she said in a low voice.
+Then, looking up at him with a pale smile: &ldquo;I want
+you&ndash;&ndash;just once more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They went in together. Her maid, hearing the opening
+door, appeared and took her away; and Jim turned
+into the living-room. A lighted lamp on the piano
+illuminated his own framed photograph&ndash;&ndash;that was the
+first thing he noticed&ndash;&ndash;the portrait of himself in uniform,
+flanked on either side by little vases full of blue
+forget-me-nots.</p>
+<p>He started to lift one to his face, but reaction had
+set in and his hands were shaking. And he turned away
+and stood staring into the empty fireplace, passionately
+possessed once more by the eternal witchery of this
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span>
+young girl, and under the spell again of the enchanted
+place wherein she dwelt.</p>
+<p>The very air breathed her magic; every familiar
+object seemed to be stealthily conspiring in the subdued
+light to reaccomplish his subjection.</p>
+<p>Her maid appeared to say that Miss Dumont would
+be ready in a few minutes. She came, presently, in
+a clinging chamber-gown&ndash;&ndash;a pale golden affair with
+misty touches of lace.</p>
+<p>He arranged cushions for her: she lighted a cigarette
+for him; and he sank down beside her in the old place.</p>
+<p>Both were still a little shaken. He said that he believed
+the explosion had come from the outside, and
+that the principal damage had been done next door,
+in Mr. Puma&rsquo;s office.</p>
+<p>She nodded assent, listlessly, evidently preoccupied
+with something else.</p>
+<p>After a few moments she looked up at him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is the second day of February,&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;Within the last month Jack Estridge died, and Vanya
+died.... To-day another man died&ndash;&ndash;a man I have
+known from childhood.... His name was Pawling.
+And his death has ruined me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When&ndash;&ndash;when did you learn that?&rdquo; he asked, astounded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This morning. My housekeeper in Shadow Hill
+telephoned me that Mr. Pawling had killed himself, that
+the bank was closed, and that probably there was nothing
+left for those who had funds deposited there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You knew that this morning?&rdquo; he asked, amazed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you&ndash;&ndash;you still had courage to go to your Red
+Cross, to your canteen and Hostess House&ndash;&ndash;to that
+horrible Red Flag Club&ndash;&ndash;and face those beasts and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363' name='page_363'></a>363</span>
+make the&ndash;&ndash;the perfectly magnificent speech you
+made!&ndash;&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did&ndash;&ndash;did <i>you</i> hear it!&rdquo; she faltered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Every word.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For a few moments she sat motionless and very white
+in her knowledge that this man had heard her confess
+her own conversion.</p>
+<p>Her brain whirled: she was striving to think steadily
+trying to find the right way to reassure him&ndash;&ndash;to forestall
+any impulsive chivalry born of imaginary obligation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim,&rdquo; she said in a colorless voice, &ldquo;there are so
+many worse things than losing money. I think Mr.
+Pawling&rsquo;s suicide shocked me much more than the knowledge
+that I should be obliged to earn my own living
+like millions of other women.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course it scared me for a few minutes. I couldn&rsquo;t
+help that. But after I got over the first unpleasant&ndash;&ndash;feeling,
+I concluded to go about my business in life
+until it came time for me to adjust myself to the scheme
+of things.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She smiled without effort: &ldquo;Besides, it&rsquo;s not really
+so bad. I have a house in Shadow Hill to which I can
+retreat when I sell this one; and with a tiny income from
+the sale of this house, and with what I can earn, I
+ought to be able to support myself very nicely.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So you&ndash;&ndash;expect to sell?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I must. Even if I sell my house and land in
+Connecticut I cannot afford this house any longer.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She smiled, keeping her head and her courage high
+without apparent effort:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s another job for you,&rdquo; she said lightly. &ldquo;Will
+you be kind enough to put this house on your list?&rdquo;</p>
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364' name='page_364'></a>364</span></div>
+<p>&ldquo;If you wish.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, Jim, I do indeed. And the sooner you
+can sell it for me the better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He said: &ldquo;And the sooner you marry me the better,
+Palla.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At that she flushed crimson and made a quick gesture
+as though to check him; but he went on: &ldquo;I heard what
+you said to those filthy swine to-night. It was the
+pluckiest, most splendid thing I ever heard and saw.
+And I have seen battles. Some. But I never before
+saw a woman take her life in her hands and go all alone
+into a cage of the same dangerous, rabid beasts that
+had slain a friend of hers within the week, and find
+courage to face them and tell them they <i>were</i> beasts!&ndash;&ndash;and
+more than that!&ndash;&ndash;find courage to confess her
+own mistakes&ndash;&ndash;humble herself&ndash;&ndash;acknowledge what she
+had abjured&ndash;&ndash;bear witness to the God whom once she
+believed abandoned her!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She strove to open her lips in protest&ndash;&ndash;lifted
+her disconcerted eyes to his&ndash;&ndash;shrank away a little as
+his hand fell over hers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve never faltered,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It damned near
+killed me.... But I&rsquo;d have gone on loving you,
+Palla, all my life. There never could have been anybody
+except you. There was never anybody before
+you. Usually there has been in a man&rsquo;s life. There
+never was in mine. There never will be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His firm hand closed on hers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m such an ordinary, every day sort of fellow,&rdquo; he
+said wistfully, &ldquo;that, after I began to realise how wonderful
+you are, I&rsquo;ve been terribly afraid I wasn&rsquo;t up to
+you.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Even if I have cursed out your theories and creeds,
+it almost seemed impertinent for me to do it, because
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365' name='page_365'></a>365</span>
+you really have so many talents and accomplishments,
+so much knowledge, so infinite a capacity for things of
+the mind, which are rather out of my mental sphere.
+And I&rsquo;ve wondered sometimes, even if you ever consented
+to marry me, whether such a girl as you are could jog
+along with a business man who likes the arts but doesn&rsquo;t
+understand them very well and who likes some of his
+fellow men but not all of them and whose instinct is
+to punch law-breakers in the nose and not weep over
+them and lead them to the nearest bar and say, &lsquo;Go to
+it, erring brother!&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jim!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For all the while he had been drawing her nearer as
+he was speaking. And she was in his arms now, laughing
+a little, crying a little, her flushed face hidden on his
+shoulder.</p>
+<p>He drew a deep breath and, holding her imprisoned,
+looked down at her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will you marry me, Palla?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Jim, do you want me now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, darling, but not this minute, because a clergyman
+must come first.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was cruel of him, as well as vigorously indelicate.
+Her hot blush should have shamed him; her conversion
+should have sheltered her.</p>
+<p>But the man had had a hard time, and the bitterness
+was but just going.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Will you marry me, Palla?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>After a long while her stifled whisper came: &ldquo;You
+are brutal. Do you think I would do anything else&ndash;&ndash;now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. And you never would have either.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lying there close in his arms, she wondered. And,
+still wondering, she lifted her head and looked up into
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span>
+his eyes&ndash;&ndash;watching them as they neared her own&ndash;&ndash;still
+trying to see them as his lips touched hers.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+<p>He was the sort of man who got hungry when left
+too long unfed. It was one o&rsquo;clock. They had gone
+out to the refrigerator together, his arm around her
+supple waist, her charming head against his shoulder&ndash;&ndash;both
+hungry but sentimental.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And don&rsquo;t you really think,&rdquo; she said for the hundredth
+time, &ldquo;that we ought to sell this house?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a bit of it, darling. We&rsquo;ll run it if we have to
+live on cereal and do our own laundry.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean I&rsquo;ll have to do that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll help after business hours.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You wonderful boy!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There seemed to be some delectable things in the
+ice chest.</p>
+<p>They sat side by side on the kitchen table, blissfully
+nourishing each other. Birds do it. Love-smitten
+youth does it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that you had the nerve to face
+those beasts and tell them what you thought of them!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Darling!&rdquo; she remonstrated, placing an olive between
+his lips.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You should have the Croix de Guerre,&rdquo; he said indistinctly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All I aspire to is a very plain gold ring,&rdquo; she said,
+smiling at him sideways.</p>
+<p>And she slipped her hand into his.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Are</i> you going back into the army, Jim?&rdquo; she
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who said that?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&ndash;&ndash;I heard it repeated.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not now,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Unless&ndash;&ndash;&rdquo; His eyes narrowed
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span>
+and he sat swinging his legs with an absent air and
+puckered brows.</p>
+<p>And after a while the same aloof look came into her
+brown eyes, and she swung her slim feet absently.</p>
+<p>Perhaps their remote gaze was fixed on visions of
+a nearing future, brilliant with happiness, gay with
+children&rsquo;s voices; perhaps they saw farther than that,
+where the light grew sombre and where a shadowed sky
+lowered above a blood-red flood, rising imperceptibly,
+yet ever rising&ndash;&ndash;a stealthy, crawling crimson tide
+spreading westward across the world.</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company&rsquo;s Popular Copyright Fiction</p>
+<p><b>Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p>
+<p><b>Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</p>
+<p><b>After House, The.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</p>
+<p><b>Ailsa Paige.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<p><b>Alton of Somasco.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p>
+<p><b>Amateur Gentleman, The.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</p>
+<p><b>Anna, the Adventuress.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Anne&rsquo;s House of Dreams.</b> By L. M. Montgomery.</p>
+<p><b>Around Old Chester.</b> By Margaret Deland.</p>
+<p><b>Athalie.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<p><b>At the Mercy of Tiberius.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</p>
+<p><b>Auction Block, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>Aunt Jane of Kentucky.</b> By Eliza C. Hall.</p>
+<p><b>Awakening of Helena Richie.</b> By Margaret Deland.</p>
+<p><b>Bab: a Sub-Deb.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</p>
+<p><b>Barrier, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>Barbarians.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<p><b>Bargain True, The.</b> By Nalbro Bartley.</p>
+<p><b>Bar 20.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</p>
+<p><b>Bar 20 Days.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</p>
+<p><b>Bars of Iron, The.</b> By Ethel M. Dell.</p>
+<p><b>Beasts of Tarzan, The.</b> By Edgar Rice Burroughs.</p>
+<p><b>Beloved Traitor, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p>
+<p><b>Beltane the Smith.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</p>
+<p><b>Betrayal, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Beyond the Frontier.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p>
+<p><b>Big Timber.</b> By Bertrand W. Sinclair.</p>
+<p><b>Black Is White.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</p>
+<p><b>Blind Man&rsquo;s Eyes, The.</b> By Wm. MacHarg and Edwin Balmer.</p>
+<p><b>Bob, Son of Battle.</b> By Alfred Ollivant.</p>
+<p><b>Boston Blackie.</b> By Jack Boyle.</p>
+<p><b>Boy with Wings, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p>
+<p><b>Brandon of the Engineers.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p>
+<p><b>Broad Highway, The.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</p>
+<p><b>Brown Study, The.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p>
+<p><b>Bruce of the Circle A.</b> By Harold Titus.</p>
+<p><b>Buck Peters, Ranchman.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</p>
+<p><b>Business of Life, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company&rsquo;s Popular Copyright Fiction</p>
+<p><b>Cabbages and Kings.</b> By O. Henry.</p>
+<p><b>Cabin Fever.</b> By B. M. Bower.</p>
+<p><b>Calling of Dan Matthews, The.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p>
+<p><b>Cape Cod Stories.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Cap&rsquo;n Abe, Storekeeper.</b> By James A. Cooper.</p>
+<p><b>Cap&rsquo;n Dan&rsquo;s Daughter.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Cap&rsquo;n Eri.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Cap&rsquo;n Jonah&rsquo;s Fortune.</b> By James A. Cooper.</p>
+<p><b>Cap&rsquo;n Warren&rsquo;s Wards.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Chain of Evidence, A.</b> By Carolyn Wells.</p>
+<p><b>Chief Legatee, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p>
+<p><b>Cinderella Jane.</b> By Marjorie B. Cooke.</p>
+<p><b>Cinema Murder, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>City of Masks, The.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</p>
+<p><b>Cleek of Scotland Yard.</b> By T. W. Hanshew.</p>
+<p><b>Cleek, The Man of Forty Faces.</b> By Thomas W. Hanshew.</p>
+<p><b>Cleek&rsquo;s Government Cases.</b> By Thomas W. Hanshew.</p>
+<p><b>Clipped Wings.</b> By Rupert Hughes.</p>
+<p><b>Clue, The.</b> By Carolyn Wells.</p>
+<p><b>Clutch of Circumstance, The.</b> By Marjorie Benton Cooke.</p>
+<p><b>Coast of Adventure, The.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p>
+<p><b>Coming of Cassidy, The.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</p>
+<p><b>Coming of the Law, The.</b> By Chas. A. Seltzer.</p>
+<p><b>Conquest of Canaan, The.</b> By Booth Tarkington.</p>
+<p><b>Conspirators, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<p><b>Court of Inquiry, A.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p>
+<p><b>Cow Puncher, The.</b> By Robert J. C. Stead.</p>
+<p><b>Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>Cross Currents.</b> By Author of &ldquo;Pollyanna.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><b>Cry in the Wilderness, A.</b> By Mary E. Waller.</p>
+<p><b>Danger, And Other Stories.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</p>
+<p><b>Dark Hollow, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p>
+<p><b>Dark Star, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<p><b>Daughter Pays, The.</b> By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.</p>
+<p><b>Day of Days, The.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.</p>
+<p><b>Depot Master, The.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Desired Woman, The.</b> By Will N. Harben.</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company&rsquo;s Popular Copyright Fiction</p>
+<p><b>Destroying Angel, The.</b> By Louis Jos. Vance.</p>
+<p><b>Devil&rsquo;s Own, The.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p>
+<p><b>Double Traitor, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Empty Pockets.</b> By Rupert Hughes.</p>
+<p><b>Eyes of the Blind, The.</b> By Arthur Somers Roche.</p>
+<p><b>Eye of Dread, The.</b> By Payne Erskine.</p>
+<p><b>Eyes of the World, The.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p>
+<p><b>Extricating Obadiah.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Felix O&rsquo;Day.</b> By F. Hopkinson Smith.</p>
+<p><b>54-40 or Fight.</b> By Emerson Hough.</p>
+<p><b>Fighting Chance, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<p><b>Fighting Shepherdess, The.</b> By Caroline Lockhart.</p>
+<p><b>Financier, The.</b> By Theodore Dreiser.</p>
+<p><b>Flame, The.</b> By Olive Wadsley.</p>
+<p><b>Flamsted Quarries.</b> By Mary E. Wallar.</p>
+<p><b>Forfeit, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Four Million, The.</b> By O. Henry.</p>
+<p><b>Fruitful Vine, The.</b> By Robert Hichens.</p>
+<p><b>Further Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p>
+<p><b>Girl of the Blue Ridge, A.</b> By Payne Erskine.</p>
+<p><b>Girl from Keller&rsquo;s, The.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p>
+<p><b>Girl Philippa, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<p><b>Girls at His Billet, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p>
+<p><b>God&rsquo;s Country and the Woman.</b> By James Oliver Curwood.</p>
+<p><b>Going Some.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>Golden Slipper, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p>
+<p><b>Golden Woman, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Greater Love Hath No Man.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p>
+<p><b>Greyfriars Bobby.</b> By Eleanor Atkinson.</p>
+<p><b>Gun Brand, The.</b> By James B. Hendryx.</p>
+<p><b>Halcyone.</b> By Elinor Glyn.</p>
+<p><b>Hand of Fu-Manchu, The.</b> By Sax Rohmer.</p>
+<p><b>Havoc.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Heart of the Desert, The.</b> By Honor&eacute; Willsie.</p>
+<p><b>Heart of the Hills, The.</b> By John Fox, Jr.</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company&rsquo;s Popular Copyright Fiction</p>
+<p><b>Heart of the Sunset.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>Heart of Thunder Mountain, The.</b> By Edfrid A. Bingham.</p>
+<p><b>Her Weight in Gold.</b> By Geo. B. McCutcheon.</p>
+<p><b>Hidden Children, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<p><b>Hidden Spring, The.</b> By Clarence B. Kelland.</p>
+<p><b>Hillman, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Hills of Refuge, The.</b> By Will N. Harben.</p>
+<p><b>His Official Fiancee.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p>
+<p><b>Honor of the Big Snows.</b> By James Oliver Curwood.</p>
+<p><b>Hopalong Cassidy.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</p>
+<p><b>Hound from the North, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>House of the Whispering Pines, The.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p>
+<p><b>Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker.</b> By S. Weir Mitchell, M.D.</p>
+<p><b>I Conquered.</b> By Harold Titus.</p>
+<p><b>Illustrious Prince, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>In Another Girl&rsquo;s Shoes.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p>
+<p><b>Indifference of Juliet, The.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p>
+<p><b>Infelice.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</p>
+<p><b>Initials Only.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p>
+<p><b>Inner Law, The.</b> By Will N. Harben.</p>
+<p><b>Innocent.</b> By Marie Corelli.</p>
+<p><b>Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, The.</b> By Sax Rohmer.</p>
+<p><b>In the Brooding Wild.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Intriguers, The.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p>
+<p><b>Iron Trail, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>Iron Woman, The.</b> By Margaret Deland.</p>
+<p><b>I Spy.</b> By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Japonette.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<p><b>Jean of the Lazy A.</b> By B. M. Bower.</p>
+<p><b>Jeanne of the Marshes.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Jennie Gerhardt.</b> By Theodore Dreiser.</p>
+<p><b>Judgment House, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</p>
+<p><b>Keeper of the Door, The.</b> By Ethel M. Dell.</p>
+<p><b>Keith of the Border.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p>
+<p><b>Kent Knowles: Ouahaug.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Kingdom of the Blind, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company&rsquo;s Popular Copyright Fiction</p>
+<p><b>King Spruce.</b> By Holman Day.</p>
+<p><b>King&rsquo;s Widow, The.</b> By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.</p>
+<p><b>Knave of Diamonds, The.</b> By Ethel M. Dell.</p>
+<p><b>Ladder of Swords.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</p>
+<p><b>Lady Betty Across the Water.</b> By C. N. &amp; A. M. Williamson.</p>
+<p><b>Land-Girl&rsquo;s Love Story, A.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p>
+<p><b>Landloper, The.</b> By Holman Day.</p>
+<p><b>Land of Long Ago, The.</b> By Eliza Calvert Hall.</p>
+<p><b>Land of Strong Men, The.</b> By A. M. Chisholm.</p>
+<p><b>Last Trail, The.</b> By Zane Grey.</p>
+<p><b>Laugh and Live.</b> By Douglas Fairbanks.</p>
+<p><b>Laughing Bill Hyde.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>Laughing Girl, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<p><b>Law Breakers, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Lifted Veil, The.</b> By Basil King.</p>
+<p><b>Lighted Way, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Lin McLean.</b> By Owen Wister.</p>
+<p><b>Lonesome Land.</b> By B. M. Bower.</p>
+<p><b>Lone Wolf, The.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.</p>
+<p><b>Long Ever Ago.</b> By Rupert Hughes.</p>
+<p><b>Lonely Stronghold, The.</b> By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.</p>
+<p><b>Long Live the King.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</p>
+<p><b>Long Roll, The.</b> By Mary Johnston.</p>
+<p><b>Lord Tony&rsquo;s Wife.</b> By Baroness Orczy.</p>
+<p><b>Lost Ambassador.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Lost Prince, The.</b> By Frances Hodgson Burnett.</p>
+<p><b>Lydia of the Pines.</b> By Honor&eacute; Willsie.</p>
+<p><b>Maid of the Forest, The.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p>
+<p><b>Maid of the Whispering Hills, The.</b> By Vingie E. Roe.</p>
+<p><b>Maids of Paradise, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<p><b>Major, The.</b> By Ralph Connor.</p>
+<p><b>Maker of History, A.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Malefactor, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Man from Bar 20, The.</b> By Clarence E. Mulford.</p>
+<p><b>Man in Grey, The.</b> By Baroness Orczy.</p>
+<p><b>Man Trail, The.</b> By Henry Oyen.</p>
+<p><b>Man Who Couldn&rsquo;t Sleep, The.</b> By Arthur Stringer.</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company&rsquo;s Popular Copyright Fiction</p>
+<p><b>Man with the Club Foot, The.</b> By Valentine Williams.</p>
+<p><b>Mary-&rsquo;Gusta.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Mary Moreland.</b> By Marie Van Vorst.</p>
+<p><b>Mary Regan.</b> By Leroy Scott.</p>
+<p><b>Master Mummer, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</p>
+<p><b>Men Who Wrought, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Mischief Maker, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Missioner, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Miss Million&rsquo;s Maid.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p>
+<p><b>Molly McDonald.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p>
+<p><b>Money Master, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</p>
+<p><b>Money Moon, The.</b> By Jeffery Farnol.</p>
+<p><b>Mountain Girl, The.</b> By Payne Erskine.</p>
+<p><b>Moving Finger, The.</b> By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Mr. Bingle.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</p>
+<p><b>Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Mr. Pratt.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Mr. Pratt&rsquo;s Patients.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Mrs. Belfame.</b> By Gertrude Atherton.</p>
+<p><b>Mrs. Red Pepper.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p>
+<p><b>My Lady Caprice.</b> By Jeffrey Farnol.</p>
+<p><b>My Lady of the North.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p>
+<p><b>My Lady of the South.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p>
+<p><b>Mystery of the Hasty Arrow, The.</b> By Anna K. Green.</p>
+<p><b>Nameless Man, The.</b> By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Ne&rsquo;er-Do-Well, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>Nest Builders, The.</b> By Beatrice Forbes-Robertson Hale.</p>
+<p><b>Net, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>New Clarion.</b> By Will N. Harben.</p>
+<p><b>Night Operator, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p>
+<p><b>Night Riders, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Nobody.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.</p>
+<p><b>Okewood of the Secret Service.</b> By the Author of &ldquo;The
+Man with the Club Foot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><b>One Way Trail, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Open, Sesame.</b> By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.</p>
+<p><b>Otherwise Phyllis.</b> By Meredith Nicholson.</p>
+<p><b>Outlaw, The.</b> By Jackson Gregory.</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company&rsquo;s Popular Copyright Fiction</p>
+<p><b>Paradise Auction.</b> By Nalbro Bartley.</p>
+<p><b>Pardners.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>Parrot &amp; Co.</b> By Harold MacGrath.</p>
+<p><b>Partners of the Night.</b> By Leroy Scott.</p>
+<p><b>Partners of the Tide.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Passionate Friends, The.</b> By H. G. Wells.</p>
+<p><b>Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail, The.</b> By Ralph Connor.</p>
+<p><b>Paul Anthony, Christian.</b> By Hiram W. Hays.</p>
+<p><b>Pawns Count, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>People&rsquo;s Man, A.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Perch of the Devil.</b> By Gertrude Atherton.</p>
+<p><b>Peter Ruff and the Double Four.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Pidgin Island.</b> By Harold MacGrath.</p>
+<p><b>Place of Honeymoon, The.</b> By Harold MacGrath.</p>
+<p><b>Pool of Flame, The.</b> By Louis Joseph Vance.</p>
+<p><b>Postmaster, The.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Prairie Wife, The.</b> By Arthur Stringer.</p>
+<p><b>Price of the Prairie, The.</b> By Margaret Hill McCarter.</p>
+<p><b>Prince of Sinners, A.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Promise, The.</b> By J. B. Hendryx.</p>
+<p><b>Proof of the Pudding, The.</b> By Meredith Nicholson.</p>
+<p><b>Rainbow&rsquo;s End, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>Ranch at the Wolverine, The.</b> By B. M. Bower.</p>
+<p><b>Ranching for Sylvia.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p>
+<p><b>Ransom.</b> By Arthur Somers Roche.</p>
+<p><b>Reason Why, The.</b> By Elinor Glyn.</p>
+<p><b>Reclaimers, The.</b> By Margaret Hill McCarter.</p>
+<p><b>Red Mist, The.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p>
+<p><b>Red Pepper Burns.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p>
+<p><b>Red Pepper&rsquo;s Patients.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p>
+<p><b>Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary, The.</b> By Anne Warner.</p>
+<p><b>Restless Sex, The.</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<p><b>Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu, The.</b> By Sax Rohmer.</p>
+<p><b>Return of Tarzan, The.</b> By Edgar Rice Burroughs.</p>
+<p><b>Riddle of Night, The.</b> By Thomas W. Hanshew.</p>
+<p><b>Rim of the Desert, The.</b> By Ada Woodruff Anderson.</p>
+<p><b>Rise of Roscoe Paine, The.</b> By J. C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Rising Tide, The.</b> By Margaret Deland.</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company&rsquo;s Popular Copyright Fiction</p>
+<p><b>Rocks of Valpr&eacute;, The.</b> By Ethel M. Dell.</p>
+<p><b>Rogue by Compulsion, A.</b> By Victor Bridges.</p>
+<p><b>Room Number 3.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p>
+<p><b>Rose in the Ring, The.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</p>
+<p><b>Rose of Old Harpeth, The.</b> By Maria Thompson Daviess.</p>
+<p><b>Round the Corner in Gay Street.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p>
+<p><b>Second Choice.</b> By Will N. Harben.</p>
+<p><b>Second Violin, The.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p>
+<p><b>Secret History.</b> By C. N. &amp; A. M. Williamson.</p>
+<p><b>Secret of the Reef, The.</b> By Harold Bindloss.</p>
+<p><b>Seven Darlings, The.</b> By Gouverneur Morris.</p>
+<p><b>Shavings.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Shepherd of the Hills, The.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p>
+<p><b>Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Sherry.</b> By George Barr McCutcheon.</p>
+<p><b>Side of the Angels, The.</b> By Basil King.</p>
+<p><b>Silver Horde, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>Sin That Was His, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p>
+<p><b>Sixty-first Second, The.</b> By Owen Johnson.</p>
+<p><b>Soldier of the Legion, A.</b> By C. N. &amp; A. M. Williamson.</p>
+<p><b>Son of His Father, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Son of Tarzan, The.</b> By Edgar Rice Burroughs.</p>
+<p><b>Source, The.</b> By Clarence Buddington Kelland.</p>
+<p><b>Speckled Bird, A.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</p>
+<p><b>Spirit in Prison, A.</b> By Robert Hichens.</p>
+<p><b>Spirit of the Border, The.</b> (New Edition.) By Zane Grey.</p>
+<p><b>Spoilers, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>Steele of the Royal Mounted.</b> By James Oliver Curwood.</p>
+<p><b>Still Jim.</b> By Honor&eacute; Willsie.</p>
+<p><b>Story of Foss River Ranch, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Story of Marco, The.</b> By Eleanor H. Porter.</p>
+<p><b>Strange Case of Cavendish, The.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p>
+<p><b>Strawberry Acres.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p>
+<p><b>Sudden Jim.</b> By Clarence B. Kelland.</p>
+<p><b>Tales of Sherlock Holmes.</b> By A. Conan Doyle.</p>
+<p><b>Tarzan of the Apes.</b> By Edgar R. Burroughs.</p>
+<p><b>Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar.</b> By Edgar Rice Burroughs.</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company&rsquo;s Popular Copyright Fiction</p>
+<p><b>Tempting of Tavernake, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Tess of the D&rsquo;Urbervilles.</b> By Thos. Hardy.</p>
+<p><b>Thankful&rsquo;s Inheritance.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>That Affair Next Door.</b> By Anna Katharine Green.</p>
+<p><b>That Printer of Udell&rsquo;s.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p>
+<p><b>Their Yesterdays.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p>
+<p><b>Thirteenth Commandment, The.</b> By Rupert Hughes.</p>
+<p><b>Three of Hearts, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p>
+<p><b>Three Strings, The.</b> By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Threshold, The.</b> By Marjorie Benton Cooke.</p>
+<p><b>Throwback, The.</b> By Alfred Henry Lewis.</p>
+<p><b>Tish.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</p>
+<p><b>To M. L. G.; or, He Who Passed.</b> Anon.</p>
+<p><b>Trail of the Axe, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Trail to Yesterday, The.</b> By Chas. A. Seltzer.</p>
+<p><b>Treasure of Heaven, The.</b> By Marie Corelli.</p>
+<p><b>Triumph, The.</b> By Will N. Harben.</p>
+<p><b>T. Tembarom.</b> By Frances Hodgson Burnett.</p>
+<p><b>Turn of the Tide.</b> By Author of &ldquo;Pollyanna.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><b>Twenty-fourth of June, The.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p>
+<p><b>Twins of Suffering Creek, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Two-Gun Man, The.</b> By Chas. A. Seltzer.</p>
+<p><b>Uncle William.</b> By Jeannette Lee.</p>
+<p><b>Under Handicap.</b> By Jackson Gregory.</p>
+<p><b>Under the Country Sky.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p>
+<p><b>Unforgiving Offender, The.</b> By John Reed Scott.</p>
+<p><b>Unknown Mr. Kent, The.</b> By Roy Norton.</p>
+<p><b>Unpardonable Sin, The.</b> By Major Rupert Hughes.</p>
+<p><b>Up From Slavery.</b> By Booker T. Washington.</p>
+<p><b>Valiants of Virginia, The.</b> By Hallie Ermine Rives.</p>
+<p><b>Valley of Fear, The.</b> By Sir A. Conan Doyle.</p>
+<p><b>Vanished Messenger, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>Vanguards of the Plains.</b> By Margaret Hill McCarter.</p>
+<p><b>Vashti.</b> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</p>
+<p><b>Virtuous Wives.</b> By Owen Johnson.</p>
+<p><b>Visioning, The.</b> By Susan Glaspell.</p>
+<hr class='pb' />
+<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>Popular Copyright Novels</p>
+<p class='tp' style='font-style:italic;font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:10px;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</p>
+<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br />A. L. Burt Company&rsquo;s Popular Copyright Fiction</p>
+<p><b>Waif-o&rsquo;-the-Sea.</b> By Cyrus Townsend Brady.</p>
+<p><b>Wall of Men, A.</b> By Margaret H. McCarter.</p>
+<p><b>Watchers of the Plans, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Way Home, The.</b> By Basil King.</p>
+<p><b>Way of an Eagle, The.</b> By E. M. Dell.</p>
+<p><b>Way of the Strong, The.</b> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p>
+<p><b>Way of These Women, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+<p><b>We Can&rsquo;t Have Everything.</b> By Major Rupert Hughes.</p>
+<p><b>Weavers, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</p>
+<p><b>When a Man&rsquo;s a Man.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p>
+<p><b>When Wilderness Was King.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p>
+<p><b>Where the Trail Divides.</b> By Will Lillibridge.</p>
+<p><b>Where There&rsquo;s a Will.</b> By Mary R. Rinehart.</p>
+<p><b>White Sister, The.</b> By Marion Crawford.</p>
+<p><b>Who Goes There?</b> By Robert W. Chambers.</p>
+<p><b>Why Not.</b> By Margaret Widdemer.</p>
+<p><b>Window at the White Cat, The.</b> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</p>
+<p><b>Winds of Chance, The.</b> By Rex Beach.</p>
+<p><b>Wings of Youth, The.</b> By Elizabeth Jordan.</p>
+<p><b>Winning of Barbara Worth, The.</b> By Harold Bell Wright.</p>
+<p><b>Wire Devils, The.</b> By Frank L. Packard.</p>
+<p><b>Winning the Wilderness.</b> By Margaret Hill McCarter.</p>
+<p><b>Wishing Ring Man, The.</b> By Margaret Widdemer.</p>
+<p><b>With Juliet in England.</b> By Grace S. Richmond.</p>
+<p><b>Wolves of the Sea.</b> By Randall Parrish.</p>
+<p><b>Woman Gives, The.</b> By Owen Johnson.</p>
+<p><b>Woman Haters, The.</b> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</p>
+<p><b>Woman in Question, The.</b> By John Reed Scott.</p>
+<p><b>Woman Thou Gavest Me, The.</b> By Hall Caine.</p>
+<p><b>Woodcarver of &rsquo;Lympus, The.</b> By Mary E. Waller.</p>
+<p><b>Wooing of Rosamond Fayre, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p>
+<p><b>World for Sale, The.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</p>
+<p><b>Years for Rachel, The.</b> By Berta Ruck.</p>
+<p><b>Yellow Claw, The.</b> By Sax Rohmer.</p>
+<p><b>You Never Know Your Luck.</b> By Gilbert Parker.</p>
+<p><b>Zeppelin&rsquo;s Passenger, The.</b> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</p>
+
+<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: ppg0831 -->
+<!-- timestamp: Mon Aug 31 21:59:36 -0600 2009 -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crimson Tide, by Robert W. Chambers
+
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crimson Tide, by Robert W. Chambers
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Crimson Tide
+
+Author: Robert W. Chambers
+
+Illustrator: A. I. Keller
+
+Release Date: September 1, 2009 [EBook #29880]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIMSON TIDE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "I HATE IT AS YOU HATED THE BEASTS WHO SLEW YOUR FRIEND"]
+
+
+
+
+THE CRIMSON TIDE
+
+A NOVEL
+
+By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS
+
+Author of "The Moonlit Way," "The Laughing Girl," "The Restless Sex,"
+etc.
+
+WITH FRONTISPIECE BY A. I. KELLER
+
+A. L. BURT COMPANY
+
+Publishers--New York
+
+Published by arrangement with D. Appleton and Company
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS
+
+Copyright, 1919, by The International Magazine Company
+
+PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+To
+
+MARGARET ILLINGTON BOWES
+
+AND
+
+EDWARD J. BOWES
+
+
+
+
+                                   I
+
+              I'd rather walk with Margaret,
+              I'd rather talk with Margaret,
+              And anchor in some sylvan nook
+              And fish Dream Lake with magic hook
+              Than sit indoors and write this book.
+
+                                   II
+
+              An author's such an ass, alas!
+              To watch the world through window glass
+              When out of doors the skies are fair
+              And pretty girls beyond compare--
+              Like Margaret--are strolling there.
+
+                                  III
+
+              I'd rather walk with E. J. Bowes,
+              I'd rather talk with E. J. Bowes,
+              In woodlands where the sunlight gleams
+              Across the golden Lake of Dreams
+              Than drive a quill across these reams.
+
+                                   IV
+
+              If I could have my proper wish
+              With these two friends I'd sit and fish
+              Where sheer cliffs wear their mossy hoods
+              And Dream Lake widens in the woods,
+              But Fate says "No! Produce your goods!"
+
+                                 ENVOI
+
+              Inspect my goods and choose a few
+              Dear Margaret, and Edward, too;
+              Then sink them in the Lake of Dreams
+              In dim, gold depths where sunshine streams
+              Down from the sky's unclouded blue,
+              And I'll be much obliged to you.
+
+                                                R. W. C.
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+
+An American ambulance going south stopped on the snowy road; the
+driver, an American named Estridge, got out; his companion, a young
+woman in furs, remained in her seat.
+
+Estridge, with the din of the barrage in his ears, went forward to
+show his papers to the soldiers who had stopped him on the snowy
+forest road.
+
+His papers identified him and the young woman; and further they
+revealed the fact that the ambulance contained only a trunk and some
+hand luggage; and called upon all in authority to permit John Henry
+Estridge and Miss Palla Dumont to continue without hindrance the
+journey therein described.
+
+The soldiers--Siberian riflemen--were satisfied and seemed friendly
+enough and rather curious to obtain a better look at this American
+girl, Miss Dumont, described in the papers submitted to them as
+"American companion to Marie, third daughter of Nicholas Romanoff,
+ex-Tzar."
+
+An officer came up, examined the papers, shrugged.
+
+"Very well," he said, "if authority is to be given this American lady
+to join the Romanoff family, now under detention, it is not my
+affair."
+
+But he, also, appeared to be perfectly good natured about the matter,
+accepting a cigarette from Estridge and glancing at the young woman in
+the ambulance as he lighted it.
+
+"You know," he remarked, "if it would interest you and the young
+lady, the Battalion of Death is over yonder in the birch woods."
+
+"The woman's battalion?" asked Estridge.
+
+"Yes. They make their debut to-day. Would you like to see them?
+They're going forward in a few minutes, I believe."
+
+Estridge nodded and walked back to the ambulance.
+
+"The woman's battalion is over in those birch woods, Miss Dumont.
+Would you care to walk over and see them before they leave for the
+front trenches?"
+
+The girl in furs said very gravely:
+
+"Yes, I wish to see women who are about to go into battle."
+
+She rose from the seat, laid a fur-gloved hand on his offered arm, and
+stepped down onto the snow.
+
+"To serve," she said, as they started together through the silver
+birches, following a trodden way, "is not alone the only happiness in
+life: it is the only reason for living."
+
+"I know you think so, Miss Dumont."
+
+"You also must believe so, who are here as a volunteer in Russia."
+
+"It's a little more selfish with me. I'm a medical student; it's a
+liberal education for me even to drive an ambulance."
+
+"There is only one profession nobler than that practised by the
+physician, who serves his fellow men," she said in a low, dreamy
+voice.
+
+"Which profession do you place first?"
+
+"The profession of those who serve God alone."
+
+"The priesthood?"
+
+"Yes. And the religious orders."
+
+"Nuns, too?" he demanded with the slightest hint of impatience in his
+pleasant voice.
+
+The girl noticed it, looked up at him and smiled slightly.
+
+"Had my dear Grand Duchess not asked for me, I should now he entering
+upon my novitiate among the Russian nuns.... And she, too, I think,
+had there been no revolution. She was quite ready a year ago. We
+talked it over. But the Empress would not permit it. And then came the
+trouble about the Deaconesses. That was a grave mistake----"
+
+She checked herself, then:
+
+"I do not mean to criticise the Empress, you understand."
+
+"Poor lady," he said, "such gentle criticism would seem praise to her
+now."
+
+They were walking through a pine belt, and in the shadows of that
+splendid growth the snow remained icy, so that they both slipped
+continually and she took his arm for security.
+
+"I somehow had not thought of you, Miss Dumont, as so austerely
+inclined," he said.
+
+She smiled: "Because I've been a cheerful companion--even gay? Well,
+my gaiety made my heart sing with the prospect of seeing again my
+dearest friend--my closest spiritual companion--my darling little
+Grand Duchess.... So I have been, naturally enough, good company on
+our three days' journey."
+
+He smiled: "I never suspected you of such extreme religious
+inclinations," he insisted.
+
+"Extreme?"
+
+"Well, a novice----" he hesitated. Then, "And you mean, ultimately, to
+take the black veil?"
+
+"Of course. I shall take it some day yet."
+
+He turned and looked at her, and the man in him felt the pity of it as
+do all men when such fresh, virginal youth as was Miss Dumont's turns
+an enraptured face toward that cloister door which never again opens
+on those who enter.
+
+Her arm rested warmly and confidently within his; the cold had made
+her cheeks very pink and had crisped the tendrils of her brown hair
+under the fur toque.
+
+"If," she said happily, "you have found in me a friend, it is because
+my heart is much too small for all the love I bear my fellow beings."
+
+"That's a quaint thing to say," he said.
+
+"It's really true. I care so deeply, so keenly, for my fellow beings
+whom God made, that there seemed only one way to express it--to give
+myself to God and pass my life in His service who made these fellow
+creatures all around me that I love."
+
+"I suppose," he said, "that is one way of looking at it."
+
+"It seemed to be the only way for me. I came to it by stages.... And
+first, as a child, I was impressed by the loveliness of the world and
+I used to sit for hours thinking of the goodness of God. And then
+other phases came--socialistic cravings and settlement work--but you
+know that was not enough. My heart was too full to be satisfied. There
+was not enough outlet."
+
+"What did you do then?"
+
+"I studied: I didn't know what I wanted, what I needed. I seemed lost;
+I was obsessed with a desire to aid--to be of service. I thought that
+perhaps if I travelled and studied methods----"
+
+She looked straight ahead of her with a sad little reflective smile:
+
+"I have passed by many strange places in the world.... And then I saw
+the little Grand Duchess at the Charity Bazaar.... We seemed to love
+each other at first glance.... She asked to have me for her
+companion.... They investigated.... And so I went to her."
+
+The girl's face became sombre and she bent her dark eyes on the snow
+as they walked.
+
+All the world was humming and throbbing with the thunder of the
+Russian guns. Flakes continually dropped from vibrating pine trees. A
+pale yellow haze veiled the sun.
+
+Suddenly Miss Dumont lifted her head:
+
+"If anything ever happens to part me from my friend," she said, "I
+hope I shall die quickly."
+
+"Are you and she so devoted?" he asked gravely.
+
+"Utterly. And if we can not some day take the vows together and enter
+the same order and the same convent, then the one who is free to do so
+is so pledged.... I do not think that the Empress will consent to the
+Grand Duchess Marie taking the veil.... And so, when she has no
+further need of me, I shall make my novitiate.... There are soldiers
+ahead, Mr. Estridge. Is it the woman's battalion?"
+
+He, also, had caught sight of them. He nodded.
+
+"It is the Battalion of Death," he said in a low voice. "Let's see
+what they look like."
+
+The girl-soldiers stood about carelessly, there in the snow among the
+silver birches and pines. They looked like boys in overcoats and boots
+and tall wool caps, leaning at ease there on their heavy rifles. Some
+were only fifteen years of age. Some had been servants, some
+saleswomen, stenographers, telephone operators, dressmakers, workers
+in the fields, students at the university, dancers, laundresses. And a
+few had been born into the aristocracy.
+
+They came, too, from all parts of the huge, sprawling Empire, these
+girl-soldiers of the Battalion of Death--and there were Cossack girls
+and gypsies among them--girls from Finland, Courland, from the Urals,
+from Moscow, from Siberia--from North, South, East, West.
+
+There were Jewesses from the Pale and one Jewess from America in the
+ranks; there were Chinese girls, Poles, a child of fifteen from
+Trebizond, a Japanese girl, a French peasant lass; and there were
+Finns, too, and Scandinavians--all with clipped hair under the
+astrakhan caps--sturdy, well shaped, soldierly girls who handled their
+heavy rifles without effort and carried a regulation equipment as
+though it were a sheaf of flowers.
+
+Their commanding officer was a woman of forty. She lounged in front of
+the battalion in the snow, consulting with half a dozen officers of a
+man's regiment.
+
+The colour guard stood grouped around the battalion colours, where its
+white and gold folds swayed languidly in the breeze, and clots of
+virgin snow fell upon it, shaken down from the pines by the
+cannonade.
+
+Estridge gazed at them in silence. In his man's mind one thought
+dominated--the immense pity of it all. And there was a dreadful
+fascination in looking at these girl soldiers, whose soft, warm flesh
+was so soon to be mangled by shrapnel and slashed by bayonets.
+
+"Good heavens," he muttered at last under his breath. "Was this
+necessary?"
+
+"The men ran," said Miss Dumont.
+
+"It was the filthy boche propaganda that demoralised them," rejoined
+Estridge. "I wonder--_are_ women more level headed? Is propaganda
+wasted on these girl soldiers? Are they really superior to the male
+of the species?"
+
+"I think," said Miss Dumont softly, "that their spiritual intelligence
+is deeper."
+
+"They see more clearly, morally?"
+
+"I don't know.... I think so sometimes.... We women, who are born
+capable of motherhood, seem to be fashioned also to realise Christ
+more clearly--and the holy mother who bore him.... I don't know if
+that's the reason--or if, truly, in us a little flame burns more
+constantly--the passion which instinctively flames more brightly
+toward things of the spirit than of the flesh.... I think it is true,
+Mr. Estridge, that, unless taught otherwise by men, women's
+inclination is toward the spiritual, and the ardour of her passion
+aspires instinctively to a greater love until the lesser confuses and
+perplexes her with its clamorous importunity."
+
+"Woman's love for man you call the lesser love?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, it is, compared to love for God," she said dreamily.
+
+Some of the girl-soldiers in the Battalion of Death turned their heads
+to look at this young girl in furs, who had come among them on the arm
+of a Red Cross driver.
+
+Estridge was aware of many bib brown eyes, many grey eyes, some blue
+ones fixed on him and on his companion in friendly or curious inquiry.
+They made him think of the large, innocent eyes of deer or channel
+cattle, for there was something both sweet and wild as well as honest
+in the gaze of these girl-soldiers.
+
+One, a magnificent blond six-foot creature with the peaches-and-cream
+skin of Scandinavia and the clipped gold hair of the northland,
+smiled at Miss Dumont, displaying a set of superb teeth.
+
+"You have come to see us make our first charge?" she asked in Russian,
+her sea-blue eyes all a-sparkle.
+
+Miss Dumont said "Yes," very seriously, looking at the girl's
+equipment, her blanket roll, gas-mask, boots and overcoat.
+
+Estridge turned to another girl-soldier:
+
+"And if you are made a prisoner?" he enquired in a low voice. "Have
+you women considered that?"
+
+"Nechevo," smiled the girl, who had been a Red Cross nurse, and who
+wore two decorations. She touched the red and black dashes of colour
+on her sleeve significantly, then loosened her tunic and drew out a
+tiny bag of chamois. "We all carry poison," she said smilingly. "We
+know the boche well enough to take that precaution."
+
+Another girl nodded confirmation. They were perfectly cheerful about
+it. Several others drew near and showed their little bags of poison
+slung around their necks inside their blouses. Many of them wore holy
+relics and medals also.
+
+Miss Dumont took Estridge's arm again and looked over at the big blond
+girl-soldier, who also had been smilingly regarding her, and who now
+stepped forward to meet them halfway.
+
+"When do you march to the first trenches?" asked Miss Dumont gravely.
+
+"Oh," said the blond goddess, "so you are English?" And she added in
+English: "I am Swedish. You have arrived just in time. I t'ink we go
+forward immediately."
+
+"God go with you, for Russia," said Miss Dumont in a clear, controlled
+voice.
+
+But Estridge saw that her dark eyes were suddenly brilliant with
+tears. The big blond girl-soldier saw it, too, and her splendid blue
+eyes widened. Then, somehow, she had stepped forward and taken Miss
+Dumont in her strong arms; and, holding her, smiled and gazed intently
+at her.
+
+"You must not grieve for us," she said. "We are not afraid. We are
+happy to go."
+
+"I know," said Palla Dumont; and took the girl-soldier's hands in
+hers. "What is your name?" she asked.
+
+"Ilse Westgard. And yours?"
+
+"Palla Dumont."
+
+"English? No?"
+
+"American."
+
+"Ah! One of our dear Americans! Well, then, you shall tell your
+countrymen that you have seen many women of many lands fighting rifle
+in hand, so that the boche shall not strangle freedom in Russia. Will
+you tell them, Palla?"
+
+"If I ever return."
+
+"You shall return. I, also, shall go to America. I shall seek for you
+there, pretty comrade. We shall become friends. Already I love you
+very dearly."
+
+She kissed Palla Dumont on both cheeks, holding her hands tightly.
+
+"Tell me," she said, "why you are in Russia, and where you are now
+journeying?"
+
+Palla looked at her steadily: "I am the American companion to the
+Grand Duchess Marie; and I am journeying to the village where the
+Imperial family is detained, because she has obtained permission for
+me to rejoin her."
+
+There was a short silence; the blue eyes of the Swedish girl had
+become frosty as two midwinter stars. Suddenly they glimmered warm
+again as twin violets:
+
+"Kharasho!" she said smiling. "And do you love your little comrade
+duchess?"
+
+"Next only to God."
+
+"That is very beautiful, Palla. She is a child to be enlightened.
+Teach her the greater truth."
+
+"She has learned it, Ilse."
+
+"_She_?"
+
+"Yes. And, if God wills it, she, and I also, take the vows some day."
+
+"The veil!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You! A nun!"
+
+"If God accepts me."
+
+The Swedish girl-soldier stood gazing upon her as though fascinated,
+crushing Palla's slim hands between her own.
+
+Presently she shook her head with a wearied smile:
+
+"That," she said, "is one thing I can not understand--the veil. No. I
+can understand _this_----" turning her head and glancing proudly
+around her at her girl comrades. "I can comprehend this thing that I
+am doing. But not what you wish to do, Palla. Not such service as you
+offer."
+
+"I wish to serve the source of all good. My heart is too full to be
+satisfied by serving mankind alone."
+
+The girl-soldier shook her head: "I try to understand. I can not. I am
+sorry, because I love you."
+
+"I love you, Ilse. I love my fellows."
+
+After another silence:
+
+"You go to the imperial family?" demanded Ilse abruptly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I wish to see you again. I shall try."
+
+The battalion marched a few moments later.
+
+It was rather a bad business. They went over the top with a cheer.
+Fifty answered roll call that night.
+
+However, the hun had learned one thing--that women soldiers were
+inferior to none.
+
+Russia learned it, too. Everywhere battalions were raised, uniformed,
+armed, equipped, drilled. In the streets of cities the girl-soldiers
+became familiar sights: nobody any longer turned to stare at them.
+There were several dozen girls in the officers' school, trying for
+commissions. In all the larger cities there were infantry battalions
+of girls, Cossack troops, machine gun units, signallers; they had a
+medical corps and transport service.
+
+But never but once again did they go into action. And their last stand
+was made facing their own people, the brain-crazed Reds.
+
+And after that the Battalion of Death became only a name; and the
+girl-soldiers bewildered fugitives, hunted down by the traitors who
+had sold out to the Germans at Brest-Litovsk.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+A door opened; the rush of foggy air set the flames of the altar
+candles blowing wildly. There came the clank of armed men.
+
+Then, in the dim light of the chapel, a novice sprang to her feet,
+brushing the white veil from her pallid young face.
+
+At that the ex-Empress, still kneeling, lifted her head from her
+devotions and calmly turned it, looking around over her right
+shoulder.
+
+The file of Red infantry advanced, shuffling slowly forward as though
+feeling their way through the candle-lit dusk across the stone floor.
+Their accoutrements clattered and clinked in the intense stillness. A
+slovenly officer, switching a thin, naked sword in his ungloved fist,
+led them. Another officer, carrying a sabre and marching in the rear,
+halted to slam and lock the heavy chapel door; then he ran forward to
+rejoin his men, while the chapel still reverberated with the echoes of
+the clanging door.
+
+A chair or two fell, pushed aside by the leading soldiers and hastily
+kicked out of the way as the others advanced more swiftly now. For
+there seemed to be some haste. These men were plainly in a hurry,
+whatever their business there might be.
+
+The Tzesarevitch, kneeling beside his mother, got up from his knees
+with visible difficulty. The Empress also rose, leisurely, supporting
+herself by one hand resting on the prie-dieu.
+
+Then several young girls, who had been kneeling behind her at their
+devotions, stood up and turned to stare at the oncoming armed men, now
+surrounding them.
+
+The officer carrying the naked sword, and reeking with fumes of
+brandy, counted these women in a loud, thick voice.
+
+"That's right," he said. "You're all present--one! two! three! four!
+five! six!--the whole accursed brood!" pointing waveringly with his
+sword from one to another.
+
+Then he laughed stupidly, leering out of his inflamed eyes at the five
+women who all wore the garbs of the Sisters of Mercy, their white
+coiffes and tabliers contrasting sharply with the sombre habits of the
+Russian nuns who had gathered in the candle-lit dusk behind them.
+
+"What do you wish?" demanded the ex-Empress in a fairly steady voice.
+
+"Answer to your names!" retorted the officer brutally. The other
+officer came up and began to fumble for a note book in the breast of
+his dirty tunic. When he found it he licked the lead of his pencil and
+squinted at the ex-Empress out of drunken eyes.
+
+"Alexandra Feodorovna!" he barked in her face. "If you're here, say
+so!"
+
+She remained calm, mute, cold as ice.
+
+A soldier behind her suddenly began to shout:
+
+"That's the German woman. That's the friend of the Staretz Novykh!
+That's Sascha! Now we've got her, the thing to do is to shoot
+her----"
+
+"Mark her present," interrupted the officer in command. "No
+ceremony, now. Mark the cub Romanoff present. Mark 'em all--Olga,
+Tatyana, Marie, Anastasia!--no matter which is which--they're all
+Romanoffs----"
+
+But the same soldier who had interrupted before bawled out again:
+"They're not Romanoffs! There are no German Romanoffs. There are no
+Romanoffs in Russia since a hundred and fifty years----"
+
+The little Tzesarevitch, Alexis, red with anger, stepped forward to
+confront the man, his frail hands fiercely clenched. The officer in
+command struck him brutally across the breast with the flat of his
+sword, shoved him aside, strode toward the low door of the chapel
+crypt and jerked it open.
+
+"Line them up!" he bawled. "We'll settle this Romanoff dispute once
+for all! Shove them into line! Hurry up, there!"
+
+But there seemed to be some confusion between the nuns and the
+soldiers, as the latter attempted to separate the ex-Empress and the
+young Grand Duchesses from the sisters.
+
+"What's all that trouble about!" cried the officer commanding. "Drive
+back those nuns, I tell you! They're Germans, too! They're Sascha's
+new Deaconesses! Kick 'em out of the way!"
+
+Then the novice, who had cried out in fear when the Red infantry first
+entered the chapel, forced her way out into the file formed by the
+Empress and her daughters.
+
+"There's a frightful mistake!" she cried, laying one hand on the arm
+of a young girl dressed, like the others, as a Sister of Mercy. "This
+woman is Miss Dumont, my American companion! Release her! =I= am the
+Grand Duchess Marie!"
+
+The girl, whose arm had been seized, looked at the young novice over
+her shoulder in a dazed way; then, suddenly her lovely face flushed
+scarlet; tears sprang to her eyes; and she said to the infuriated
+officer:
+
+"It is not true, Captain! I am the Grand Duchess Marie. She is trying
+to save me!"
+
+"What the devil is all this row!" roared the officer, who now came
+tramping and storming among the prisoners, switching his sword to and
+fro with ferocious impatience.
+
+The little Sister of Mercy, frightened but resolute, pointed at the
+novice, who still clutched her by the arm: "It is not true what she
+tells you," she repeated. "I am the Grand Duchess Marie, and this
+novice is my American companion, Miss Dumont, who loves me devotedly
+and who now attempts to sacrifice herself in my place----"
+
+"I _am_ the Grand Duchess Marie!" interrupted the novice excitedly.
+"This young girl dressed like a Sister of Mercy is only my American
+companion----"
+
+"Damnation!" yelled the officer. "I'll take you both, then!" But the
+girl in the Sister of Mercy's garb turned and violently pushed the
+novice from her so that she stumbled and fell on her knees among the
+nuns.
+
+Then, confronting the officer: "You Bolshevik dog," she said
+contemptuously, "don't you even know the daughter of your dead Emperor
+when you see her!" And she struck him across the face with her prayer
+book.
+
+As he recoiled from the blow a soldier shouted: "There's your proof!
+There's your insolent Romanoff for you! To hell with the whole litter!
+Shoot them!" Instantly a savage roar from the Reds filled that dim
+place; a soldier violently pushed the young Tzesarevitch into the file
+behind the Empress and held him there; the Grand Duchess Olga was
+flung bodily after him; the other children, in their hospital dresses,
+were shoved brutally toward their places, menaced by butt and
+bayonet.
+
+"March!" bawled the officer in command.
+
+But now, among the dark-garbed nuns, a slender white figure was
+struggling frantically to free herself:
+
+"You red dogs!" she cried in an agonised voice. "Let that English
+woman go! It is I you want! Do you hear! I mock at you! I mock at your
+resolution! Boje Tzaria Khrani! Down with the Bolsheviki!"
+
+A soldier turned and fired at her; the bullet smashed an ikon above
+her head.
+
+"I am the Grand Duchess Marie!" she sobbed. "I demand my place! I
+demand my fate! Let that American girl go! Do you hear what I say? Red
+beasts! Red beasts! I am the Grand Duchess!----"
+
+The officer who closed the file turned savagely and shook his heavy
+cavalry sabre at her: "I'll come back in a moment and cut your throat
+for you!" he yelled.
+
+Then, in the file, and just as the last bayonets were vanishing
+through the crypt door, one of the young girls turned and kissed her
+hand to the sobbing novice--a pretty gesture, tender, gay, not tragic,
+even almost mischievously triumphant.
+
+It was the adieu of the Grand Duchess Tatyana to the living world--her
+last glimpse of it through the flames of the altar candles gilding the
+dead Christ on his jewelled cross--the image of that Christ she was so
+soon to gaze upon when those lovely, mischievous young eyes of hers
+unclosed in Paradise....
+
+The door of the crypt slammed. A terrible silence reigned in the
+chapel.
+
+Then the novice uttered a cry, caught the foot of the cross with
+desperate hands, hung there convulsively.
+
+To her the Mother Superior turned, weeping. But at her touch the girl,
+crazed with grief, lifted both hands and tore from her own face the
+veil of her novitiate just begun;--tore her white garments from her
+shoulders, crying out in a strangled voice that if a Christian God let
+such things happen then He was no God of hers--that she would never
+enter His service--that the Lord Christ was no bridegroom for her;
+and, her novitiate was ended--ended together with every vow of
+chastity, of humility, of poverty, of even common humanity which she
+had ever hoped to take.
+
+The girl was now utterly beside herself; at one moment flaming and
+storming with fury among the terrified, huddling nuns; the next
+instant weeping, stamping her felt-shod foot in ungovernable revolt at
+this horror which any God in any heaven could permit.
+
+And again and again she called out on Christ to stop this thing and
+prove Himself a real God to a pagan world that mocked Him.
+
+Dishevelled, her rent veil in tatters on her naked shoulders, she
+sprang across the chapel to the crypt door, shook it, tore at it,
+seized chair after chair and shattered them to splinters against the
+solid panels of oak and iron.
+
+Then, suddenly motionless, she crouched and listened.
+
+"Oh, Mother of God!" she panted, "intervene now--_now_!--or never!"
+
+The muffled rattle of a rather ragged volley answered her prayer.
+
+Outside the convent a sentry--a Kronstadt sailor--stood. He also heard
+the underground racket. He nodded contentedly to himself. Other shots
+followed--pistol shots--singly.
+
+After a few moments a wisp of smoke from the crypt crept lazily out of
+the low oubliettes. The day was grey and misty; rain threatened; and
+the rifle smoke clung low to the withered grass, scarcely lifting.
+
+The sentry lighted a third cigarette, one eye on the barred
+oubliettes, from which the smoke crawled and spread out over the
+grass.
+
+After a while a sweating face appeared behind the bars and a
+half-stifled voice demanded why there was any delay about fetching
+quick-lime. And, still clinging to the bars with bloody fingers, he
+added:
+
+"There's a damned novice in the chapel. I promised to cut her throat
+for her. Go in and get her and bring her down here."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The novice was nowhere to be found.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+They searched the convent thoroughly; they went out into the garden
+and beat the shrubbery, kicking through bushes and saplings, their
+cocked rifles poised for a snap shot.
+
+Peasants, gathering there more thickly now, watched them stupidly; the
+throng increased in the convent grounds. Some Bolshevik soldiers
+pushed through the rapidly growing crowd and ran toward a birch wood
+east of the convent. Beyond the silvery fringe of birches, larger
+trees of a heavy, hard-wood forest loomed. Among these splendid trees
+a number of beeches were being felled on both sides of the road.
+
+"Did you see a White Nun run this way?" demanded the soldiers of the
+wood-cutters. The latter shook their heads:
+
+"Nothing has passed," they said seriously, "except some Ural Cossacks
+riding north like lost souls in a hurricane."
+
+An officer of the Red battalion, who had now hastened up with pistol
+swinging, flew into a frightful rage:
+
+"Cossacks!" he bellowed. "You cowardly dogs, what do you mean by
+letting Kaledines' horsemen gallop over you like that--you with your
+saws and axes--twenty lusty comrades to block the road and pull the
+Imperialists off their horses! Shame! For all I know you've let a
+Romanoff escape alive into the world! That's probably what you've
+done, you greasy louts!"
+
+The wood-cutters gaped stupidly; the Bolshevik officer cursed them
+again and gesticulated with his pistol. Other soldiers of the Red
+battalion ran up. One nudged the officer's elbow without saluting:
+
+"That other prisoner can't be found----"
+
+"What! That Swedish girl!" yelled the officer.
+
+Several soldiers began speaking excitedly:
+
+"While we were in the cellar, they say she ran away----"
+
+"Yes, Captain, while we were about that business in the crypt,
+Kaledines' horsemen rode up outside----"
+
+"Who saw them?" demanded the officer hoarsely. "God curse you, who saw
+them?"
+
+Some peasants had now come up. One of them began:
+
+"Your _honour_, I saw Prince Kaledines' riders----"
+
+"_Whose!_"
+
+"The Hetman's----"
+
+"Your _honour_! _Prince_ Kaledines! The Hetman! Damnation! Who do you
+think you are! Who do you think I am!" burst out the Red officer in a
+fury. "Get out of my way!----" He pushed the peasants right and left
+and strode away toward the convent. His soldiers began to straggle
+after him. One of them winked at the wood-cutters with his tongue in
+his cheek, and slung the rifle he carried over his right shoulder _en
+bandouliere_, muzzle downward.
+
+"The Tavarish is in a temper," he said with a jerk of his thumb
+toward the officer. "We arrested that Swedish girl in the uniform
+of the woman's battalion. One shoots that breed on sight, you know.
+But we were in such a hurry to finish with the Romanoffs----" He
+shrugged: "You see, comrades, we should have taken her into the crypt
+and shot her along with the Romanoffs. That's how one loses these
+birds--they're off if you turn your back to light a cigarette in
+the wind."
+
+One of the wood-cutters said: "Among Kaledines' horsemen were two
+women. One was crop-headed like a boy, and half naked."
+
+"A White Nun?"
+
+"God knows. She had some white rags hanging to her body, and dark hair
+clipped like a boy's."
+
+"That--was--she!" said the soldier with slow conviction. He turned and
+looked down the long perspective of the forest road. Only a raven
+stalked there all alone over the fallen leaves.
+
+"Certainly," he said, "that was our White Nun. The Cossacks took her
+with them. They must have ridden fast, the horsemen of Kaledines."
+
+"Like a swift storm. Like the souls of the damned," replied a
+peasant.
+
+The soldier shrugged: "If there's still a Romanoff loose in the
+world, God save the world!... And that big heifer of a Swedish
+wench!--she was a bad one, I tell you!--Took six of us to catch her
+and ten to hold her by her ten fingers and toes! Hey! God bless me,
+but she stands six feet and is made of steel cased in silk--all white,
+smooth and iron-hard--the blond young snow-tiger that she is!--the
+yellow-haired, six-foot, slippery beastess! God bless me--God bless
+me!" he muttered, staring down the wood-road to its vanishing point
+against the grey horizon.
+
+Then he hitched his slung rifle to a more comfortable position,
+turned, gazed at the convent across the fields, which his distant
+comrades were now approaching.
+
+"A German nest," he said aloud to himself, "full of their damned
+Deaconesses! Hey! I'll be going along to see what's to be done with
+them, also!"
+
+He nodded to the wood-cutters:
+
+"Vermin-killing time," he remarked cheerily. "After the dirty work is
+done, peace, land enough for everybody, ease and plenty and a full
+glass always at one's elbows--eh, comrades?"
+
+He strode away across the fields.
+
+It had begun to snow.
+
+
+
+
+ARGUMENT
+
+
+The Cossacks sang as they rode:
+
+                                   I
+
+                     "Life is against us
+                     We are born crying:
+                     Life that commenced us
+                     Leaves us all dying.
+                            We were born crying;
+                            We shall die sighing.
+
+                     "Shall we sit idle?
+                     Follow Death's dance!
+                     Pick up your bridle,
+                     Saddle and lance!
+                     Cossacks, advance!"
+
+They were from the Urals: they sat their shaggy little grey horses,
+lance in hand, stirrup deep in saddle paraphernalia--kit-bags, tents,
+blankets, trusses of straw, a dead fowl or two or a quarter of beef.
+And from every saddle dangled a balalaika and the terrible Cossack
+whip.
+
+The steel of their lances flashed red in the setting sun; snow whirled
+before the wind in blinding pinkish clouds, powdering horse and rider
+from head to heel.
+
+Again one rider unslung his balalaika, struck it, looking skyward as
+he rode:
+
+                    "Stars in your courses,
+                    This is our answer;
+                    Women and horses,
+                    Singer and dancer
+                             Fall to the lancer!
+                             That is your answer!
+
+                    "Though the Dark Raider
+                    Rob us of joy----
+                    Death, the Invader,
+                    Come to destroy----
+                    _Nichevo! Stoi!_"
+
+They rode into a forest, slowly, filing among the silver birches, then
+trotting out amid the pines.
+
+The Swedish girl towered in her saddle, dwarfing the shaggy pony. She
+wore her grey wool cap, overcoat, and boots. Pistols bulged in the
+saddle holsters; sacks of grain and a bag of camp tins lay across
+pommel and cantle.
+
+Beside her rode the novice, swathed to the eyes in a sheepskin
+greatcoat, and a fur cap sheltering her shorn head.
+
+Her lethargy--a week's reaction from the horrors of the convent--had
+vanished; and a feverish, restless alertness had taken its place.
+
+Nothing of the still, white novice was visible now in her brilliant
+eyes and flushed cheeks.
+
+Her tragic silence had given place to an unnatural loquacity; her
+grief to easily aroused mirth; and the dark sorrow in her haunted eyes
+was gone, and they grew brown and sunny and vivacious.
+
+She talked freely with her comrade, Ilse Westgard; she exchanged
+gossip and banter with the Cossacks, argued with them, laughed with
+them, sang with them.
+
+At night she slept in her sheepskin in Ilse Westgard's vigorous arms;
+morning, noon and evening she filled the samovar with snow beside
+Cossack fires, or in the rare cantonments afforded in wretched
+villages, where whiskered and filthy mujiks cringed to the Cossacks,
+whispering to one another: "There is no end to death; there is no end
+to the fighting and the dying, God bless us all. There is no end."
+
+In the glare of great fires in muddy streets she stood, swathed in her
+greatcoat, her cap pushed back, looking like some beautiful, impudent
+boy, while the Cossacks sang "Lada oy Lada!"--and let their slanting
+eyes wander sideways toward her, till her frank laughter set the
+singers grinning and the _gusli_ was laid aside.
+
+And once, after a swift gallop to cross a railroad and an exchange of
+shots with the Red guards at long range, the sotnia of the Wild
+Division rode at evening into a little hamlet of one short, miserable
+street, and shouted for a fire that could be seen as far as Moscow.
+
+That night they discovered vodka--not much--enough to set them
+singing first, then dancing. The troopers danced together in the
+fire-glare--clumsily, in their boots, with interims of the _pas
+seul_ savouring of the capers of those ancient Mongol horsemen in
+the _Hezars_ of Genghis Khan.
+
+But no dancing, no singing, no clumsy capers were enough to satisfy
+these riders of the Wild Division, now made boisterous by vodka and
+horse-meat. Gossip crackled in every group; jests flew; they shouted
+at the peasants; they roared at their own jokes.
+
+"Comrade novice!--Pretty boy with a shorn head!" they bawled.
+"Harangue us once more on law and love."
+
+She stood with legs apart and thumbs hooked in her belt, laughing at
+them across the fire. And all around crowded the wretched _mujiks_,
+peering at her through shaggy hair, out of little wolfish eyes.
+
+A Cossack shouted: "My law first! Land for all! That is what we have,
+we Cossacks! Land for the people, one and all--land for the _mujik_;
+land for the bourgeois; land for the aristocrat! That law solves all,
+clears all questions, satisfies all. It is the Law of Peace!"
+
+A Cossack shoved a soldier-deserter forward into the firelight. He
+wore a patch of red on his sleeve.
+
+"Answer, comrade! Is that the true law? Or have you and your comrades
+made a better one in Petrograd?"
+
+The deserter, a little frightened, tried to grin: "A good law is, kill
+all generals," he said huskily. "Afterward we shall have peace."
+
+A roar of laughter greeted him; these dark, thickset Cossacks with
+slanting eyes were from the Urals. What did they care how many
+generals were killed? Besides, their hetman had already killed
+himself.
+
+Their officer moved out into the firelight--a reckless rider but a
+dull brain--and stood lashing at his snow-crusted boots with the
+silver-mounted quirt.
+
+"Like gendarmes," he said, "we Cossacks are forever doing the dirty
+work of other people. Why? It begins to sicken me. Why are we forever
+executing the law! What law? Who made it? The Tzar. And he is dead,
+and what is the good of the law he made?
+
+"Why should free Cossacks be policemen any more when there is no law?
+
+"We played gendarme for the Monarchists. We answered the distress call
+of the Cadets and the bourgeoisie! Where are they? Where is the law
+they made?"
+
+He stood switching his dirty boots and swinging his heavy head right
+and left with the stupid, lowering menace of a bull.
+
+"Then came the Mensheviki with their law," he bellowed suddenly.
+"Again we became policemen, galloping to their whistle. Where are
+they? Where is their law?"
+
+He spat on the snow, twirled his quirt.
+
+"There is only one law to govern the land," he roared. "It is the law
+of hands off and mind your business! It's a good law."
+
+"A good law for those who already have something," cried a high, thin
+voice from the throng of peasants.
+
+The Cossacks, who all possessed their portion of land, yelled with
+laughter. One of them called out to the Swedish girl for her opinion,
+and the fair young giantess strode gracefully out into the fire-ring,
+her cap in her hand and the thick blond ringlets shining like gold on
+her beautiful head.
+
+"Listen! Listen to this soldier of the Death Battalion!" shouted the
+Cossacks in great glee. "She will tell us what the law should be!"
+
+She laughed: "We fought for it--we women soldiers," she said. "And the
+law we fought for was made when the first tyrant fell.
+
+"This is the law: Freedom of mind; liberty of choice; an equal chance
+for all; no violence; only orderly debate to determine the will of the
+land."
+
+A Cossack said loudly: "_Da volna!_ Those who have nothing would take,
+then, from those who have!"
+
+"I think not!" cried another,"--not in the Urals!"
+
+Thunderous laughter from their comrades and cries of, "Palla! Let us
+hear our pretty boy, who has made for the whole world a law."
+
+Palla Dumont, her slender hands thrust deep in her great coat sleeves,
+and standing like a nun lost in mystic revery, looked up with gay
+audacity--not like a nun at all, now, save for the virginal allure
+that seemed a part of the girl.
+
+"There is only one law, Tavarishi," she said, turning slightly from
+her hips as she spoke, to include those behind her in the circle: "and
+that law was not made by man. That law was born, already made, when
+the first man was born. It has never changed. It comprehends
+everything; includes everything and everybody; it solves all
+perplexity, clears all doubts, decides all questions.
+
+"It is a living law; it exists; it is the key to every problem; and it
+is all ready for you."
+
+The girl's face had altered; the half mischievous audacity in defiance
+of her situation--the gay, impudent confidence in herself and in these
+wild comrades of hers, had given place to something more serious, more
+ardent--the youthful intensity that smiles through the flaming
+enchantment of suddenly discovered knowledge.
+
+"It is the oldest of all laws," she said. "It was born perfect. It is
+yours if you accept it. And this law is the Law of Love."
+
+A peasant muttered: "One gives where one loves."
+
+The girl turned swiftly: "That is the soul of the Law!" she cried, "to
+give! Is there any other happiness, Tavarishi? Is there any other
+peace? Is there need of any other law?
+
+"I tell you that the Law of Love slays greed! And when greed dies, war
+dies. And hunger, and misery die, too!
+
+"Of what use is any government and its lesser laws and customs, unless
+it is itself governed by that paramount Law?
+
+"Of what avail are your religions, your churches, your priests, your
+saints, relics, ikons--all your candles and observances--unless
+dominated by that Law?
+
+"Of what use is your God unless that Law of Love also governs Him?"
+
+She stood gazing at the firelit faces, the virginal half-smile on her
+lips.
+
+A peasant broke the silence: "Is she a new saint, then?" he said
+distinctly.
+
+A Cossack nodded to her, grinning respectfully:
+
+"We always like your sermons, little novice," he said. And, to the
+others: "Nobody wishes to deny what she says is quite true"--he
+scratched his head, still grinning--"only--while there are Kurds in
+the world----"
+
+"And Bolsheviki!" shouted another.
+
+"True! And Turks! God bless us, Tavarishi," he added with a wry face,
+"it takes a stronger stomach to love these beasts than is mine----"
+
+In the sudden shout of laughter the girl, Palla, looked around at her
+comrade, Ilse.
+
+"Until each accepts the Law of Love," said the Swedish girl-soldier,
+laughing, "it can not be a law."
+
+"I have accepted it," said Palla gaily; but her childishly lovely
+mouth was working, and she clenched her hands in her sleeves to
+control the tremor.
+
+Silent, the smile still stamped on her tremulous lips, she stood for a
+few moments, fighting back the deep emotions enveloping her in surging
+fire--the same ardent and mystic emotions which once had consumed her
+at the altar's foot, where she had knelt, a novice, dreaming of
+beatitudes ineffable.
+
+If that vision, for her, was ended--its substance but the shadow of a
+dream--the passion that created it, the fire that purified it, the
+ardent heart that needed love--love sacred, love unalloyed--needed
+love still, burned for it, yearning to give.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+As she lifted her head and looked around her with dark eyes still a
+little dazed, there was a sudden commotion among the _mujiks_; a
+Cossack called out something in a sharp voice; their officer walked
+hastily out into the darkness; a shadowy rider spurred ahead of him.
+
+Suddenly a far voice shouted: "Who goes there! _Stoi!_"
+
+Then red flashes came out of the night; Cossacks ran for their horses;
+Ilse appeared with Palla's pony as well as her own, and halted to
+listen, the fearless smile playing over her face.
+
+"Mount!" cried many voices at once. "The Reds!"
+
+Palla flung herself astride her saddle; Ilse galloped beside her,
+freeing her pistols; everywhere in the starlight the riders of the
+Wild Division came galloping, loosening their long lances as they
+checked their horses in close formation.
+
+Then, with scarcely a sound in the unbroken snow, they filed away
+eastward at a gentle trot, under the pale lustre of the stars.
+
+
+
+
+THE CRIMSON TIDE
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+On the 7th of November, 1917, the Premier of the Russian Revolutionary
+Government was a hunted fugitive, his ministers in prison, his troops
+scattered or dead. Three weeks later, the irresponsible Reds had begun
+their shameful career of treachery, counselled by a pallid, black-eyed
+man with a muzzle like a mouse--one L. D. Bronstein, called Trotzky;
+and by two others--one a bald, smooth-shaven, rotund little man with
+an expression that made men hesitate, and features not trusted by
+animals and children.
+
+The Red Parliament called him Vladimir Ulianov, and that's what he
+called himself. He had proved to be reticent, secretive, deceitful,
+diligent, and utterly unhuman. His lower lip was shaped as though
+something dripped from it. Blood, perhaps. His eyes were brown and not
+entirely unattractive. But God makes the eyes; the mouth is fashioned
+by one's self.
+
+The world knew him as Lenine.
+
+The third man squinted. He wore a patch of sparse cat-hairs on his
+chin and upper lip.
+
+His head was too big; his legs too short, but they were always in a
+hurry, always in motion. He had a persuasive and ardent tongue, and
+practically no mind. The few ideas he possessed inclined him to
+violence--always the substitute for reason in this sort of agitator.
+It was this ever latent violence that proved persuasive. His name was
+Krylenko. His smile was a grin.
+
+These three men betrayed Christ on March 3d, 1918.
+
+On the Finland Road, outside of Petrograd, the Red ragamuffins held a
+perpetual carmagnole, and all fugitives danced to their piping, and
+many paid for the music.
+
+But though White Guards and Red now operated in respectively hostile
+gangs everywhere throughout the land, and the treacherous hun armies
+were now in full tide of their Baltic invasion, there still remained
+ways and means of escape--inconspicuous highways and unguarded roads
+still open that led out of that white hell to the icy but friendly
+seas clashing against the northward coasts.
+
+Diplomats were inelegantly "beating it." A kindly but futile
+Ambassador shook the snow of Petrograd from his galoshes and solemnly
+and laboriously vanished. Mixed bands of attaches, consular personnel,
+casuals, emissaries, newspaper men, and mission specialists scattered
+into unfeigned flight toward those several and distant sections of
+"God's Country," divided among civilised nations and lying far away
+somewhere in the outer sunshine.
+
+Sometimes White Guards caught these fugitives; sometimes Red Guards;
+and sometimes the hun nabbed them on the general hunnish principle
+that whatever is running away is fair game for a pot shot.
+
+Even the American Red Cross was "suspect"--treachery being alleged in
+its relations with Roumania; and hun and Bolshevik became very
+troublesome--so troublesome, in fact, that Estridge, for example, was
+having an impossible time of it, arrested every few days, wriggling
+out of it, only to be collared again and detained.
+
+Sometimes they questioned him concerning gun-running into Roumania;
+sometimes in regard to his part in conducting the American girl, Miss
+Dumont, to the convent where the imperial family had been detained.
+
+That the de facto government had requested him to undertake this
+mission and to employ an American Red Cross ambulance in the affair
+seemed to make no difference.
+
+He continued to be dogged, spied on, arrested, detained, badgered,
+until one evening, leaving the Smolny, he encountered an American--a
+slim, short man who smiled amiably upon him through his glasses,
+removed a cigar from his lips, and asked Estridge what was the nature
+of his evident and visible trouble.
+
+So they walked back to the hotel together and settled on a course of
+action during the long walk. What this friend in need did and how he
+did it, Estridge never learned; but that same evening he was
+instructed to pack up, take a train, and descend at a certain station
+a few hours later.
+
+Estridge followed instructions, encountered no interference, got off
+at the station designated, and waited there all day, drinking boiling
+tea.
+
+Toward evening a train from Petrograd stopped at the station, and from
+the open door of a compartment Estridge saw his chance acquaintance of
+the previous day making signs to him to get aboard.
+
+Nobody interfered. They had a long, cold, unpleasant night journey,
+wedged in between two soldiers wearing arm-bands, who glowered at a
+Russian general officer opposite, and continued to mutter to each
+other about imperialists, bourgeoisie, and cadets.
+
+At every stop they were inspected by lantern light, their papers
+examined, and sometimes their luggage opened. But these examinations
+seemed to be perfunctory, and nobody was detained.
+
+In the grey of morning the train stopped and some soldiers with red
+arm-bands looked in and insulted the general officer, but offered no
+violence. The officer gave them a stony glance and closed his cold,
+puffy eyes in disdain. He was blond and looked like a German.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+At the next stop Estridge received a careless nod from his chance
+acquaintance, gathered up his luggage and descended to the frosty
+platform.
+
+Nobody bothered to open their bags; their papers were merely glanced
+at. They had some steaming tea and some sour bread together.
+
+A little later a large sleigh drove up behind the station; their light
+baggage was stowed aboard, they climbed in under the furs.
+
+"Now," remarked his calm companion to Estridge, "we're all right if
+the Reds, the Whites and the boches don't shoot us up."
+
+"What are the chances?" inquired Estridge.
+
+"Excellent, excellent," said his companion cheerily, "I should say we
+have about one chance in ten to get out of this alive. I'll take
+either end--ten to one we don't get out--ten to two we're shot up and
+not killed--ten to three we are arrested but not killed--one to ten we
+pull through with whole skins."
+
+Estridge smiled. They remained silent, probably preoccupied with the
+hazards of their respective fortunes. It grew colder toward noon.
+
+The young man seated beside Estridge in the sleigh smoked continually.
+
+He was attached to one of the American missions sent into Russia by an
+optimistic administration--a mission, as a whole, foredoomed to
+political failure.
+
+In every detail, too, it had already failed, excepting only in that
+particular part played by this young man, whose name was Brisson.
+
+He, however, had gone about his occult business in a most amazing
+manner--the manner of a Yankee who knows what he wants and what his
+country ought to want if it knew enough to know it wanted it.
+
+He was the last American to leave Petrograd: he had taken his time; he
+left only when he was quite ready to leave.
+
+And this was the man, now seated beside Estridge, who had coolly and
+cleverly taken his sporting chance in remaining till the eleventh hour
+and the fifty-ninth minute in the service of his country. Then, as the
+twelfth hour began to strike, he bluffed his way through.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+During the first two or three days of sleigh travel, Brisson learned
+all he desired to know about Estridge, and Estridge learned almost
+nothing about Brisson except that he possessed a most unholy genius
+for wriggling out of trouble.
+
+Nothing, nobody, seemed able to block this young man's progress. He
+bluffed his way through White Guards and Red; he squirmed affably out
+of the clutches of wandering Cossacks; he jollied officials of all
+shades of political opinion; but he always continued his journey from
+one etape to the next. Also, he was continually lighting one large
+cigar after another. Buttoned snugly into his New York-made arctic
+clothing, and far more comfortable at thirty below zero than was
+Estridge in Russian costume, he smoked comfortably in the teeth of the
+icy gale or conversed soundly on any topic chosen. And the range was
+wide.
+
+But about himself and his mission in Russia he never conversed except
+to remark, once, that he could buy better Russian clothing in New York
+than in Petrograd.
+
+Indeed, his only concession to the customs of the country was in the
+fur cap he wore. But it was the galoshes of Manhattan that saved his
+feet from freezing. He had two pair and gave one to Estridge.
+
+During several hundreds of miles in sleighs, Brisson's constant regret
+was the absence of ferocious wolves. He desired to enjoy the whole
+show as depicted by the geographies. He complained to Estridge quite
+seriously concerning the lack of enterprise among the wolves.
+
+But there seemed to be no wolves in Russia sufficiently polite to
+oblige him; so he comforted himself by patting his stomach where,
+sewed inside his outer underclothing, reposed documents destined to
+electrify the civilised world with proof infernal of the treachery of
+those three men who belong in history and in hell to the fraternity
+which includes Benedict Arnold and Judas.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+One late afternoon, while smoking his large cigar and hopefully
+inspecting the neighbouring forest for wolves, this able young man
+beheld a sotnia of Ural Cossacks galloping across the snow toward the
+flying sleigh, where he and Estridge sat so snugly ensconced.
+
+There was, of course, only one thing to do, and that was to halt.
+Kaledines had blown his brains out, but his riders rode as swiftly as
+ever. So the sleigh stopped.
+
+And now these matchless horsemen of the Wild Division came galloping
+up around the sleigh. Brilliant little slanting eyes glittered under
+shaggy head-gear; broad, thick-lipped mouths split into grins at sight
+of the two little American flags fluttering so gaily on the sleigh.
+
+Then two booted and furred riders climbed out of their saddles, and,
+under their sheepskin caps, Brisson saw the delicate features of two
+young women, one a big, superb, blue-eyed girl; the other slim,
+dark-eyed, and ivory-pale.
+
+The latter said in English: "Could you help us? We saw the flags on
+your sleigh. We are trying to leave the country. I am American. My
+name is Palla Dumont. My friend is Swedish and her name is Ilse
+Westgard."
+
+"Get in, any way," said Brisson briskly. "We can't be in a worse mess
+than we are. I imagine it's the same case with you. So if we're all
+going to smash, it's pleasanter, I think, to go together."
+
+At that the Swedish girl laughed and aided her companion to enter the
+sleigh.
+
+"Good-bye!" she called in her clear, gay voice to the Cossacks. "When
+we come back again we shall ride with you from Vladivostok to Moscow
+and never see an enemy!"
+
+When the young women were comfortably ensconced in the sleigh, the
+riders of the Wild Division crowded their horses around them and
+shook hands with them English fashion.
+
+"When you come back," they cried, "you shall find us riding through
+Petrograd behind Korniloff!" And to Brisson and Estridge, in a
+friendly manner: "Come also, comrades. We will show you a monument
+made out of heads and higher than the Kremlin. That would be a funny
+joke and worth coming back to see."
+
+Brisson said pleasantly that such an exquisite jest would be well
+worth their return to Russia.
+
+Everybody seemed pleased; the Cossacks wheeled their shaggy mounts and
+trotted away into the woods, singing. The sleigh drove on.
+
+"This is very jolly," said Brisson cheerfully. "Wherever we're bound
+for, now, we'll all go together."
+
+"Is not America the destination of your long journey?" inquired the
+big, blue-eyed girl.
+
+Brisson chuckled: "Yes," he said, "but bullets sometimes shorten
+routes and alter destinations. I think you ought to know the worst."
+
+"If that's the worst, it's nothing to frighten one," said the Swedish
+girl. And her crystalline laughter filled the icy air.
+
+She put one persuasive arm around her slender, dark-eyed comrade:
+
+"To meet God unexpectedly is nothing to scare one, is it, Palla?" she
+urged coaxingly.
+
+The other reddened and her eyes flashed: "What God do you mean?" she
+retorted. "If I have anything to say about my destination after death
+I shall go wherever love is. And it does not dwell with the God or in
+the Heaven that we have been taught to desire and hope for."
+
+The Swedish girl patted her shoulder and smiled in good humoured
+deprecation at Brisson and Estridge.
+
+"God let her dearest friend die under the rifles of the Reds," she
+explained cheerfully, "and my little comrade can not reconcile this
+sad affair with her faith in Divine justice. So she concludes there
+isn't any such thing. And no Divinity." She shrugged: "That is what
+shakes the faith in youth--the seeming indifference of the Most
+High."
+
+Palla Dumont sat silent. The colour had died out in her cheeks, her
+dark, indifferent eyes became fixed.
+
+Estridge opened the fur collar of his coat and pulled back his fur
+cap.
+
+"Do you remember me?" he said to Ilse Westgard.
+
+The girl laughed: "Yes, I remember you, now!"
+
+To Palla Dumont he said: "And do _you_ remember?"
+
+At that she looked up incuriously; leaned forward slowly; gazed
+intently at him; then she caught both his hands in hers with a swift,
+sobbing intake of breath.
+
+"You are John Estridge," she said. "You took me to her in your
+ambulance!" She pressed his hands almost convulsively, and he felt her
+trembling under the fur robe.
+
+"Is it true," he said, "--that ghastly tragedy?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"All died?"
+
+"All."
+
+Estridge turned to Brisson: "Miss Dumont was companion to the Grand
+Duchess Marie," he said in brief explanation.
+
+Brisson nodded, biting his cigar.
+
+The Swedish girl-soldier said: "They were devoted--the little Grand
+Duchess and Palla.... It was horrible, there in the convent
+cellar--those young girls----" She gazed out across the snow; then,
+
+"The Reds who did it had already made me prisoner.... They arrested me
+in uniform after the decree disbanding us.... I was on my way to join
+Kaledines' Cossacks--a rendezvous.... Well, the Reds left me outside
+the convent and went in to do their bloody work. And I gnawed the rope
+and ran into the chapel to hide among the nuns. And there I saw a
+White Nun--quite crazed with grief----"
+
+"I had heard the volley that killed her," said Palla, in explanation,
+to nobody in particular. She sat staring out across the snow with dry,
+bright eyes.
+
+Brisson looked askance at her, looked significantly at the Swedish
+girl, Ilse Westgard: "And what happened then?" he inquired, with the
+pleasant, impersonal manner of a physician.
+
+Ilse said: "Palla had already begun her novitiate. But what happened
+in those terrible moments changed her utterly.... I think she went mad
+at the moment.... Then the Superior came to me and begged me to hide
+Palla because the Bolsheviki had promised to return and cut her throat
+when they had finished their bloody business in the crypt.... So I
+caught her up in my arms and I ran out into the convent grounds. And
+at that very moment, God be thanked, a sotnia of the Wild Division
+rode up looking for me. And they had led horses with them. And we were
+in the saddle and riding like maniacs before I could think. That is
+all, except, an hour ago we saw your sleigh."
+
+"You have been hiding with the Cossacks ever since!" exclaimed
+Estridge to Palla.
+
+"That is her history," replied Ilse, "and mine. And," she added
+cheerfully but tenderly, "my little comrade, here, is very, very
+homesick, very weary, very deeply and profoundly unhappy in the loss
+of her closest friend... and perhaps in the loss of her faith in
+God."
+
+"I am tranquil and I am not unhappy,"--said Palla. "And if I ever win
+free of this murderous country I shall, for the first time in my life,
+understand what the meaning of life really is. And shall know how to
+live."
+
+"You thought you knew how to live when you took the white veil," said
+Ilse cheerfully. "Perhaps, after all, you may make other errors before
+you learn the truth about it all. Who knows? You might even care to
+take the veil again----"
+
+"Never!" cried Palla in a clear, hard little voice, tinged with the
+scorn and anger of that hot revolt which sometimes shakes youth to the
+very source of its vitality.
+
+Ilse said very calmly to Estridge: "With me it is my reason and not
+mere hope that convinces me of God's existence. I try to reason with
+Palla because one is indeed to be pitied who has lost belief in
+God----"
+
+"You are mistaken," said Palla drily; "--one merely becomes one's self
+when once the belief in that sort of God is ended."
+
+Ilse turned to Brisson: "That," she said, "is what seems so impossible
+for some to accept--so terrible--the apparent indifference, the lack
+of explanation--God's dreadful reticence in this thunderous whirlwind
+of prayer that storms skyward day and night from our martyred world."
+
+Palla, listening, sat forward and said to Brisson: "There is only one
+religion and it has only two precepts--love and give! The rest--the
+forms, observances, creeds, ceremonies, threats, promises, are
+man-made trash!
+
+"If man's man-made God pleases him, let him worship him. That kind of
+deity does not please me. I no longer care whether He pleases me or
+not. He no longer exists as far as I am concerned."
+
+Brisson, much interested, asked Palla whether the void left by
+discredited Divinity did not bewilder her.
+
+"There is no void," said the girl. "It is already filled with my own
+kind of God, with millions of Gods--my own fellow creatures."
+
+"Your fellow beings?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You think your fellow creatures can fill that void?"
+
+"They have filled it."
+
+Brisson nodded reflectively: "I see," he said politely, "you intend to
+devote your life to the cult of your fellow creatures."
+
+"No, I do not," said the girl tranquilly, "but I intend to love them
+and live my life that way unhampered." She added almost fiercely: "And
+I shall love them the more because of their ignorant faith in an
+all-seeing and tender and just Providence which does not exist! I
+shall love them because of their tragic deception and their
+helplessness and their heart-breaking unconsciousness of it all."
+
+Ilse Westgard smiled and patted Palla's cheeks: "All roads lead
+ultimately to God," she said, "and yours is a direct route though you
+do not know it."
+
+"I tell you I have nothing in common with the God you mean," flashed
+out the girl.
+
+Brisson, though interested, kept one grey eye on duty, ever hopeful of
+wolves. It was snowing hard now--a perfect geography scene, lacking
+only the wolves; but the etape was only half finished. There might be
+hope.
+
+The rather amazing conversation in the sleigh also appealed to him,
+arousing all his instincts of a veteran newspaper man, as well as his
+deathless curiosity--that perpetual flame which alone makes any
+intelligence vital.
+
+Also, his passion for all documents--those sewed under his underclothes,
+as well as these two specimens of human documents--were now keeping
+his lively interest in life unimpaired.
+
+"Loss of faith," he said to Palla, and inclined toward further debate,
+"must be a very serious thing for any woman, I imagine."
+
+"I haven't lost faith in love," she said, smilingly aware that he was
+encouraging discussion.
+
+"But you say you have lost faith in spiritual love--"
+
+"I did not say so. I did not mean the other kind of love when I said
+that love is sufficient religion for me."
+
+"But spiritual love means Deity----"
+
+"It does _not_! Can you imagine the all-powerful father watching his
+child die, horribly--and never lifting a finger! Is that love? Is that
+power? _Is_ that Deity?"
+
+"To penetrate the Divine mind and its motives for not intervening is
+impossible for us----"
+
+"That is priest's prattle! Also, I care nothing now about Divine
+motives. Motives are human, not divine. So is policy. That is why the
+present Pope is unworthy of respect. He let his flock die. He deserted
+his Cardinal. He let the hun go unrebuked. He betrayed Christ. I care
+nothing about any mind weak enough, politic enough, powerless enough,
+to ignore love for motives!
+
+"One loves, or one does not love. Loving is giving--" The girl sat up
+in the sleigh and the thickening snowflakes drove into her flushed
+face. "Loving is giving," she repeated, "--giving life to love; giving
+_up_ life for love--giving! _giving!_ always giving!--always
+forgiving! That is love! That is the only God!--the indestructible,
+divine God within each one of us!"
+
+Brisson appraised her with keen and scholarly eyes. "Yet," he said
+pleasantly, "you do not forgive God for the death of your friend.
+Don't you practise your faith?"
+
+The girl seemed nonplussed; then a brighter tint stained her cheeks
+under the ragged sheepskin cap.
+
+"Forgive God!" she cried. "If there really existed that sort of God,
+what would be the use of forgiving what He does? He'd only do it
+again. That is His record!" she added fiercely, "--indifference to
+human agony, utter silence amid lamentations, stone deaf, stone dumb,
+motionless. It is not in me to fawn and lick the feet of such an
+image. No! It is not in me to believe it alive, either. And I do not!
+But I know that love lives: and if there be any gods at all, it must
+be that they are without number, and that their substance is of that
+immortality born inside us, and which we call love! Otherwise, to me,
+now, symbols, signs, saints, rituals, vows--these things, in my mind,
+are all scrapped together as junk. Only, in me, the warm faith
+remains--that within me there lives a god of sorts--perhaps that
+immortal essence called a soul--and that its only name is love. And it
+has given us only one law to live by--the Law of Love!"
+
+Brisson's cigar had gone out. He examined it attentively and found it
+would be worth relighting when opportunity offered.
+
+Then he smiled amiably at Palla Dumont:
+
+"What you say is very interesting," he remarked. But he was too polite
+to add that it had been equally interesting to numberless generations
+through the many, many centuries during which it all had been said
+before, in various ways and by many, many people.
+
+Lying back in his furs reflectively, and deriving a rather cold
+satisfaction from his cigar butt, he let his mind wander back through
+the history of theocracy and of mundane philosophy, mildly amused to
+recognize an ancient theory resurrected and made passionately original
+once more on the red lips of this young girl.
+
+But the Law of Love is not destined to be solved so easily; nor had it
+ever been solved in centuries dead by Egyptian, Mongol, or Greek--by
+priest or princess, prophet or singer, or by any vestal or acolyte of
+love, sacred or profane.
+
+No philosophy had solved the problem of human woe; no theory
+convinced. And Brisson, searching leisurely the forgotten corridors of
+treasured lore, became interested to realise that in all the history
+of time only the deeds and example of one man had invested the human
+theory of divinity with any real vitality--and that, oddly enough,
+what this girl preached--what she demanded of divinity--had been both
+preached and practised by that one man alone--Jesus Christ.
+
+Turning involuntarily toward Palla, he said: "Can't you believe in
+Him, either?"
+
+She said: "He was one of the Gods. But He was no more divine than any
+in whom love lives. Had He been more so, then He would still
+intervene to-day! He is powerless. He lets things happen. And we
+ourselves must make it up to the world by love. There is no other
+divinity to intervene except only our own hearts."
+
+But that was not, as the young girl supposed, her fixed faith,
+definite, ripened, unshakable. It was a phase already in process of
+fading into other phases, each less stable, less definite, and more
+dangerous than the other, leaving her and her ardent mind and heart
+always unconsciously drifting toward the simple, primitive and natural
+goal for which all healthy bodies are created and destined--the
+instinct of the human being to protect and perpetuate the race by the
+great Law of Love.
+
+Brisson's not unkindly cynicism had left his lips edged with a slight
+smile. Presently he leaned back beside Estridge and said in a low
+voice:
+
+"Purely pathological. Ardent religious instinct astray and running
+wild in consequence of nervous dislocations due to shock. Merely
+over-storage of superb physical energy. Intellectual and spiritual
+wires overcrowded. Too many volts.... That girl ought to have been
+married early. Only a lot of children can keep her properly occupied.
+Only outlet for her kind. Interesting case. Contrast to the Swedish
+girl. Fine, handsome, normal animal that. She could pick me up between
+thumb and finger. Great girl, Estridge."
+
+"She is really beautiful," whispered Estridge, glancing at Ilse.
+
+"Yes. So is Mont Blanc. That sort of beauty--the super-sort. But it's
+the other who is pathologically interesting because her wires are
+crossed and there's a short circuit somewhere. Who comes in contact
+with her had better look out."
+
+"She's wonderfully attractive."
+
+"She is. But if she doesn't disentangle her wires and straighten out
+she'll burn out.... What's that ahead? A wolf!"
+
+It was the rest house at the end of the etape--a tiny, distant speck
+on the snowy plain.
+
+Brisson leaned over and caught Palla's eye. Both smiled.
+
+"Well," he said, "for a girl who doesn't believe in anything, you seem
+cheerful enough."
+
+"I am cheerful because I _do_ believe in everything and in everybody."
+
+Brisson laughed: "You shouldn't," he said. "Great mistake. Trust in
+God and believe nobody--that's the idea. Then get married and close
+your eyes and see what God will send you!"
+
+The girl threw back her pretty head and laughed.
+
+"Marriage and priests are of no consequence," she said, "but I adore
+little children!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+They were a weary, half-starved and travel-stained quartette when the
+Red Guards stopped them for the last time in Russia and passed them
+through, warning them that the White Guards would surely do murder if
+they caught them.
+
+The next day the White Guards halted them, but finally passed them
+through, counselling them to keep out of the way of the Red Guards if
+they wished to escape being shot at sight.
+
+In the neat, shiny, carefully scrubbed little city of Helsingfors they
+avoided the huns by some miracle--one of Brisson's customary
+miracles--but another little company of Americans and English was
+halted and detained, and one harmless Yankee among them was arrested
+and packed off to a hun prison.
+
+Also, a large and nervous party of fugitives of mixed nationalities
+and professions--consuls, charges, attaches, and innocent, agitated
+citizens--was summarily grabbed and ordered into indefinite limbo.
+
+But Brisson's daily miracles continued to materialise, even in the
+land of the Finn. By train, by sleigh, by boat, his quartette
+floundered along toward safety, and finally emerged from the white
+hell of the Red people into the sub-arctic sun--Estridge with
+painfully scanty luggage, Palla Dumont with none at all, Ilse
+Westgard carrying only her Cossack saddle-bags, and Brisson with his
+damning papers still sewed inside his clothes, and owing Estridge ten
+dollars for not getting murdered.
+
+They all had become excellent comrades during those anxious days of
+hunger, fatigue and common peril, but they were also a little tired of
+one another, as becomes all friends when subjected to compulsory
+companionship for an unreasonable period.
+
+And even when one is beginning to fall in love, one can become
+surfeited with the beloved under such circumstances.
+
+Besides, Estridge's budding sentiment for Ilse Westgard, and her
+wholesome and girlish inclination for him, suffered an early chill.
+For the poor child had acquired trench pets from the Cossacks, and had
+passed on a few to Estridge, with whom she had been constantly seated
+on the front seat.
+
+Being the frankest thing in Russia, she told him with tears in her
+blue eyes; and they had a most horrid time of it before they came
+finally to a sanitary plant erected to attend to such matters.
+
+Episodes of that sort discourage sentiment; so does cold, hunger and
+discomfort incident on sardine-like promiscuousness.
+
+Nobody in the party desired to know more than they already knew
+concerning anybody else. In fact, there was little more to know,
+privacy being impossible. And the ever instinctive hostility of the
+two sexes, always and irrevocably latent, became vaguely apparent at
+moments.
+
+Common danger swept it away at times; but reaction gradually revealed
+again what is born under the human skin--the paradox called
+sex-antipathy. And yet the men in the party would not have hesitated
+to sacrifice their lives in defence of these women, nor would the
+women have faltered under the same test.
+
+Brisson was the philosophical stoic of the quartette. Estridge groused
+sometimes. Palla, when she thought herself unnoticed, camouflaged her
+face in her furs and cried now and then. And occasionally Ilse
+Westgard tried the patience of the others by her healthy capacity for
+unfeigned laughter--sometimes during danger-laden and inopportune
+moments, and once in the shocking imminence of death itself.
+
+As, for example, in a vile little village, full of vermin and typhus,
+some hunger-crazed peasants, armed with stolen rifles and ammunition,
+awoke them where they lay on the straw of a stable, cursed them for
+aristocrats, and marched them outside to a convenient wall, at the
+foot of which sprawled half a dozen blood-soaked, bayoneted and
+bullet-riddled landlords and land owners of the district.
+
+And things had assumed a terribly serious aspect when, to their
+foolish consternation, the peasants discovered that their purloined
+cartridges did not fit their guns.
+
+Then, in the very teeth of death, Ilse threw back her blond head and
+laughed. And there was no mistaking the genuineness of the girl's
+laughter.
+
+Some of their would-be executioners laughed too;--the hilarity spread.
+It was all over; they couldn't shoot a girl who laughed that way. So
+somebody brought a samovar; tea was boiled; and they all went back to
+the barn and sat there drinking tea and swapping gossip and singing
+until nearly morning.
+
+That was a sample of their narrow escapes. But Brisson's only comment
+before he went to sleep was that Estridge would probably owe him a
+dollar within the next twenty-four hours.
+
+They had a hair-raising time in Helsingfors. On one occasion, German
+officers forced Palla's door at night, and the girl became ill with
+fear while soldiers searched the room, ordering her out of bed and
+pushing her into a corner while they ripped up carpets and tore the
+place to pieces in a swinishly ferocious search for "information."
+
+But they did nothing worse to her, and, for some reason, left the
+hotel without disturbing Brisson, whose room adjoined and who sat on
+the edge of his bed with an automatic in each hand--a dangerous
+opportunist awaiting events and calmly determined to do some
+recruiting for hell if the huns harmed Palla.
+
+She never knew that. And the worst was over now, and the Scandinavian
+border not far away. And in twenty-four hours they were over--Brisson
+impatient to get his papers to Washington and planning to start for
+England on a wretched little packet-boat, in utter contempt of mines,
+U-boats, and the icy menace of the North Sea.
+
+As for the others, Estridge decided to cable and await orders in
+Copenhagen; Palla, to sail for home on the first available Danish
+steamer; Ilse, to go to Stockholm and eventually decide whether to
+volunteer once more as a soldier of the proletariat or to turn
+propagandist and carry the true gospel to America, where, she had
+heard, the ancient liberties of the great Democracy were becoming
+imperilled.
+
+The day before they parted company, these four people, so oddly thrown
+together out of the boiling cauldron of the Russian Terror, arranged
+to dine together for the last time.
+
+Theirs were the appetites of healthy wolves; theirs was the thirst of
+the marooned on waterless islands; and theirs, too, was the feverish
+gaiety of those who had escaped great peril by land and sea; and who
+were still physically and morally demoralized by the glare and the
+roar of the hellish conflagration which was still burning up the world
+around them.
+
+So they met in a private dining room of the hotel for dinner on the
+eve of separation.
+
+Brisson and Estridge had resurrected from their luggage the remains of
+their evening attire; Ilse and Palla had shopped; and they now
+included in a limited wardrobe two simple dinner gowns, among more
+vital purchases.
+
+There were flowers on the table, no great variety of food but plenty
+of champagne to make up--a singular innovation in apology for short
+rations conceived by the hotel proprietor.
+
+There was a victrola in the corner, too, and this they kept going to
+stimulate their nerves, which already were sufficiently on edge
+without the added fillip of music and champagne.
+
+"As for me," said Brisson, "I'm in sight of nervous dissolution
+already;--I'm going back to my wife and children, thank God--" he
+smiled at Palla. "I'm grateful to the God you don't believe in, dear
+little lady. And if He is willing, I'll report for duty in two weeks."
+He turned to Estridge:
+
+"What about you?"
+
+"I've cabled for orders but I have none yet. If they're through with
+me I shall go back to New York and back to the medical school I came
+from. I hate the idea, too. Lord, how I detest it!"
+
+"Why?" asked Palla nervously.
+
+"I've had too much excitement. You have too--and so have Ilse and
+Brisson. I'm not keen for the usual again. It bores me to contemplate
+it. The thought of Fifth Avenue--the very idea of going back to all
+that familiar routine, social and business, makes me positively ill.
+What a dull place this world will be when we're all at peace again!"
+
+"We won't be at peace for a long, long while," said Ilse, smiling. She
+lifted a goblet in her big, beautifully shaped hand and drained it
+with the vigorous grace of a Viking's daughter.
+
+"You think the war is going to last for years?" asked Estridge.
+
+"Oh, no; not this war. But the other," she explained cheerfully.
+
+"What other?"
+
+"Why, the greatest conflict in the world; the social war. It's going
+to take many years and many battles. I shall enlist."
+
+"Nonsense," said Brisson, "you're not a Red!"
+
+The girl laughed and showed her snowy teeth: "I'm one kind of Red--not
+the kind that sold Russia to the boche--but I'm very, very red."
+
+"Everybody with a brain and a heart is more or less red in these
+days," nodded Palla. "Everybody knows that the old order is
+ended--done for. Without liberty and equal opportunity civilisation is
+a farce. Everybody knows it except the stupid. And they'll have to be
+instructed."
+
+"Very well," said Brisson briskly, "here's to the universal but
+bloodless revolution! An acre for everybody and a mule to plough it!
+Back to the soil and to hell with the counting house!"
+
+They all laughed, but their brimming glasses went up; then Estridge
+rose to re-wind the victrola. Palla's slim foot tapped the parquet in
+time with the American fox-trot; she glanced across the table at
+Estridge, lifted her head interrogatively, then sprang up and slid
+into his arms, delighted.
+
+While they danced he said: "Better go light on that champagne, Miss
+Dumont."
+
+"Don't you think I can keep my head?" she demanded derisively.
+
+"Not if you keep up with Ilse. You're not built that way."
+
+"I wish I were. I wish I were nearly six feet tall and beautiful in
+every limb and feature as she is. What wonderful children she could
+have! What magnificent hair she must have had before she sheared it
+for the Woman's Battalion! Now it's all a dense, short mass of
+gold--she looks like a lovely boy who requires a barber."
+
+"Your hair is not unbecoming, either," he remarked, "--short as it is,
+it's a mop of curls and very fetching."
+
+"Isn't it funny?" she said. "I sheared mine for the sake of Mother
+Church; Ilse cut off hers for the honour of the Army! Now we're
+both out of a job--with only our cropped heads to show for the
+experience!--and no more army and no more church--at least, as far
+as I am concerned!"
+
+And she threw back hers with its thick, glossy curls and laughed,
+looking up at him out of her virginal brown eyes of a child.
+
+"I'm sorry I cut my hair," she added presently. "I look like a
+Bolshevik."
+
+"It's growing very fast," he said encouragingly.
+
+"Oh, yes, it grows fast," she nodded indifferently. "Shall we return
+to the table? I am rather thirsty."
+
+Ilse and Brisson were engaged in an animated conversation when they
+reseated themselves. The waiter arrived about that time with another
+course of poor food.
+
+Palla, disregarding Estridge's advice, permitted the waiter to refill
+her glass.
+
+"I can't eat that unappetising entree," she insisted, "and champagne,
+they say, is nourishing and I'm still hungry."
+
+"As you please," said Brisson; "but you've had two glasses already."
+
+"I don't care," she retorted childishly; "I mean to live to the utmost
+in future. For the first time in my silly existence I intend to be
+natural. I wonder what it feels like to become a little intoxicated?"
+
+"It feels rotten," remarked Estridge.
+
+"Really? _How_ rotten?" She laughed again, laid her hand on the
+goblet's stem and glanced across at him defiantly, mischievously.
+However, she seemed to reconsider the matter, for she picked up a
+cigarette and lighted it at a candle.
+
+"Bah!" she exclaimed with a wry face. "It stings!"
+
+But she ventured another puff or two before placing it upon a saucer
+among its defunct fellows.
+
+"Ugh!" she complained again with a gay little shiver, and bit into a
+pear as though to wash out the contamination of unaccustomed
+nicotine.
+
+"Where are you going when we all say good-bye?" inquired Estridge.
+
+"I? Oh, I'm certainly going home on the first Danish boat--home to
+Shadow Hill, where I told you I lived."
+
+"And you have nobody but your aunt?"
+
+"Only that one old lady."
+
+"You won't remain long at Shadow Hill," he predicted.
+
+"It's very pretty there. Why don't you think I am likely to remain?"
+
+"You won't remain," he repeated. "You've slipped your cable. You're
+hoisting sail. And it worries me a little."
+
+The girl laughed. "It's a pretty place, Shadow Hill, but it's dull.
+Everybody in the town is dull, stupid, and perfectly satisfied:
+everybody owns at least that acre which Ilse demands; there's no
+discontent at Shadow Hill, and no reason for it. I really couldn't
+bear it," she added gaily; "I want to go where there's healthy
+discontent, wholesome competition, natural aspiration--where things
+must be bettered, set right, helped. You understand? That is where I
+wish to be."
+
+Brisson heard her. "Can't you practise your loving but godless creed
+at Shadow Hill?" he inquired, amused. "Can't you lavish love on the
+contented and well-to-do?"
+
+"Yes, Mr. Brisson," she replied with sweet irony, "but where the poor
+and loveless fight an ever losing battle is still a better place for
+me to practise my godless creed and my Law of Love."
+
+"Aha!" he retorted, "--a brand new excuse for living in New York
+because all young girls love it!"
+
+"Indeed," she said with some little heat, "I certainly do intend to
+live and not to stagnate! I intend to live as hard as I can--live and
+enjoy life with all my might! Can one serve the world better than by
+loving it enough to live one's own life through to the last happy
+rags? Can one give one's fellow creatures a better example than to
+live every moment happily and proclaim the world good to live in, and
+mankind good to live with?"
+
+Ilse whispered, leaning near: "Don't take any more champagne, Palla."
+
+The girl frowned, then looked serious: "No, I won't," she said
+naively. "But it is wonderful how eloquent it makes one feel, isn't
+it?"
+
+And to Estridge: "You know that this is quite the first wine I have
+ever tasted--except at Communion. I was brought up to think it meant
+destruction. And afterward, wherever I travelled to study, the old
+prejudice continued to guide me. And after that, even when I began to
+think of taking the veil, I made abstinence one of my first
+preliminary vows.... And _look_ what I've been doing to-night!"
+
+She held up her glass, tasted it, emptied it.
+
+"There," she said, "I desired to shock you. I don't really want any
+more. Shall we dance? Ilse! Why don't you seize Mr. Brisson and make
+him two-step?"
+
+"Please seize me," added Brisson gravely.
+
+Ilse rose, big, fresh, smilingly inviting; Brisson inspected her
+seriously--he was only half as tall--then he politely encircled her
+waist and led her out.
+
+They danced as though they could not get enough of it--exhilaration
+due to reaction from the long strain during dangerous days.
+
+It was already morning, but they danced on. Palla's delicate
+intoxication passed--returned--passed--hovered like a rosy light in
+her brain, but faded always as she danced.
+
+There were snapping-crackers and paper caps; and they put them on and
+pelted each other with the drooping table flowers.
+
+Then Estridge went to the piano and sang an ancient song, called "The
+Cork Leg"--not very well--but well intended and in a gay and
+inoffensive voice.
+
+But Ilse sang some wonderful songs which she had learned in the
+Battalion of Death.
+
+And that is what was being done when a waiter knocked and asked
+whether they might desire to order breakfast.
+
+That ended it. The hour of parting had arrived.
+
+No longer bored with one another, they shook hands cordially,
+regretfully.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was not a very long time, as time is computed, before these four
+met again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+The dingy little Danish steamer _Elsinore_ passed in at dawn, her
+camouflage obscured by sea-salt, her few passengers still prostrated
+from the long battering administered by the giant seas of the northern
+route.
+
+A lone Yankee soldier was aboard--an indignant lieutenant of infantry
+named Shotwell--sent home from a fighting regiment to instruct the
+ambitious rookie at Camp Upton.
+
+He had hailed his assignment with delight, thankfully rid himself of
+his cooties, reported in Paris, reported in London; received orders to
+depart via Denmark; and, his mission there fullfilled, he had sailed
+on the _Elsinore_, already disenchanted with his job and longing to be
+back with his regiment.
+
+And now, surly from sea-sickness, worried by peace rumours, but still
+believing that the war would last another year and hopeful of getting
+back before it ended, he emerged from his stuffy quarters aboard the
+_Elsinore_ and gazed without enthusiasm at the minarets of Coney
+Island, now visible off the starboard bow.
+
+Near him, in pasty-faced and shaky groups, huddled his fellow
+passengers, whom he had not seen during the voyage except when lined
+up for life-drill.
+
+He had not wished to see them, either, nor, probably, had they
+desired to lavish social attentions on him or upon one another.
+
+These pallid, discouraged voyagers were few--not two dozen cabin
+passengers in all.
+
+Who they might be he had no curiosity to know; he had not exchanged
+ten words with any of them during the entire and nauseating voyage; he
+certainly did not intend to do so now.
+
+He favoured them with a savage glance and walked over to the port
+side--the Jersey side--where there seemed to be nobody except a tired
+Scandinavian sailor or two.
+
+In the grey of morning the Hook loomed up above the sea, gloomy as a
+thunder-head charged with lightning.
+
+After a while the batteries along the Narrows slipped into view.
+Farther on, camouflaged ships rode sullenly at anchor, as though
+ashamed of their frivolous and undignified appearance. A battleship
+was just leaving the Lower Bay, smoke pouring from every funnel.
+Destroyers and chasers rushed by them, headed seaward.
+
+Then, high over the shore mists and dimly visible through rising
+vapours, came speeding a colossal phantom.
+
+Vague as a shark's long shadow sheering translucent depths, the huge
+dirigible swept eastward and slid into the Long Island fog.
+
+And at that moment somebody walked plump into young Shotwell; and the
+soft, fragrant shock knocked the breath out of both.
+
+She recovered hers first:
+
+"I'm sorry!" she faltered. "It was stupid. I was watching the balloon
+and not looking where I was going. I'm afraid I hurt you."
+
+He recovered his breath, saluted ceremoniously, readjusted his
+overseas cap to the proper angle.
+
+Then he said, civilly enough: "It was my fault entirely. It was I who
+walked into you. I hope I didn't hurt you."
+
+They smiled, unembarrassed.
+
+"That was certainly a big dirigible," he ventured. "There are bigger
+Zeps, of course."
+
+"Are there really?"
+
+"Oh, yes. But they're not much good in war, I believe."
+
+She turned her trim, small head and looked out across the bay; and
+Shotwell, who once had had a gaily receptive eye for pulchritude,
+thought her unusually pretty.
+
+Also, the steady keel of the _Elsinore_ was making him feel more human
+now; and he ventured a further polite observation concerning the
+pleasures of homecoming after extended exile.
+
+She turned with a frank shake of her head: "It seems heartless to say
+so, but I'm rather sorry I'm back," she said.
+
+He smiled: "I must admit," he confessed, "that I feel the same way. Of
+course I want to see my people. But I'd give anything to be in France
+at this moment, and that's the truth!"
+
+The girl nodded her comprehension: "It's quite natural," she remarked.
+"One does not wish to come home until this thing is settled."
+
+"That's it exactly. It's like leaving an interesting play half
+finished. It's worse--it's like leaving an absorbing drama in which
+you yourself are playing an exciting role."
+
+She glanced at him--a quick glance of intelligent appraisal.
+
+"Yes, it must have seemed that way to you. But I've been merely one
+among a breathless audience.... And yet I can't bear to leave in the
+very middle--not knowing how it is to end. Besides," she added
+carelessly, "I have nobody to come back to except a rather remote
+relative, so my regrets are unmixed."
+
+There ensued a silence. He was afraid she was about to go, but
+couldn't seem to think of anything to say to detain her.
+
+For the girl was very attractive to a careless and amiably casual man
+of his sort--the sort who start their little journey through life with
+every intention of having the best kind of a time on the way.
+
+She was so distractingly pretty, so confidently negligent of
+convention--or perhaps disdainful of it--that he already was
+regretting that he had not met her at the beginning of the voyage
+instead of at the end.
+
+She had now begun to button up her ulster, as though preliminary to
+resuming her deck promenade. And he wanted to walk with her. But
+because she had chosen to be informal with him did not deceive him
+into thinking that she was likely to tolerate further informality on
+his part. And yet he had a vague notion that her inclinations were
+friendly.
+
+"I'm sorry," he said rather stupidly, "that I didn't meet you in the
+beginning."
+
+The slightest inclination of her head indicated that although possibly
+she might be sorry too, regrets were now useless. Then she turned up
+the collar of her ulster. The face it framed was disturbingly lovely.
+And he took a last chance.
+
+"And so," he ventured politely, "you have really been on board the
+_Elsinore_ all this time!"
+
+She turned her charming head toward him, considered him a moment; then
+she smiled.
+
+"Yes," she said; "I've been on board all the time. I didn't crawl
+aboard in mid-ocean, you know."
+
+The girl was frankly amused by the streak of boyishness in him--the
+perfectly transparent desire of this young man to detain her in
+conversation. And, still amused, she leaned back against the rail. If
+he wanted to talk to her she would let him--even help him. Why not?
+
+"Is that a wound chevron?" she inquired, looking at the sleeve of his
+tunic.
+
+"No," he replied gratefully, "it's a service stripe."
+
+"And what does the little cord around your shoulder signify?"
+
+"That my regiment was cited."
+
+"For bravery?"
+
+"Well--that was the idea, I believe."
+
+"Then you've been in action."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Over the top?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How many times?"
+
+"Several. Recently it's been more open work, you know."
+
+"And you were not hit?"
+
+"No."
+
+She regarded him smilingly: "You are like all soldiers have faced
+death," she said. "You are not communicative."
+
+At that he reddened. "Well, everybody else was facing it, too, you
+know. We all had the same experience."
+
+"Not all," she said, watching him. "Some died."
+
+"Oh, of course."
+
+The girl's face flushed and she nodded emphatically: "Of course! And
+_that_ is our Yankee secret;--embodied in those two words--'of
+course.' That is exactly why the boche runs away from our men. The
+boche doesn't know why he runs, but it is because you all say, 'of
+course!--of course we're here to kill and get killed. What of it? It's
+in the rules of the game, isn't it? Very well; we're playing the
+game!'
+
+"But the rules of the hun game are different. According to their
+rules, machine guns are not charged on. That is not according to plan.
+Oh, no! But it is in your rules of the game. So after the boche has
+killed a number of you, and you say, 'of course,' and you keep coming
+on, it first bewilders the boche, then terrifies him. And the next
+time he sees you coming he takes to his heels."
+
+Shotwell, amused, fascinated, and entirely surprised, began to laugh.
+
+"You seem to know the game pretty well yourself," he said. "You are
+quite right. That is the idea."
+
+"It's a wonderful game," she mused. "I can understand why you are not
+pleased at being ordered home."
+
+"It's rather rotten luck when the outfit had just been cited," he
+explained.
+
+"Oh. I should think you _would_ hate to come back!" exclaimed the
+girl, with frank sympathy.
+
+"Well, I was glad at first, but I'm sorry now. I'm missing a lot, you
+see."
+
+"Why did they send you back?"
+
+"To instruct rookies!" he said with a grimace. "Rather inglorious,
+isn't it? But I'm hoping I'll have time to weather this detail and get
+back again before we reach the Rhine."
+
+"I want to get back again, too," she reflected aloud, biting her lip
+and letting her dark eyes rest on the foggy statue of Liberty,
+towering up ahead.
+
+"What was your branch?" he inquired.
+
+"Oh, I didn't do anything," she exclaimed, flushing. "I've been in
+Russia. And now I must find out at once what I can do to be sent to
+France."
+
+"The war caught you over there, I suppose," he hazarded.
+
+"Yes.... I've been there since I was twenty. I'm twenty-four. I had a
+year's travel and study and then I became the American companion of
+the little Russian Grand Duchess Marie."
+
+"They all were murdered, weren't they?" he asked, much interested.
+
+"Yes.... I'm trying to forget----"
+
+"I beg your pardon----"
+
+"It's quite all right. I, myself, mentioned it first; but I can't talk
+about it yet. It's too personal----" She turned and looked at the
+monstrous city.
+
+After a silence: "It's been a rotten voyage, hasn't it?" he remarked.
+
+"Perfectly rotten. I was so ill I could scarcely keep my place during
+life-drill.... I didn't see you there," she added with a faint smile,
+"but I'm sure you were aboard, even if you seem to doubt that I was."
+
+And then, perhaps considering that she had been sufficiently amiable
+to him, she gave him his conge with a pleasant little nod.
+
+"Could I help you--do anything--" he began. But she thanked him with
+friendly finality.
+
+They sauntered in opposite directions; and he did not see her again to
+speak to her.
+
+Later, jolting toward home in a taxi, it occurred to him that it might
+have been agreeable to see such an attractively informal girl again.
+Any man likes informality in women, except among the women of his own
+household, where he would promptly brand it as indiscretion.
+
+He thought of her for a while, recollecting details of the episode and
+realising that he didn't even know her name. Which piqued him.
+
+"Serves me right," he said aloud with a shrug of finality. "I had more
+enterprise once."
+
+Then he looked out into the sunlit streets of Manhattan, all brilliant
+with flags and posters and swarming with prosperous looking
+people--his own people. But to his war-enlightened and disillusioned
+eyes his own people seemed almost like aliens; he vaguely resented
+their too evident prosperity, their irresponsible immunity, their
+heedless preoccupation with the petty things of life. The acres of
+bright flags fluttering above them, the posters that made a gay
+back-ground for the scene, the sheltered, undisturbed routine of peace
+seemed to annoy him.
+
+An odd irritation invaded him; he had a sudden impulse to stop his
+taxi and shout, "Fat-heads! Get into the game! Don't you know the
+world's on fire? Don't you know what a hun really is? You'd better
+look out and get busy!"
+
+Fifth Avenue irritated him--shops, hotels, clubs, motors, the
+well-dressed throngs began to exasperate him.
+
+On a side street he caught a glimpse of his own place of business; and
+it almost nauseated him to remember old man Sharrow, and the walls
+hung with plans of streets and sewers and surveys and photographs; and
+his own yellow oak desk----
+
+"Good Lord!" he thought. "If the war ends, have I got to go back to
+that!----"
+
+The family were at breakfast when he walked in on them--only two--his
+father and mother.
+
+In his mother's arms he suddenly felt very young and subdued, and very
+glad to be there.
+
+"Where the devil did you come from, Jim?" repeated his father, with
+twitching features and a grip on his son's strong hand that he could
+not bring himself to loosen.
+
+Yes, it was pretty good to get home, after all-- ... And he might not
+have come back at all. He realised it, now, in his mother's arms,
+feeling very humble and secure.
+
+His mother had realised it, too, in every waking hour since the day
+her only son had sailed at night--that had been the hardest!--at
+night--and at an unnamed hour of an unnamed day!--her only son--gone
+in the darkness----
+
+On his way upstairs, he noticed a red service flag bearing a single
+star hanging in his mother's window.
+
+He went into his own room, looked soberly around, sat down on the
+lounge, suddenly tired.
+
+He had three days' leave before reporting for duty. It seemed a
+miserly allowance. Instinctively he glanced at his wrist-watch. An
+hour had fled already.
+
+"The dickens!" he muttered. But he still sat there. After a while he
+smiled to himself and rose leisurely to make his toilet.
+
+"Such an attractively informal girl," he thought regretfully.
+
+"I'm sorry I didn't learn her name. Why didn't I?"
+
+Philosophy might have answered: "But to what purpose? No young man
+expects to pick up a girl of his own kind. And he has no business with
+other kinds."
+
+But Shotwell was no philosopher.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The "attractively informal girl," on whom young Shotwell was
+condescending to bestow a passing regret while changing his linen,
+had, however, quite forgotten him by this time. There is more
+philosophy in women.
+
+Her train was now nearing Shadow Hill; she already could see the
+village in its early winter nakedness--the stone bridge, the old-time
+houses of the well-to-do, Main Street full of automobiles and farmers'
+wagons, a crowded trolley-car starting for Deepdale, the county seat.
+
+After four years the crudity of it all astonished her--the stark
+vulgarity of Main Street in the sunshine, every mean, flimsy
+architectural detail revealed--the dingy trolley poles, the telegraph
+poles loaded with unlovely wires and battered little electric light
+fixtures--the uncompromising, unrelieved ugliness of street and
+people, of shop and vehicle, of treeless sidewalks, brick pavement,
+car rails, hydrants, and rusty gasoline pumps.
+
+Here was a people ignorant of civic pride, knowing no necessity for
+beauty, having no standards, no aspirations, conscious of nothing but
+the grosser material needs.
+
+The hopelessness of this American town--and there were thousands like
+it--its architectural squalor, its animal unconsciousness, shocked her
+after four years in lands where colour, symmetry and good taste are
+indigenous and beauty as necessary as bread.
+
+And the girl had been born here, too; had known no other home except
+when at boarding school or on shopping trips to New York.
+
+Painfully depressed, she descended at the station, where she climbed
+into one of the familiar omnibuses and gave her luggage check to the
+lively young driver.
+
+Several drummers also got in, and finally a farmer whom she recognised
+but who had evidently forgotten her.
+
+The driver, a talkative young man whom she remembered as an obnoxious
+boy who delivered newspapers, came from the express office with her
+trunk, flung it on top of the bus, gossiped with several station
+idlers, then leisurely mounted his seat and gathered up the reins.
+
+Rattling along the main street she became aware of changes--a brand
+new yellow brick clothing store--a dreadful Quick Lunch--a moving
+picture theatre--other monstrosities. And she saw familiar faces on
+the street.
+
+The drummers got out with their sample cases at the Bolton House--Charles
+H. Bolton, proprietor. The farmer descended at the "Par Excellence
+Market," where, as he informed the driver, he expected to dispose of a
+bull calf which he had finally decided "to veal."
+
+"Which way, ma'am?" inquired the driver, looking in at her through the
+door and chewing gum very fast.
+
+"To Miss Dumont's on Shadow Street."
+
+"Oh!..." Then, suddenly he knew her. "Say, wasn't you her niece?" he
+demanded.
+
+"I _am_ Miss Dumont's niece," replied Palla, smiling.
+
+"Sure! I didn't reckonise you. Used to leave the _Star_ on your
+doorstep! Been away, ain't you? Home looks kinda good to you, even if
+it's kinda lonesome--" He checked himself as though recollecting
+something else. "Sure! You been over in Rooshia livin' with the Queen!
+There was a piece in the _Star_ about it. Gee!" he added affably.
+"That was pretty soft! Some life, I bet!"
+
+And he grinned a genial grin and climbed into his seat, chewing
+rapidly.
+
+"He means to be friendly," thought the heart-sick girl, with a
+shudder.
+
+When Palla got out she spoke pleasantly to him as she paid him, and
+inquired about his father--a shiftless old gaffer who used, sometimes,
+to do garden work for her aunt.
+
+But the driver, obsessed by the fact that she had lived with the
+"Queen of Rooshia," merely grinned and repeated, "Pretty soft," and,
+shouldering her trunk, walked to the front door, chewing furiously.
+
+Martha opened the door, stared through her spectacles.
+
+"Land o' mercy!" she gasped. "It's Palla!" Which, in Shadow Hill, is
+the manner and speech of the "hired girl," whose "folks" are
+"neighbours" and not inferiors.
+
+"How do you do, Martha," said the girl smilingly; and offered her
+gloved hand.
+
+"Well, I'm so's to be 'round--" She wheeled on the man with the trunk:
+"Here, _you_! Don't go-a-trackin' mud all over my carpet like that!
+Wipe your feet like as if you was brought up respectful!"
+
+"Ain't I wipin' em?" retorted the driver, in an injured voice. "Now
+then, Marthy, where does this here trunk go to?"
+
+"Big room front--wait, young fellow; you just follow me and be careful
+don't bang the banisters----"
+
+Half way up she called back over her shoulder: "Your room's all ready,
+Palla--" and suddenly remembered something else and stood aside on the
+landing until the young man with the trunk had passed her; then waited
+for him to return and get himself out of the house. Then, when he had
+gone out, banging the door, she came slowly back down the stairs and
+met Palla ascending.
+
+"Where is my aunt?" asked Palla.
+
+And, as Martha remained silent, gazing oddly down at her through her
+glasses:
+
+"My aunt isn't ill, is she?"
+
+"No, she ain't ill. H'ain't you heard?"
+
+"Heard what?"
+
+"Didn't you get my letter?"
+
+"_Your_ letter? Why did _you_ write? What is the matter? Where is my
+aunt?" asked the disturbed girl.
+
+"I wrote you last month."
+
+"_What_ did you write?"
+
+"You never got it?"
+
+"No, I didn't! What has happened to my aunt?"
+
+"She had a stroke, Palla."
+
+"What! Is--is she dead!"
+
+"Six weeks ago come Sunday."
+
+The girl's knees weakened and she sat down suddenly on the stairs.
+
+"Dead? My Aunt Emeline?"
+
+"She had a stroke a year ago. It made her a little stiff in one leg.
+But she wouldn't tell you--wouldn't bother you. She was that proud of
+you living as you did with all those kings and queens. 'No,' sez she
+to me, 'no, Martha, I ain't a-goin' to worry Palla. She and the Queen
+have got their hands full, what with the wicked way those Rooshian
+people are behaving. No,' sez she, 'I'll git well by the time she
+comes home for a visit after the war----'"
+
+Martha's spectacles became dim. She seated herself on the stairs and
+wiped them on her apron.
+
+"It came in the night," she said, peering blindly at Palla.... "I
+wondered why she was late to breakfast. When I went up she was lying
+there with her eyes open--just as natural----"
+
+Palla's head dropped and she covered her face with both hands.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+There remained, now, nothing to keep Palla in Shadow Hill.
+
+She had never intended to stay there, anyway; she had meant to go to
+France.
+
+But already there appeared to be no chance for that in the scheme of
+things. For the boche had begun to squeal for mercy; the frightened
+swine was squirting life-blood as he rushed headlong for the home sty
+across the Rhine; his death-stench sickened the world.
+
+Thicker, ranker, reeked the bloody abomination in the nostrils of
+civilisation, where Justice strode ahead through hell's own
+devastation, kicking the boche to death, kicking him through Belgium,
+through France, out of Light back into Darkness, back, back to his
+stinking sty.
+
+The rushing sequence of events in Europe since Palla's arrival in
+America bewildered the girl and held in abeyance any plan she had
+hoped to make.
+
+The whole world waited, too, astounded, incredulous as yet of the
+cataclysmic debacle, slowly realising that the super-swine were but
+swine--maddened swine, devil driven. And that the Sea was very near.
+
+No romance ever written approached in wild extravagance the story of
+doom now unfolding in the daily papers.
+
+Palla read and strove to comprehend--read, laid aside her paper, and
+went about her own business, which alone seemed dully real.
+
+And these new personal responsibilities--now that her aunt was
+dead--must have postponed any hope of an immediate departure for
+France.
+
+Her inheritance under her aunt's will, the legal details, the
+inventory of scattered acreage and real estate, plans for their proper
+administration, consultations with an attorney, conferences with Mr.
+Pawling, president of the local bank--such things had occupied and
+involved her almost from the moment of her arrival home.
+
+At first the endless petty details exasperated her--a girl fresh from
+the tremendous tragedy of things where, one after another, empires
+were crashing amid the conflagration of a continent. And she could not
+now keep her mind on such wretched little personal matters while her
+heart battered passionately at her breast, sounding the exciting
+summons to active service.
+
+To concentrate her thoughts on mortgages and deeds when she was
+burning to be on her way to France--to confer power of attorney, audit
+bills for taxes, for up-keep of line fences, when she was mad to go to
+New York and find out how quickly she could be sent to France--such
+things seemed more than a girl could endure.
+
+In Shadow Hill there was scarcely anything to remind her that the fate
+of the world was being settled for all time.
+
+Only for red service flags here and there, here and there a burly
+figure in olive-drab swaggering along Main Street, nothing except
+war-bread, the shortage of coal and sugar, and outrageous prices
+reminded her that the terrific drama was still being played beyond
+the ocean to the diapason of an orchestra thundering from England to
+Asia and from Africa to the Arctic.
+
+But already the eternal signs were pointing to the end. She read the
+_Republican_ in the morning, the _Star_ at night. Gradually it became
+apparent to the girl that the great conflagration was slowly dying
+down beyond the seas; that there was to be no chance of her returning;
+that there was to be no need of her services even if she were already
+equipped to render any, and now, certainly, no time for her to learn
+anything which might once have admitted her to comradeship in the
+gigantic conflict between man and Satan. She was too late. The world's
+tragedy was almost over.
+
+With the signing of the armistice, all dreams of service ended
+definitely for her.
+
+False news of the suspension of hostilities should have, in a measure,
+prepared her. Yet, the ultimately truthful news that the war was over
+made her almost physically ill. For the girl's ardent religious
+fervour had consumed her emotional energy during the incessant
+excitement of the past three years. But now, for this natural ardour,
+there was no further employment. There was no outlet for mind or heart
+so lately on fire with spiritual fervour. God was no more; her friend
+was dead. And now the war had ended. And nobody in the world had any
+need of her--any need of this woman who needed the world--and
+love--spiritual perhaps, perhaps profane.
+
+The false peace demonstration, which set the bells of Shadow Hill
+clanging in the wintry air and the mill whistles blowing from distant
+villages, left her tired, dazed, indifferent. The later celebration,
+based on official news, stirred her spiritually even less. And she
+felt ill.
+
+There was a noisy night celebration on Main Street, but she had no
+desire to see it. She remained indoors reading the _Star_ in the
+sitting room with Max, the cat. She ate no dinner. She cried herself
+to sleep.
+
+However, now that the worst had come--as she naively informed the
+shocked Martha next morning--she began to feel relieved in a restless,
+feverish way.
+
+A healthful girl accumulates much bodily energy over night; Palla's
+passionate little heart and her active mind completed a storage
+battery very quickly charged--and very soon over-charged--and an
+outlet was imperative.
+
+Always, so far in her brief career, she had had adequate outlets. As a
+child she found satisfaction in violent exercises; in flinging herself
+headlong into every outdoor game, every diversion among the urchins of
+her circle. As a school girl her school sports and her studies, and
+whatever social pleasures were offered, had left the safety valve
+open.
+
+Later, mistress of her mother's modest fortune, and grown to restless,
+intelligent womanhood, Palla had gone abroad with a married
+school-friend, Leila Vance. Under her auspices she had met nice people
+and had seen charming homes in England--Colonel Vance being somebody
+in the county and even somebody in London--a diffident, reticent,
+agriculturally inclined land owner and colonel of yeomanry. And long
+ago dead in Flanders. And his wife a nurse somewhere in France.
+
+But before the war a year's travel and study had furnished the
+necessary outlet to Palla Dumont. And then--at a charity bazaar--a
+passionate friendship had flashed into sacred flame--a friendship born
+at sight between her and the little Grand Duchess Marie.
+
+War was beginning; Colonel Vance was dead; but imperial inquiry
+located Leila. And imperial inquiry was satisfied. And Palla became
+the American companion and friend of the youthful Grand Duchess Marie.
+For three years that blind devotion had been her outlet--that and
+their mutual inclination for a life to be dedicated to God.
+
+What was to be her outlet now?--now that the little Grand Duchess was
+dead--now that God, as she had conceived him, had ceased to exist for
+her--now that the war was ended, and nobody needed that warm young
+heart of hers--that ardent little heart so easily set throbbing with
+the passionate desire to give.
+
+The wintry sunlight flooded the familiar sitting room, setting potted
+geraniums ablaze, gilding the leather backs of old books, staining
+prisms on the crystal chandelier with rainbow tints, and causing Max,
+the family cat, to blink until the vertical pupils of his amber eyes
+seemed to disappear entirely.
+
+There was some snow outside--not very much--a wild bird or two among
+the naked apple trees; green edges, still, where snowy lawn and flower
+border met.
+
+And there was colour in the leafless shrubbery, too--wine-red stems of
+dogwood, ash-blue berry-canes, and the tangled green and gold of
+willows. And over all a pale cobalt sky, and a snow-covered hill,
+where, in the woods, crows sat cawing on the taller trees, and a slow
+goshawk sailed.
+
+A rich land, this, even under ice and snow--a rich, rolling land
+hinting of fat furrows and heavy grain; and of spicy, old-time gardens
+where the evenings were heavy with the scent of phlox and lilies.
+
+Palla, her hands behind her back, seeming very childish and slim in
+her black gown, stood searching absently among the books for
+something to distract her--something in harmony with the restless glow
+of hidden fires hot in her restless heart.
+
+But war is too completely the great destroyer, killing even the
+serener pleasures of the mind, corrupting normal appetite, dulling all
+interest except in what pertains to war.
+
+War is the great vandal, too, obliterating even that interest in the
+classic past which is born of respect for tradition. War slays all
+yesterdays, so that human interest lives only in the fierce and
+present moment, or blazes anew at thought of what may be to-morrow.
+
+Only the chronicles of the burning hour can hold human attention where
+war is. For last week is already a decade ago; and last year a dead
+century; but to-day is vital and to-morrow is immortal.
+
+It was so with Palla. Her listless eyes swept the ranks of handsome,
+old-time books--old favourites bound in gold and leather, masters of
+English prose and poetry gathered and garnered by her grand-parents
+when books were rare in Shadow Hill.
+
+Not even the modern masters appealed to her--masters of fiction
+acclaimed but yesterday; virile thinkers in philosophy, in science;
+enfranchised poets who had stridden out upon Olympus only yesterday to
+defy the old god's lightning with unshackled strophes--and sometimes
+unbuttoned themes.
+
+But it was with Palla as with others; she drifted back to the morning
+paper, wherein lay the interest of the hour. And nothing else
+interested her or the world.
+
+Martha announced lunch. Max accompanied her on her retreat to the
+kitchen. Palla loitered, not hungry, nervous and unquiet under the
+increasing need of occupation for that hot heart of hers.
+
+After a while she went out to the dining room, ate enough, endured
+Martha to the verge, and retreated to await the evening paper.
+
+Her attorney, Mr. Tiddley, came at three. They discussed quit-claims,
+mortgages, deeds, surveys, and reported encroachments incident to the
+decay of ancient landmarks. And the conversation maddened her.
+
+At four she put on a smart mourning hat and her black furs, and walked
+down to see the bank president, Mr. Pawling. The subject of their
+conversation was investments; and it bored her. At five she returned
+to the house to receive a certain Mr. Skidder--known in her childhood
+as Blinky Skidder, in frank recognition of an ocular peculiarity--a
+dingy but jaunty young man with a sheep's nose, a shrewd upper lip,
+and snapping red-brown eyes, who came breezily in and said: "Hello,
+Palla! How's the girl?" And took off his faded mackinaw uninvited.
+
+Mr. Skidder's business had once been the exploitation of farmers and
+acreage; his specialty the persuasion of Slovak emigrants into the
+acquisition of doubtful land. But since the war, emigrants were few;
+and, as honest men must live, Mr. Skidder had branched out into
+improved real estate and city lots. But the pickings, even here, were
+scanty, and loans hard to obtain.
+
+"I've changed my mind," said Palla. "I'm not going to sell this house,
+Blinky."
+
+"Well, for heaven's sake--ain't you going to New York?" he insisted,
+taken aback.
+
+"Yes, I am. But I've decided to keep my house."
+
+"That," said Mr. Skidder, snapping his eyes, "is silly sentiment, not
+business. But please yourself Palla. I ain't saying a word. I ain't
+trying to tell you I can get a lot more for you than your house is
+worth--what with values falling and houses empty and the mills letting
+men go because there ain't going to be any more war orders!--but
+please yourself, Palla. I ain't saying a word to urge you."
+
+"You've said several," she remarked, smilingly. "But I think I'll keep
+the house for the present, and I'm sorry that I wasted your time."
+
+"Please yourself, Palla," he repeated. "I guess you can afford to from
+all I hear. I guess you can do as you've a mind to, now.... So you're
+fixing to locate in New York, eh?"
+
+"I think so."
+
+"Live in a flat?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"What are you going to do in New York?" he asked curiously.
+
+"I'm sure I don't know. There'll be plenty to do, I suppose."
+
+"You bet," he said, blinking rapidly, "there's always something doing
+in that little old town." He slapped his knee: "Palla," he said, "I'm
+thinking of going into the movie business."
+
+"Really?"
+
+"Yes, I'm considering it. Slovaks and bum farms are played out.
+There's no money in Shadow Hill--or if there is, it's locked up--or
+the income tax has paralysed it. No, I'm through. There's nothing
+doing in land; no commissions. And I'm considering a quick getaway."
+
+"Where do you expect to go?"
+
+"Say, Palla, when you kiss your old home good-bye, there's only one
+place to go. Get me?"
+
+"New York?" she inquired, amused.
+
+"That's me! There's a guy down there I used to correspond with--a
+feller named Puma--Angelo Puma--not a regular wop, as you might say,
+but there's some wop in him, judging by his map--or Mex--or kike,
+maybe--or something. Anyway, he's in the moving picture business--The
+Ultra-Fillum Company. I guess there's a mint o' money in fillums."
+
+She nodded, a trifle bored.
+
+"I got a chance to go in with Angelo Puma," he said, snapping his
+eyes.
+
+"Really?"
+
+"You know, Palla, I've made a little money, too, since you been over
+there living with the Queen of Russia."
+
+"I'm very glad, Blinky."
+
+"Oh, it ain't much. And," he added shrewdly, "it ain't so paltry,
+neither. Thank the Lord, I made hay while the Slovaks lasted.... So,"
+he added, getting up from his chair, "maybe I'll see you down there in
+New York, some day----"
+
+He hesitated, his blinking eyes redly intent on her as she rose to her
+slim height.
+
+"Say, Palla."
+
+She looked at him inquiringly.
+
+"Ever thought of the movies?"
+
+"As an investment?"
+
+"Well--that, too. There's big money in it. But I meant--I mean--it
+strikes me you'd make a bird of a movie queen."
+
+The suggestion mildly amused her.
+
+"I mean it," he insisted. "Grab it from me, Palla, you've got the
+shape, and you got the looks and you got the walk and the ways and the
+education. You got something peculiar--like you had been born a rich
+swell--I mean you kinda naturally act that way--kinda cocksure of
+yourself. Maybe you got it living with that Queen----"
+
+Palla laughed outright.
+
+"So you think because I've seen a queen I ought to know how to act
+like a movie queen?"
+
+"Well," he said, picking up his hat, "maybe if I go in with Angelo
+Puma some day I'll see you again and we'll talk it over."
+
+She shook hands with him.
+
+"Be good," he called back as she closed the front door behind him.
+
+The early winter night had fallen over Shadow Hill. Palla turned on
+the electric light, stood for a while looking sombrely at the framed
+photographs of her father and mother, then, feeling lonely, went into
+the kitchen where Martha was busy with preparations for dinner.
+
+"Martha," she said, "I'm going to New York."
+
+"Well, for the land's sake----"
+
+"Yes, and I'm going day after to-morrow."
+
+"What on earth makes you act like a gypsy, Palla?" she demanded
+querulously, seasoning the soup and tasting it. "Your pa and ma wasn't
+like that. They was satisfied to set and rest a mite after being away.
+But you've been gone four years 'n more, and now you're up and off
+again, hippity-skip! clippity-clip!----"
+
+"I'm just going to run down to New York and look about. I want to look
+around and see what----"
+
+"That's _you_, Palla! That's what you allus was doing as a
+child--allus looking about you with your wide brown eyes, to see what
+you could see in the world!... You know what curiosity did to the
+cat?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Pinched her paw in the mouse-trap."
+
+"I'll be careful," said the girl, laughing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+In touch with his unexciting business again, after many months of
+glorious absence, and seated once more at his abhorred yellow-oak
+desk, young Shotwell discovered it was anything except agreeable for
+him to gather up the ravelled thrums of civilian life after the
+thrilling taste of service over seas.
+
+For him, so long accustomed to excitement, the zest of living seemed
+to die with the signing of the armistice.
+
+In fact, since the Argonne drive, all luck seemed to have deserted
+him; for in the very middle of operations he had been sent back to the
+United States as instructor; and there the armistice had now caught
+him. Furthermore, then, before he realised what dreadful thing was
+happening to him, he had been politely assigned to that vague limbo
+supposedly inhabited by a mythical organisation known as The Officers'
+Reserve Corps, and had been given indefinite leave of absence
+preliminary to being mustered out of the service of the United
+States.
+
+To part from his uniform was agonising, and he berated the fate that
+pried him loose from tunic and puttees. So disgusted was he that,
+although the Government allowed three months longer before discarding
+uniforms, he shed his in disgust for "cits."
+
+But James Shotwell, Jr., was not the only man bewildered and
+annoyed by the rapidity of events which followed the first days of
+demobilisation. Half a dozen other young fellows in the big real
+estate offices of Clarence Sharrow & Co. found themselves yanked out
+of uniform and seated once more at their familiar, uninviting desks
+of yellow oak--very young men, mostly, assigned to various camps of
+special three-month instruction; and now cruelly interrupted while
+scrambling frantically after commissions in machine-gun companies,
+field artillery, flying units, and tank corps.
+
+And there they were, back again at the old grind before they could
+realise their horrid predicament--the majority already glum and
+restless under the reaction, and hating Shotwell, who, among them all,
+had been the only man to cross the sea.
+
+This war-worn and envied veteran of a few months, perfectly aware that
+his military career had ended, was now trying to accept the situation
+and habituate himself to the loathly technique of commerce.
+
+Out of uniform, out of humour, out of touch with the arts of peace;
+still, at times, all a-quiver with the nervous shock of his
+experience, it was very hard for him to speak respectfully to Mr.
+Sharrow.
+
+As instructor to rookie aspirants he would have been somebody: he had
+already been somebody as a lieutenant of infantry in the thunderous
+scheme of things in the Argonne.
+
+But in the offices of Clarence Sharrow & Co. he was merely a rather
+nice-looking civilian subordinate, whose duties were to aid clients in
+the selection and purchase of residences, advise them, consult with
+them, make appointments to show them dwelling houses, vacant or still
+tenanted, and in every stage of repair or decrepitude.
+
+On the wall beside his desk hung a tinted map of the metropolis. Upon
+a table at his elbow were piled ponderous tomes depicting the Bronx in
+all its beauty, and giving details of suburban sewers. Other volumes
+contained maps of the fashionable residential district, showing every
+consecrated block and the exact location as well as the linear
+dimensions of every awesome residence and back yard from Washington
+Square to Yorkville.
+
+By referring to a note-book which he carried in his breast pocket,
+young Shotwell could inform any grand lady or any pompous or fussy
+gentleman what was the "asking price" of any particular residence
+marked for sale upon the diagrams of the ponderous tomes.
+
+Also--which is why Sharrow selected him for that particular
+job--clients liked his good manners and his engaging ways.
+
+The average client buys a freshly painted house in preference to a
+well-built one, but otherwise clamours always for a bargain. The
+richer the client the louder the clamour. And to such demands Shotwell
+was always sympathetic--always willing to inquire whether or not the
+outrageous price asked for a dwelling might possibly be "shaded" a
+little.
+
+It always could be shaded; but few clients knew that; and the
+majority, much flattered at their own business acumen, entertained
+kind feelings toward Sharrow & Co. and sentiments almost cordial
+toward young Shotwell when the "shading" process had proved to be
+successful.
+
+But the black-eye dealt the residential district long ago had not yet
+cleared up. Real property of that sort was still dull and inactive
+except for a flare-up now and then along Park Avenue and Fifth.
+
+War, naturally, had not improved matters; and, as far as the
+residential part of their business was concerned, Sharrow & Co.
+transacted the bulk of it in leasing apartments and, now and then, a
+private house, usually on the West Side.
+
+That morning, in the offices of Sharrow & Co., a few clients sat
+beside the desks of the various men who specialised in the particular
+brand of real estate desired: several neat young girls performed
+diligently upon typewriters; old man Sharrow stood at the door of his
+private office twirling his eyeglasses by the gold chain and urbanely
+getting rid of an undesirable visitor--one Angelo Puma, who wanted
+some land for a moving picture studio, but was persuasively unwilling
+to pay for it.
+
+He was a big man, too heavy, youngish, with plump olive skin, black
+hair, lips too full and too red under a silky moustache, and eyes that
+would have been magnificent in a woman--a Spanish dancer, for
+example--rich, dark eyes, softly brilliant under curling lashes.
+
+He seemed to covet the land and the ramshackle stables on it, but he
+wanted somebody to take back a staggering mortgage on the property.
+And Mr. Sharrow shook his head gently, and twirled his eyeglasses.
+
+"For me," insisted Puma, "I do not care. It is good property. I would
+pay cash if I had it. But I have not. No. My capital at the moment is
+tied up in production; my daily expenses, at present, require what
+cash I have. If your client is at all reasonable----"
+
+"He isn't," said Sharrow. "He's a Connecticut Yankee."
+
+For a moment Angelo Puma seemed crestfallen, then his brilliant smile
+flashed from every perfect tooth:
+
+"That is very bad for me," he said, buttoning-his showy overcoat.
+"Pardon me; I waste your time--" pulling on his gloves. "However, if
+your client should ever care to change his mind----"
+
+"One moment," said Sharrow, whose time Mr. Puma had indeed wasted at
+intervals during the past year, and who heartily desired to be rid of
+property and client: "Suppose you deal directly with the owner. We are
+not particularly anxious to carry the property; it's a little out of
+our sphere. Suppose I put you in direct communication with the
+owner."
+
+"Delighted," said Puma, flashing his smile and bowing from the waist;
+and perfectly aware that his badgering had bored this gentleman to the
+limit.
+
+"I'll write out his address for you," said Sharrow, "--one moment,
+please----"
+
+Angelo Puma waited, his glossy hat in one hand, his silver-headed
+stick and folded suede gloves in the other.
+
+Like darkly brilliant searchlights his magnificent eyes swept the
+offices of Sharrow & Co.; at a glance he appraised the self-conscious
+typists, surmised possibilities in a blond one; then, as a woman
+entered from the street, he rested his gaze upon her. And he kept it
+there.
+
+Even when Sharrow came out of his private office with the slip of
+paper, Angelo Puma's eyes still remained fastened upon the young girl
+who had spoken to a clerk and then seated herself in a chair beside
+the desk of James Shotwell, Jr.
+
+"The man's name," repeated Sharrow patiently, "is Elmer Skidder. His
+address is Shadow Hill, Connecticut."
+
+Puma turned to him as though confused, thanked him effusively, took
+the slip of paper, pulled on his gloves in a preoccupied way, and very
+slowly walked toward the street door, his eyes fixed on the girl who
+was now in animated conversation with young Shotwell.
+
+As he passed her she was laughing at something the young man had just
+said, and Puma deliberately turned and looked at her again--looked her
+full in the face.
+
+She was aware of him and of his bold scrutiny, of course--noticed his
+brilliant eyes, no doubt--but paid no heed to him--was otherwise
+preoccupied with this young man beside her, whom she had neither seen
+nor thought about since the day she had landed in New York from the
+rusty little Danish steamer _Elsinore_.
+
+And now, although he had meant nothing at all to her except an episode
+already forgotten, to meet him again had instantly meant something to
+her.
+
+For this man now represented to her a link with the exciting
+past--this young soldier who had been fresh from the furnace when she
+had met him on deck as the _Elsinore_ passed in between the forts in
+the grey of early morning.
+
+The encounter was exciting her a little, too, over-emphasising its
+importance.
+
+"Fancy!" she repeated, "my encountering you here and in civilian
+dress! Were you dreadfully disappointed by the armistice?"
+
+"I'm ashamed to say I took it hard," he admitted.
+
+"So did I. I had hoped so to go to France. And you--oh, I _am_ sorry
+for you. You were so disgusted at being detailed from the fighting
+line to Camp Upton! And now the war is over. What a void!"
+
+"You're very frank," he said. "We're supposed to rejoice, you know."
+
+"Oh, of course. I really do rejoice----"
+
+They both laughed.
+
+"I mean it," she insisted. "In my sober senses I am glad the war is
+over. I'd be a monster if I were not glad. But--_what_ is going to
+take its place? Because we must have something, you know. One can't
+endure a perfect void, can one?"
+
+Again they laughed.
+
+"It was such a tremendous thing," she explained. "I did want to be
+part of it before it ended. But of course peace is a tremendous thing,
+too----"
+
+And they both laughed once more.
+
+"Anybody overhearing us," she confided to him, "would think us mere
+beasts. Of course you are glad the war is ended: that's why you
+fought. And I'm glad, too. And I'm going to rent a house in New York
+and find something to occupy this void I speak of. But isn't it nice
+that I should come to you about it?"
+
+"Jolly," he said. "And now at last I'm going to learn your name."
+
+"Oh. Don't you know it?"
+
+"I wanted to ask you, but there seemed to be no proper opportunity----"
+
+"Of course. I remember. There seemed to be no reason."
+
+"I was sorry afterward," he ventured.
+
+That amused her. "You weren't really sorry, were you?"
+
+"I really was. I thought of you----"
+
+"Do you mean to say you remembered me after the ship docked?"
+
+"Yes. But I'm very sure you instantly forgot me."
+
+"I certainly did!" she admitted, still much amused at the idea. "One
+doesn't remember everybody one sees, you know," she went on
+frankly,"--particularly after a horrid voyage and when one's head is
+full of exciting plans. Alas! those wonderful plans of mine!--the
+stuff that dreams are made of. And here I am asking you kindly to find
+me a modest house with a modest rental.... And by the way," she added
+demurely, "my name is Palla Dumont."
+
+"Thank you," he said smilingly. "Do you care to know mine?"
+
+"I know it. When I came in and told the clerk what I wanted, he said I
+should see Mr. Shotwell."
+
+"James Shotwell, Jr.," he said gravely.
+
+"That _is_ amiable. You don't treasure malice, do you? I might merely
+have known you as _Mr._ Shotwell. And you generously reveal all from
+James to Junior."
+
+They were laughing again. Mr. Sharrow noticed them from his
+private office and congratulated himself on having Shotwell in his
+employment.
+
+"When may I see a house?" inquired Palla, settling her black-gloved
+hands in her black fox muff.
+
+"Immediately, if you like."
+
+"How wonderful!"
+
+He took out his note-book, glanced through several pages, asked her
+carelessly what rent she cared to pay, made a note of it, and resumed
+his study of the note-book.
+
+"The East Side?" he inquired, glancing at her with curiosity not
+entirely professional.
+
+"I prefer it."
+
+From his note-book he read to her the descriptions and situations of
+several twenty-foot houses in the zone between Fifth and Third
+Avenues.
+
+"Shall we go to see some of them, Mr. Shotwell? Have you, perhaps,
+time this morning?"
+
+"I'm delighted," he said. Which, far from straining truth, perhaps
+restrained it.
+
+So he got his hat and overcoat, and they went out together into the
+winter sunshine.
+
+Angelo Puma, seated in a taxi across the street, observed them. He
+wore a gardenia in his lapel. He might have followed Palla had she
+emerged alone from the offices of Sharrow & Co.
+
+Shotwell Junior had a jolly morning of it. And, if the routine proved
+a trifle monotonous, Palla, too, appeared to amuse herself.
+
+She inspected various types of houses, expensive and inexpensive,
+modern and out of date, well built and well kept and "jerry-built" and
+dirty.
+
+Prices and rents painfully surprised her, and she gave up any idea of
+renting a furnished house, and so informed Shotwell.
+
+So they restricted their inspection to three-story unfurnished and
+untenanted houses, where the neighbourhood was less pretentious and
+there was a better light in the rear.
+
+But they all were dirty, neglected, out of repair, destitute of decent
+plumbing and electricity.
+
+On the second floor of one of these Palla stood, discouraged,
+perplexed, gazing absently out, across a filthy back yard full of
+seedling ailanthus trees and rubbish, at the rear fire escapes on the
+tenements beyond.
+
+Shotwell, exploring the closely written pages of his note-book, could
+discover nothing desirable within the terms she was willing to make.
+
+"There's one house on our books," he said at last, "which came in only
+yesterday. I haven't had time to look at it. I don't even know where
+the keys are. But if you're not too tired----"
+
+Palla gave him one of her characteristic direct looks:
+
+"I'm not too tired, but I'm starved. I could go after lunch."
+
+"Fine!" he said. "I'm hungry, too! Shall we go to Delmonico's?"
+
+The girl seemed a trifle nonplussed. She had not supposed that
+luncheon with clients was included in a real estate transaction.
+
+She was not embarrassed, nor did the suggestion seem impertinent. But
+she said:
+
+"I had expected to lunch at the hotel."
+
+He reddened a little. Guilt shows its colors.
+
+"Had you rather?" he asked.
+
+"Why, no. I'd rather lunch with you at Delmonico's and talk houses."
+And, a little amused at this young man's transparent guile, she added:
+"I think it would be very agreeable for us to lunch together."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+She came from the dressing-room fresh and flushed as a slightly
+chilled rose, rejoining him in the lobby, and presently they were
+seated in the palm room with a discreet and hidden orchestra playing,
+"Oh! How I Hate To Get Up in the Morning," and rather busy with a
+golden Casaba melon between them.
+
+"Isn't this jolly!" he said, expanding easily, as do all young men in
+the warmth of the informal.
+
+"Very. What an agreeable business yours seems to be, Mr. Shotwell."
+
+"In what way?" he asked innocently.
+
+"Why, part of it is lunching with feminine clients, isn't it?"
+
+His close-set ears burned. She glanced up with mischief brilliant in
+her brown eyes. But he was busy with his melon. And, not looking at
+her:
+
+"Don't you want to know me?" he asked so clumsily that she hesitated
+to snub so defenceless a male.
+
+"I don't know whether I wish to," she replied, smiling slightly. "I
+hadn't aspired to it; I hadn't really considered it. I was thinking
+about renting a house."
+
+He said nothing, but, as the painful colour remained in his face, the
+girl decided to be a little kinder.
+
+"Anyway," she said, "I'm enjoying myself. And I hope you are."
+
+He said he was. But his voice and manner were so subdued that she
+laughed.
+
+"Fancy asking a girl such a question," she said. "You shouldn't ask a
+woman whether she doesn't want to know you. It would be irregular
+enough, under the circumstances, to say that you wanted to know her."
+
+"That's what I meant," he replied, wincing. "Would you consider it?"
+
+She could not disguise her amusement.
+
+"Yes; I'll consider it, Mr. Shotwell. I'll give it my careful
+attention. I owe you something, anyway."
+
+"What?" he asked uncertainly, prepared for further squelching.
+
+"I don't know exactly what. But when a man remembers a woman, and the
+woman forgets the man, isn't something due him?"
+
+"I think there is," he said so naively that Palla was unable to
+restrain her gaiety.
+
+"This is a silly conversation," she said, "--as silly as though I had
+accepted the cocktail you so thoughtfully suggested. We're both
+enjoying each other and we know it."
+
+"Really!" he exclaimed, brightening.
+
+His boyish relief--everything that this young man said to her--seemed
+to excite the girl to mirth. Perhaps she had been starved for laughter
+longer than is good for anybody. Besides, her heart was naturally
+responsive--opened easily--was easily engaged.
+
+"Of course I'm inclined to like you," she said, "or I wouldn't be here
+lunching with you and talking nonsense instead of houses----"
+
+"We'll talk houses!"
+
+"No; we'll _look_ at them--later.... Do you know it's a long, long
+time since I have laughed with a really untroubled heart?"
+
+"I'm sorry."
+
+"Yes, it isn't good for a girl. Sadness is a sickness--a physical
+disorganisation that infects the mind. It makes a strange emotion of
+love, too, perverting it to that mysticism we call religion--and
+wasting it.... I suppose you're rather shocked," she said smilingly.
+
+"No.... But have you no religion?"
+
+"Have you?"
+
+"Well--yes."
+
+"Which?"
+
+"Protestant.... Are you Catholic?"
+
+The girl rested her cheek on her hand and dabbed absently at her
+orange ice.
+
+"I was once," she said. "I was very religious--in the accepted sense
+of the term.... It came rather suddenly;--it seemed to be born as part
+of a sudden and close friendship with a girl--began with that
+friendship, I think.... And died with it."
+
+She sat quite silent for a while, then a tremulous smile edged her
+lips:
+
+"I had meant to take the veil," she said. "I did begin my novitiate."
+
+"Here?"
+
+"No, in Russia. There are a few foreign cloistered orders there....
+But I had a tragic awakening...." She bent her head and quoted softly,
+"'For the former things have passed away.'"
+
+The orange ice was melting; she stirred it idly, watching it
+dissolve.
+
+"No," she said, "I had utterly misunderstood the scheme of things.
+Divinity is not a sad, a solemn, a solitary autocrat demanding selfish
+tribute, blind allegiance, inexorable self-abasement. It is not an
+insecure tyrant offering bribery for the cringing, frightened
+servitude demanded."
+
+She looked up smilingly at the man: "Nor, within us, is there any soul
+in the accepted meaning,--no satellite released at death to revolve
+around or merge into some super-divinity. No!
+
+"For I believe,--I _know_--that the body--every one's body--is
+inhabited by a complete god, immortal, retaining its divine entity,
+beholden to no other deity save only itself, and destined to encounter
+in a divine democracy and through endless futures, unnumbered brother
+gods--the countless divinities which have possessed and shall possess
+those tenements of mankind which we call our bodies.... You do not, of
+course, subscribe to such a faith," she added, meeting his gaze.
+
+"Well----" He hesitated. She said:
+
+"Autocracy in heaven is as unthinkable, as unbelievable, and as
+obnoxious to me as is autocracy on earth. There is no such thing as
+divine right, here or elsewhere,--no divine prerogatives for tyranny,
+for punishment, for cruelty."
+
+"How did you happen to embrace such a faith?" he asked, bewildered.
+
+"I was sick of the scheme of things. Suffering, cruelty, death
+outraged my common sense. It is not in me to say, 'Thy will be done,'
+to any autocrat, heavenly or earthly. It is not in me to fawn on the
+hand that strikes me--or that strikes any helpless thing! No! And the
+scheme of things sickened me, and I nearly died of it----"
+
+She clenched her hand where it rested on the table, and he saw her
+face flushed and altered by the fire within. Then she smiled and
+leaned back in her chair.
+
+"In you," she said gaily, "dwells a god. In me a goddess,--a joyous
+one,--a divine thing that laughs,--a complete and free divinity that
+is gay and tender, that is incapable of tyranny, that loves all things
+both, great and small, that exists to serve--freely, not for
+reward--that owes allegiance and obedience only to the divine and
+eternal law within its own godhead. And that law is the law of
+love.... And that is my substitute for the scheme of things. Could you
+subscribe?"
+
+After a silence he quoted: "_Could you and I with Him conspire_----"
+
+She nodded: "'_To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire_----' But
+there is no '_Him_.' It's you and I.... Both divine.... Suppose we
+grasp it and '_shatter it to bits_.' Shall we?"
+
+"'_And then remould it nearer to the heart's desire?_'"
+
+"Remould it nearer to the logic of common sense."
+
+Neither spoke for a few moments. Then she drew a swift, smiling
+breath.
+
+"We're getting on rather rapidly, aren't we?" she said. "Did you
+expect to lunch with such a friendly, human girl? And will you now
+take her to inspect this modest house which you hope may suit her, and
+which, she most devoutly hopes may suit her, too?"
+
+"This has been a perfectly delightful day," he said as they rose.
+
+"Do you want me to corroborate you?"
+
+"Could you?"
+
+"I've had a wonderful time," she said lightly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+John Estridge, out of a job--as were a million odd others now arriving
+from France by every transport--met James Shotwell, Junior, one wintry
+day as the latter was leaving the real estate offices of Sharrow &
+Co.
+
+"The devil," exclaimed Estridge; "I supposed you, at least, were safe
+in the service, Jim! Isn't your regiment in Germany?"
+
+"It is," replied Shotwell wrathfully, shaking hands. "Where do you
+come from, Jack?"
+
+"From hell--via Copenhagen. In milder but misleading metaphor, I come
+from Holy Russia."
+
+"Did the Red Cross fire you?"
+
+"No, but they told me to run along home like a good boy and get my
+degree. I'm not an M.D., you know. And there's a shortage. So I had to
+come."
+
+"Same here; I had to come." And Shotwell, for Estridge's enlightenment,
+held a post-mortem over the premature decease of his promising military
+career.
+
+"Too bad," commented the latter. "It sure was exciting while it
+lasted--our mixing it in the great game. There's pandemonium to pay in
+Russia, now;--I rather hated to leave.... But it was either leave or
+be shot up. The Bolsheviki are impossible.... Are you walking up
+town?"
+
+They fell into step together.
+
+"You'll go back to the P. & S., I suppose," ventured Shotwell.
+
+"Yes. And you?"
+
+"Oh, I'm already nailed down to the old oaken desk. Sharrow's my boss,
+if you remember?"
+
+"It must seem dull," said Estridge sympathetically.
+
+"Rotten dull."
+
+"You don't mean business too, do you?"
+
+"Yes, that's also on the bum.... I did contrive to sell a small house
+the other day--and blew myself to this overcoat."
+
+"Is that so unusual?" asked Estridge, smiling,"--to sell a house in
+town?"
+
+"Yes, it's a miracle in these days. Tell me, Jack, how did you get on
+in Russia?"
+
+"Too many Reds. We couldn't do much. They've got it in for everybody
+except themselves."
+
+"The socialists?"
+
+"Not the social revolutionists. I'm talking about the Reds."
+
+"Didn't they make the revolution?"
+
+"They did not."
+
+"Well, who are the Reds, and what is it they want?"
+
+"They want to set the world on fire. Then they want to murder and
+rob everybody with any education. Then they plan to start things
+from the stone age again. They want loot and blood. That's really
+all they want. Their object is to annihilate civilisation by
+exterminating the civilised. They desire to start all over from
+first principles--without possessing any--and turn the murderous
+survivors of the human massacre into one vast, international pack of
+wolves. And they're beginning to do it in Russia."
+
+"A pleasant programme," remarked Shotwell. "No wonder you beat it,
+Jack. I recently met a woman who had just arrived from Russia. They
+murdered her best friend--one of the little Grand Duchesses. She
+simply can't talk about it."
+
+"That was a beastly business," nodded Estridge. "I happen to know a
+little about it."
+
+"Were _you_ in that district?"
+
+"Well, no,--not when that thing happened. But some little time
+before the Bolsheviki murdered the Imperial family I had occasion to
+escort an American girl to the convent where they were held under
+detention.... An exceedingly pretty girl," he added absently. "She
+was once companion to one of the murdered Imperial children."
+
+Shotwell glanced up quickly: "Her name, by any chance, doesn't happen
+to be Palla Dumont?"
+
+"Why, yes. Do you know her?"
+
+"I sold her that house I was telling you about. Do you know her well,
+Jack?"
+
+Estridge smiled. "Yes and no. Perhaps I know her better than she
+suspects."
+
+Shotwell laughed, recollecting his friend's inclination for analysing
+character and his belief in his ability to do so.
+
+"Same old scientific vivisectionist!" he said. "So you've been
+dissecting Palla Dumont, have you?"
+
+"Certainly. She's a type."
+
+"A charming one," added Shotwell.
+
+"Oh, very."
+
+"But you don't know her well--outside of having mentally vivisected
+her?"
+
+Estridge laughed: "Palla Dumont and I have been through some rather
+hair-raising scrapes together. And I'll admit right now that she
+possesses all kinds of courage--perhaps too many kinds."
+
+"How do you mean?"
+
+"She has the courage of her convictions and her convictions,
+sometimes, don't amount to much."
+
+"Go on and cut her up," said Shotwell, sarcastically.
+
+"That's the only fault I find with Palla Dumont," explained the
+other.
+
+"I thought you said she was a type?"
+
+"She is,--the type of unmarried woman who continually develops too
+much pep for her brain to properly take care of."
+
+"You mean you consider Palla Dumont neurotic?"
+
+"No. Nothing abnormal. Perhaps super-normal--pathologically speaking.
+Bodily health is fine. But over-secretion of ardent energy sometimes
+disturbs one's mental equilibrium. The result, in a crisis, is likely
+to result in extravagant behavior. Martyrs are made of such stuff, for
+example."
+
+"You think her a visionary?"
+
+"Well, her reason and her emotions sometimes become rather badly
+entangled, I fancy."
+
+"Don't everybody's?"
+
+"At intervals. Then the thing to do is to keep perfectly cool till the
+fit is over."
+
+"So you think her impulsive?"
+
+"Well, I should say so!" smiled Estridge. "Of course I mean nicely
+impulsive--even nobly impulsive.... But that won't help her. Impulse
+never helped anybody. It's a spoke in the wheel--a stumbling block--a
+stick to trip anybody.... Particularly a girl.... And Palla Dumont
+mistakes impulse for logic. She honestly thinks that she reasons." He
+smiled to himself: "A disturbingly pretty girl," he murmured, "with a
+tender heart ... which seems to do all her thinking for her.... How
+well do you know her, Jim?"
+
+"Not well. But I'm going to, I hope."
+
+Estridge glanced up interrogatively, suddenly remembering all the
+uncontradicted gossip concerning a tacit understanding between
+Shotwell, Jr., and Elorn Sharrow. It is true that no engagement had
+been announced; but none had been denied, either. And Miss Sharrow had
+inherited her mother's fortune. And Shotwell, Jr., made only a young
+man's living.
+
+"You ought to be rather careful with such a girl," he remarked
+carelessly.
+
+"How, careful?"
+
+"Well, she's rather perilously attractive, isn't she?" insisted
+Estridge smilingly.
+
+"She's extremely interesting."
+
+"She certainly is. She's rather an amazing girl in her way. More
+amazing than perhaps you imagine."
+
+"Amazing?"
+
+"Yes, even astounding."
+
+"For example?"
+
+"I'll give you an example. When the Reds invaded that convent and
+seized the Czarina and her children, Palla Dumont, then a novice of
+six weeks, attempted martyrdom by pretending that she herself was the
+little Grand Duchess Marie. And when the Reds refused to believe her,
+she demanded the privilege of dying beside her little friend. She even
+insulted the Reds, defied them, taunted them until they swore to
+return and cut her throat as soon as they finished with the Imperial
+family. And then this same Palla Dumont, to whom you sold a house in
+New York the other day, flew into an ungovernable passion; tried to
+batter her way into the cellar; shattered half a dozen chapel chairs
+against the oak door of the crypt behind which preparations for the
+assassination were taking place; then, helpless, called on God to
+interfere and put a stop to it. And, when deity, as usual, didn't
+interfere with the scheme of things, this girl tore the white veil
+from her face and the habit from her body and denounced as nonexistent
+any alleged deity that permitted such things to be."
+
+Shotwell gazed at Estridge in blank astonishment.
+
+"Where on earth did you hear all that dope?" he demanded incredulously.
+
+Estridge smiled: "It's all quite true, Jim. And Palla Dumont escaped
+having her slender throat slit open only because a sotnia of
+Kaladines' Cossacks cantered up, discovered what the Reds were up to
+in the cellar, and beat it with Palla and another girl just in the
+nick of time."
+
+"Who handed you this cinema stuff?"
+
+"_The other girl._"
+
+"You believe her?"
+
+"You can judge for yourself. This other girl was a young Swedish
+soldier who had served in the Battalion of Death. It's really cinema
+stuff, as you say. But Russia, to-day, is just one hell after another
+in an endless and bloody drama. Such picturesque incidents,--the
+wildest episodes, the craziest coincidences--are occurring by
+thousands every day of the year in Russia.... And, Jim, it was due to
+one of those daily and crazy coincidences that my sleigh, in which I
+was beating it for Helsingfors, was held up by that same sotnia of the
+Wild Division on a bitter day, near the borders of a pine forest.
+
+"And that's where I encountered Palla Dumont again. And that's where I
+heard--not from her, but from her soldier comrade, Ilse Westgard--the
+story I have just told you."
+
+For a while they continued to walk up and down in silence.
+
+Finally Estridge said: "_There_ was a girl for you!"
+
+"Palla Dumont!" nodded Shotwell, still too astonished to talk.
+
+"No, the other.... An amazing girl.... Nearly six feet; physically
+perfect;--what the human girl ought to be and seldom is;--symmetrical,
+flawless, healthy--a super-girl ... like some young daughter of the
+northern gods!... Ilse Westgard."
+
+"One of those women soldiers, you say?" inquired Shotwell, mildly
+curious.
+
+"Yes. There were all kinds of women in that Death Battalion. We saw
+them,--your friend Palla Dumont and I,--saw them halted and standing
+at ease in a birch wood; saw them marching into fire.... And there were
+all sorts of women, Jim; peasant, bourgeoise and aristocrat;--there
+were dressmakers, telephone operators, servant-girls, students, Red
+Cross nurses, actresses from the Marinsky, Jewesses from the Pale,
+sisters of the Yellow Ticket, Japanese girls, Chinese, Cossack,
+English, Finnish, French.... And they went over the top cheering for
+Russia!... They went over to shame the army which had begun to run from
+the hun.... Pretty fine, wasn't it?"
+
+"Fine!"
+
+"You bet!... After this war--after what women have done the world
+over--I wonder whether there are any asses left who desire to
+restrict woman to a 'sphere'?... I'd like to see Ilse Westgard again,"
+he added absently.
+
+"Was she a peasant girl?"
+
+"No. A daughter of well-to-do people. Quite the better sort, I should
+say. And she was more thoroughly educated than the average girl of our
+own sort.... A brave and cheerful soldier in the Battalion of
+Death.... Ilse Westgard.... Amazing, isn't it?"
+
+After another brief silence Shotwell ventured: "I suppose you'd find
+it agreeable to meet Palla Dumont again, wouldn't you?"
+
+"Why, yes, of course," replied the other pleasantly.
+
+"Then, if you like, she'll ask us to tea some day--after her new house
+is in shape."
+
+"You seem to be very sure about what Palla Dumont is likely to do,"
+said Estridge, smiling.
+
+"Indeed, I'm not!" retorted Shotwell, with emphasis. "Palla Dumont has
+a mind of her own,--although you don't seem to think so,----"
+
+"I think she has a _will_ of her own," interrupted the other, amused.
+
+"Glad you concede her _some_ mental attribute."
+
+"I do indeed! I never intimated that she is weak-willed. She isn't.
+Other and stronger wills don't dominate hers. Perhaps it would be
+better if they did sometimes....
+
+"But no; Palla Dumont arrives headlong at her own red-hot decisions.
+It is not the will of others that influences her; it is their
+indecision, their lack of willpower, their very weakness that seems to
+stimulate and vitally influence such a character as Palla Dumont's--"
+
+"--Such a _character_?" repeated Shotwell. "What sort of character do
+you suppose hers to be, anyway? Between you and your psychological
+and pathological surmises you don't seem to leave her any character at
+all."
+
+"I'm telling you," said Estridge, "that the girl is influenced not by
+the will or desire of others, but by their necessities, their
+distress, their needs.... Or what she believes to be their needs....
+And you may decide for yourself how valuable are the conclusions of an
+impulsive, wilful, fearless, generous girl whose heart regulates her
+thinking apparatus."
+
+"According to you, then, she is practically mindless," remarked
+Shotwell, ironically. "You medically minded gentlemen are wonders!--all
+of you."
+
+"You don't get me. The girl is clever and intelligent when her
+accumulated emotions let her brain alone. When they interfere, her
+logic goes to smash and she does exaggerated things--like trying to
+sacrifice herself for her friend in the convent there--like tearing
+off the white garments of her novitiate and denouncing deity!--like
+embracing an extravagant pantheistic religion of her own manufacture
+and proclaiming that the Law of Love is the only law!
+
+"I've heard the young lady on the subject, Jim. And, medically minded
+or not, I'm medically on to her."
+
+They walked on together in silence for nearly a whole block; then
+Estridge said bluntly:
+
+"She'd be better balanced if she were married and had a few children.
+Such types usually are."
+
+Shotwell made no comment. Presently the other spoke again:
+
+"The Law of Love! What rot! That's sheer hysteria. Follow that law and
+you become a saint, perhaps, perhaps a devil. Love sacred, love
+profane--both, when exaggerated, arise from the same physical
+condition--too much pep for the mind to distribute.
+
+"What happens? Exaggerations. Extravagances. Hallucinations.
+Mysticisms.
+
+"What results? Nuns. Hermits. Yogis. Exhorters. Fanatics. Cranks.
+_Sometimes._ For, from the same chrysalis, Jim, may emerge either a
+vestal, or one of those tragic characters who, swayed by this same
+remarkable Law of Love, may give ... and burn on--slowly--from the
+first lover to the next. And so, into darkness."
+
+He added, smiling: "The only law of love subscribed to by sane people
+is framed by a balanced brain and interpreted by common sense. Those
+who obey any other code go a-glimmering, saint and sinner, novice and
+Magdalene alike.... This is your street, I believe."
+
+They shook hands cordially.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+After dining _en famille_, Shotwell Junior considered the various
+diversions offered to young business men after a day of labour.
+
+There were theatres; there was the Club de Vingt and similar agreeable
+asylums; there was also a telephone to ring, and unpremeditated
+suggestions to make to friends, either masculine or feminine.
+
+Or he could read and improve his mind. Or go to Carnegie Hall with his
+father and mother and listen to music of sorts.... Or--he could call
+up Elorn Sharrow.
+
+He couldn't decide; and his parents presently derided him and departed
+music-ward without him. He read an evening paper, discarded it, poked
+the fire, stood before it, jingled a few coins and keys in his
+pocket, still undecided, still rather disinclined to any exertion,
+even as far as the club.
+
+"I wonder," he thought, "what that girl is doing now. I've a mind to
+call her up."
+
+He seemed to know whom he meant by "that girl." Also, it was evident
+that he did not mean Elorn Sharrow; for it was not her number he
+called and presently got.
+
+"Miss Dumont?"
+
+"Yes? Who is it?"
+
+"It's a mere nobody. It's only your broker----"
+
+"_What!!_"
+
+"Your real-estate broker----"
+
+"Mr. Shotwell! How absurd of you!"
+
+"Why absurd?"
+
+"Because I don't think of you merely as a real-estate broker."
+
+"Then you _do_ sometimes think of me?"
+
+"What power of deduction! What logic! You seem to be in a particularly
+frivolous frame of mind. Are you?"
+
+"No; I'm in a bad one."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I haven't a bally thing to do this evening."
+
+"That's silly!--with the entire town outside.... I'm glad you called
+me up, anyway. I'm tired and bored and exceedingly cross."
+
+"What are you doing, Miss Dumont?"
+
+"Absolutely and idiotically nothing. I'm merely sitting here on the
+only chair in this scantily furnished house, and trying to plan what
+sort of carpets, draperies and furniture to buy. Can you imagine the
+scene?"
+
+"I thought you had some things."
+
+"I haven't anything! Not even a decent mirror. I stand on the
+slippery edge of a bath tub to get a complete view of myself. And then
+it's only by sections."
+
+"That's tragic. Have you a cook?"
+
+"I have. But no dining room table. I eat from a tray on a packing
+case."
+
+"Have you a waitress?"
+
+"Yes, and a maid. They're comfortable. I bought their furniture
+immediately and also the batterie-de-cuisine. It's only I who slink
+about like a perplexed cat, from one empty room to another, in search
+of familiar comforts.... But I bought a sofa to-day.
+
+"It's a wonderful sofa. It's here, now. It's an antique. But I can't
+make up my mind how to upholster it."
+
+"Would you care for a suggestion?"
+
+"Please!"
+
+"Well, I'd have to see it----"
+
+"I thought you'd say that. Really, Mr. Shotwell, I'd like most awfully
+to see you, but this place is too uncomfortable. I told you I'd ask
+you to tea some day."
+
+"Won't you let me come down for a few moments this evening----"
+
+"No!"
+
+"--And pay you a formal little call----"
+
+"No.... Would you really like to?"
+
+"I would."
+
+"You wouldn't after you got here. There's nothing for you to sit on."
+
+"What about the floor?"
+
+"It's dusty."
+
+"What about that antique sofa?"
+
+"It's not upholstered."
+
+"What do I care! May I come?"
+
+"Do you really wish to?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"How soon?"
+
+"As fast as I can get there."
+
+He heard her laughing. Then: "I'll be perfectly delighted to see you,"
+she said. "I was actually thinking of taking to my bed out of sheer
+boredom. Are you coming in a taxi?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+He heard her laughing again.
+
+"Nothing," she answered, "--only I thought that might be the quickest
+way--" Her laughter interrupted her, "--to bring me the evening
+papers. I haven't a thing to read."
+
+"_That's_ why you want me to take a taxi!"
+
+"It is. News is a necessity to me, and I'm famishing.... What other
+reason could there be for a taxi? Did you suppose I was in a hurry to
+see you?"
+
+He listened to her laughter for a moment:
+
+"All right," he said, "I'll take a taxi and bring a book for myself."
+
+"And please don't forget my evening papers or I shall have to
+requisition your book.... Or possibly share it with you on the
+upholstered sofa.... And I read very rapidly and don't like being kept
+waiting for slower people to turn the page.... Mr. Shotwell?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"This is a wonderful floor. Could you bring some roller skates?"
+
+"No," he said, "but I'll bring a music box and we'll dance."
+
+"You're not serious----"
+
+"I am. Wait and see."
+
+"Don't do such a thing. My servants would think me crazy. I'm mortally
+afraid of them, too."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+He found a toy-shop on Third Avenue still open, and purchased a solemn
+little music-box that played ting-a-ling tunes.
+
+Then, in his taxi, he veered over to Fifth Avenue and Forty-second
+Street, where he bought roses and a spray of orchids. Then, adding to
+his purchases a huge box of bon-bons, he set his course for the three
+story and basement house which he had sold to Palla Dumont.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+Shotwell Senior and his wife were dining out that evening.
+
+Shotwell Junior had no plans--or admitted none, even to himself. He
+got into a bath and later into a dinner jacket, in an absent-minded
+way, and finally sauntered into the library wearing a vague scowl.
+
+The weather had turned colder, and there was an open fire there, and a
+convenient armchair and the evening papers.
+
+Perhaps the young gentleman had read them down town, for he shoved
+them aside. Then he dropped an elbow on the table, rested his chin
+against his knuckles, and gazed fiercely at the inoffensive _Evening
+Post_.
+
+Before any open fire any young man ought to be able to make up
+whatever mind he chances to possess. Yet, what to do with a winter
+evening all his own seemed to him a problem unfathomable.
+
+Perhaps his difficulty lay only in selection--there are so many
+agreeable things for a young man to do in Gotham Town on a winter's
+evening.
+
+But, oddly enough, young Shotwell was trying to persuade himself that
+he had no choice of occupation for the evening; that he really didn't
+care. Yet, always two intrusive alternatives continually presented
+themselves. The one was to change his coat for a spike-tail, his black
+tie for a white one, and go to the Metropolitan Opera. The other and
+more attractive alternative was _not_ to go.
+
+Elorn Sharrow would be at the opera. To appear, now and then, in the
+Sharrow family's box was expected of him. He hadn't done it recently.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+He dropped one lean leg over the other and gazed gravely at the fire.
+He was still trying to convince himself that he had no particular plan
+for the evening--that it was quite likely he might go to the opera or
+to the club--or, in fact, almost anywhere his fancy suggested.
+
+In his effort to believe himself the scowl came back, denting his
+eyebrows. Presently he forced a yawn, unsuccessfully.
+
+Yes, he thought he'd better go to the opera, after all. He ought to
+go.... It seemed to be rather expected of him.
+
+Besides, he had nothing else to do--that is, nothing in
+particular--unless, of course----
+
+But _that_ would scarcely do. He'd been _there_ so often recently....
+No, _that_ wouldn't do.... Besides it was becoming almost a habit with
+him. He'd been drifting there so frequently of late!... In fact, he'd
+scarcely been anywhere at all, recently, except--except where he
+certainly was not going that evening. And that settled it!... So he
+might as well go to the opera.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+His mother, in scarf and evening wrap, passing the library door on her
+way down, paused in the hall and looked intently at her only son.
+
+Recently she had been observing him rather closely and with a vague
+uneasiness born of that inexplicable sixth sense inherent in mothers.
+
+Perhaps what her son had faced in France accounted for the change in
+him;--for it was being said that no man could come back from such
+scenes unchanged;--none could ever again be the same. And it was being
+said, too, that old beliefs and ideals had altered; that everything
+familiar was ending;--and that the former things had already passed
+away under the glimmering dawn of a new heaven and a new earth.
+
+Perhaps all this was so--though she doubted it. Perhaps this son she
+had borne in agony might become to her somebody less familiar than the
+baby she had nursed at her own breast.
+
+But so far, to her, he continued to remain the same familiar baby she
+had always known--the same and utterly vital part of her soul and
+body. No sudden fulfilment of an apocalypse had yet wrought any occult
+metamorphosis in this boy of hers.
+
+And if he now seemed changed it was from that simple and familiar
+cause instinctively understood by mothers,--trouble!--the most ancient
+plague of all and the only malady which none escapes.
+
+She was a rather startlingly pretty woman, with the delicate features
+and colour and the snow-white hair of an 18th century belle. She
+stood, now, drawing on her gloves and watching her son out of
+dark-fringed deep blue eyes, until he glanced around uneasily. Then he
+rose at once, looking at her with fire-dazzled eyes.
+
+"Don't rise, dear," she said; "the car is here and your father is
+fussing and fuming in the drawing-room, and I've got to run.... Have
+you any plans for the evening?"
+
+"None, mother."
+
+"You're dining at home?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why don't you go to the opera to-night? It's the Sharrows' night."
+
+He came toward her irresolutely. "Perhaps I shall," he said. And
+instantly she knew he did not intend to go.
+
+"I had tea at the Sharrows'," she said, carelessly, still buttoning
+her gloves. "Elorn told me that she hadn't laid eyes on you for
+ages."
+
+"It's happened so.... I've had a lot of things to do----"
+
+"You and she still agree, don't you, Jim?"
+
+"Why, yes--as usual. We always get on together."
+
+Helen Shotwell's ermine wrap slipped; he caught it and fastened it for
+her, and she took hold of both his hands and drew his arms tightly
+around her pretty shoulders.
+
+"What troubles you, darling?" she asked smilingly.
+
+"Why, nothing, mother----"
+
+"Tell me!"
+
+"Really, there is nothing, dear----"
+
+"Tell me when you are ready, then," she laughed and released him.
+
+"But there isn't anything," he insisted.
+
+"Yes, Jim, there is. Do you suppose I don't know you after all these
+years?"
+
+She considered him with clear, amused eyes: "Don't forget," she added,
+"that I was only seventeen when you arrived, my son; and I have grown
+up with you ever since----"
+
+"For heaven's sake, Helen!--" protested Sharrow Senior plaintively
+from the front hall below. "Can't you gossip with Jim some other
+time?"
+
+"I'm on my way, James," she announced calmly. "Put your overcoat on."
+And, to her son: "Go to the opera. Elorn will cheer you up. Isn't that
+a good idea?"
+
+"That's--certainly--an idea.... I'll think it over.... And, mother, if
+I seem solemn at times, please try to remember how rotten every fellow
+feels about being out of the service----"
+
+Her gay, derisive laughter checked him, warning him that he was not
+imposing on her credulity. She said smilingly:
+
+"You have neglected Elorn Sharrow, and you know it, and it's on your
+conscience--whatever else may be on it, too. And that's partly why you
+feel blue. So keep out of mischief, darling, and stop neglecting
+Elorn--that is, if you ever really expect to marry her----"
+
+"I've told you that I have never asked her; and I never intend to ask
+her until I am making a decent living," he said impatiently.
+
+"Isn't there an understanding between you?"
+
+"Why--I don't think so. There couldn't be. We've never spoken of that
+sort of thing in our lives!"
+
+"I think she expects you to ask her some day. Everybody else does,
+anyway."
+
+"Well, that is the one thing I _won't_ do," he said, "--go about with
+the seat out of my pants and ask an heiress to sew on the patch for
+me----"
+
+"Darling! You _can_ be so common when you try!"
+
+"Well, it amounts to that--doesn't it, mother? I don't care what busy
+gossips say or idle people expect me to do! There's no engagement, no
+understanding between Elorn and me. And I don't care a hang what
+anybody----"
+
+His mother framed his slightly flushed face between her gloved hands
+and inspected him humorously.
+
+"Very well, dear," she said; "but you need not be so emphatically
+excited about it----"
+
+"I'm not excited--but it irritates me to be expected to do anything
+because it's expected of me--" He shrugged his shoulders:
+
+"After all," he added, "if I ever should fall in love with anybody
+it's my own business. And whatever I choose to do about it will be my
+own affair. And I shall keep my own counsel in any event."
+
+His mother stepped forward, letting both her hands fall into his.
+
+"Wouldn't you tell me about it, Jim?"
+
+"I'd tell you before I'd tell anybody else--if it ever became
+serious."
+
+"If _what_ became serious?"
+
+"Well--anything of that sort," he replied. But a bright colour stained
+his features and made him wince under her intent scrutiny.
+
+She was worried, now, though her pretty, humorous smile still
+challenged him with its raillery.
+
+But it was becoming very evident to her that if this boy of hers were
+growing sentimental over any woman the woman was not Elorn Sharrow.
+
+So far she had held her son's confidence. She must do nothing to
+disturb it. Yet, as she looked at him with the amused smile still
+edging her lips, she began for the first time in her life to be
+afraid.
+
+They kissed each other in silence.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the limousine, seated beside her husband, she said presently: "I
+wish Jim would marry Elorn Sharrow."
+
+"He's likely to some day, isn't he?"
+
+"I don't think so."
+
+"Well, there's no hurry," remarked her husband. "He ought not to marry
+anybody until he's thirty, and he's only twenty-four. I'm glad enough
+to have him remain at home with us."
+
+"But that's what worries me; he _doesn't_!"
+
+"Doesn't what?"
+
+"Doesn't remain at home."
+
+Her husband laughed: "Well, I meant it merely in a figurative sense.
+Of course Jim goes out----"
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Why, everywhere, I suppose," said her husband, a little surprised at
+her tone.
+
+She said calmly: "I hear things--pick up bits of gossip--as all women
+do.... And at a tea the other day a man asked me why Jim never goes to
+his clubs any more. So you see he doesn't go to any of his clubs when
+he goes 'out' in the evenings.... And he's been to no dances--judging
+from what is said to me.... And he doesn't go to see Elorn Sharrow any
+more. She told me that herself. So--where does he go?"
+
+"Well, but----"
+
+"Where _does_ he go--every evening?"
+
+"I'm sure I couldn't answer----"
+
+"Every evening!" she repeated absently.
+
+"Good heavens, Helen----"
+
+"And what is on that boy's mind? There's something on it."
+
+"His business, let us hope----"
+
+She shook her head: "I know my son," she remarked.
+
+"So do I. What is particularly troubling you, dear? There's something
+you haven't told me."
+
+"I'm merely wondering who that girl was who lunched with him at
+Delmonico's--_three times_--last week," mused his wife.
+
+"Why--she's probably all right, Helen. A man doesn't take the other
+sort there."
+
+"So I've heard," she said drily.
+
+"Well, then?"
+
+"Nothing.... She's very pretty, I understand.... And wears mourning."
+
+"What of it?" he asked, amused. She smiled at him, but there was a
+trace of annoyance in her voice.
+
+"Don't you think it very natural that I should wonder who any girl is
+who lunches with my son three times in one week?... And is remarkably
+pretty, besides?"
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The girl in question looked remarkably pretty at that very moment,
+where she sat at her desk, the telephone transmitter tilted toward
+her, the receiver at her ear, and her dark eyes full of gayest
+malice.
+
+"Miss Dumont, please?" came a distant and familiar voice over the
+wire. The girl laughed aloud; and he heard her.
+
+"You _said_ you were not going to call me up."
+
+"Is it _you_, Palla?"
+
+"How subtle of you!"
+
+He said anxiously. "Are you doing anything this evening--by any
+unhappy chance----"
+
+"I am."
+
+"Oh, hang it! What _are_ you doing?"
+
+"How impertinent!"
+
+"You know I don't mean it that way----"
+
+"I'm not sure. However, I'll be kind enough to tell you what I'm
+doing. I'm sitting here at my desk, listening to an irritable young
+man----"
+
+"That's wonderful luck!" he exclaimed joyously.
+
+"Wonderful luck for a girl to sit at a desk and listen to an irritable
+young man?"
+
+"If you'll stop talking bally nonsense for a moment----"
+
+"If you bully me, I shall stop talking altogether!"
+
+"For heaven's sake----"
+
+"I hear you, kind sir; you need not shout!"
+
+He said humbly: "Palla, would you let me drop in----"
+
+"Drop into what? Into poetry? Please do!"
+
+"For the love of----"
+
+"Jim! You told me last evening that you expected to be at the opera
+to-night."
+
+"I'm not going."
+
+"--So I didn't expect you to call me!"
+
+"Can't I see you?" he asked.
+
+"I'm sorry----"
+
+"The deuce!"
+
+"I'm expecting some people, Jim. It's your own fault; I didn't expect
+a tete-a-tete with you this evening."
+
+"Is it a party you're giving?"
+
+"Two or three people. But my place is full of flowers and as pretty as
+a garden. Too bad you can't see it."
+
+"Couldn't I come to your garden-party?" he asked humbly.
+
+"You mean just to see my garden for a moment?"
+
+"Yes; let me come around for a moment, anyway--if you're dressed. Are
+you?"
+
+"Certainly I'm dressed. Did you think it was to be a garden-of-Eden
+party?"
+
+Her gay, mischievous laughter came distinctly to him over the wire.
+Then her mood changed abruptly:
+
+"You funny boy," she said, "don't you understand that I want you to
+come?"
+
+"You enchanting girl!" he exclaimed. "Do you really mean it?"
+
+"Of course! And if you come at once we'll have nearly an hour together
+before anybody arrives."
+
+She had that sweet, unguarded way with her at moments, and it always
+sent a faint shock of surprise and delight through him.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Her smiling maid admitted him and took his hat, coat and stick as
+though accustomed to these particular articles.
+
+Palla was alone in the living-room when he was announced, and as soon
+as the maid disappeared she gave him both hands in swift welcome--an
+impulsive, unconsidered greeting entirely new to them both.
+
+"You didn't mind my tormenting you. Did you, Jim? I was so happy that
+you did call me up, after all. Because you know you _did_ tell me
+yesterday that you were going to the opera to-night. But all the
+same, when the 'phone rang, somehow I knew it was you--I knew
+it--somehow----"
+
+She loosened one hand from his and swung him with the other toward the
+piano: "Do you like my flower garden? Isn't the room attractive?"
+
+"Charming," he said. "And you are distractingly pretty to-night!"
+
+"In this dull, black gown? But, _merci_, anyway! See how effective
+your roses are!--the ones you sent yesterday and the day before!
+They're all opening. And I went out and bought a lot more, and all
+that fluffy green camouflage----"
+
+She withdrew her other hand from his without embarrassment and went
+over to rearrange a sheaf of deep red carnations, spreading the
+clustered stems to wider circumference.
+
+"What is this party you're giving, anyway?" he asked, following her
+across the room and leaning beside her on the piano, where she still
+remained very busily engaged with her decorations.
+
+"An impromptu party," she exclaimed. "I was shopping this morning--in
+fact I was buying pots and pans for the cook--when somebody spoke to
+me. And I recognised a university student whom I had known in
+Petrograd after the first revolution--Marya Lanois, her name is----"
+
+She moved aside and began to fuss with a huge bowl of crimson roses,
+loosening the blossoms, freeing the foliage, and talking happily all
+the while:
+
+"Marya Lanois," she repeated, "--an interesting girl. And with her was
+a man I had met--a pianist--Vanya Tchernov. They told me that another
+friend of mine--a girl named Ilse Westgard--is now living in New York.
+They couldn't dine with me, but they're coming to supper. So I also
+called up Ilse Westgard, she's coming, too;--and I also asked your
+friend, Mr. Estridge. So you see, Monsieur, we shall have a little
+music and much valuable conversation, and then I shall give them some
+supper----"
+
+She stepped back from the piano, surveyed her handiwork critically,
+then looked around at him for his opinion.
+
+"Fine," he said. "How jolly your new house is"--glancing about the
+room at the few well chosen pieces of antique furniture, the
+harmonious hangings and comfortably upholstered modern pieces.
+
+"It really is beginning to be livable; isn't it, Jim?" she ventured.
+"Of course there are many things yet to buy----"
+
+They leisurely made the tour of the white-panelled room, looking with
+approval at the delicate Georgian furniture; the mezzotints; the
+damask curtains of that beautiful red which has rose-tints in it, too;
+the charming old French clock and its lovely gilded garniture; the
+deep-toned ash-grey carpet under foot.
+
+Before the mantel, with its wood fire blazing, they paused.
+
+"It's so enchantingly homelike," she exclaimed. "I already love it
+all. When I come in from shopping I just stand here with my hat and
+furs on, and gaze about and adore everything!"
+
+"Do you adore me, too?" he asked, laughing at her warmth. "You see I'm
+becoming one of your fixtures here, also."
+
+In her brown eyes the familiar irresponsible gaiety began to glimmer:
+
+"I do adore you," she said, "but I've no business to."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+She seated herself on the sofa and cast a veiled glance at him,
+enchantingly malicious.
+
+"Do you think you know me well enough to adore me?" she inquired with
+misleading gravity.
+
+"Indeed I do----"
+
+"Am I as easy to know as that? Jim, you humiliate me."
+
+"I didn't say that you are easy to know----"
+
+"You meant it!" she insisted reproachfully. "You think so, too--just
+because I let myself be picked up--by a perfectly strange man----"
+
+"Good heavens, Palla--" he began nervously; but caught the glimmer in
+her lowered eyes--saw her child's mouth tremulous with mirth
+controlled.
+
+"Oh, Jim!" she said, still laughing, "do you think I care how we met?
+How absurd of you to let me torment you. You're altogether too boyish,
+too self-conscious. You're loaded down with all the silly traditions
+which I've thrown away. I don't care how we met. I'm glad we know each
+other."
+
+She opened a silver box on a little table at her elbow, chose a
+cigarette, lighted it, and offered it to him.
+
+"I rather like the taste of them now," she remarked, making room for
+him on the sofa beside her.
+
+When he was seated, she reached up to a jar of flowers on the piano,
+selected a white carnation, broke it short, and then drew the stem
+through his lapel, patting the blossom daintily into a pom-pon.
+
+"Now," she said gaily, "if you'll let me, I'll straighten your tie.
+Shall I?"
+
+He turned toward her; she accomplished that deftly, then glanced
+across at the clock.
+
+"We've only half an hour longer to ourselves," she exclaimed, with
+that unconscious candour which always thrilled him. Then, turning to
+him, she said laughingly: "Does it really matter how two people meet
+when time races with us like that?"
+
+"And do you realise," he said in a low, tense voice, "that since I met
+you every racing minute has been sweeping me headlong toward you?"
+
+She was so totally unprepared for the deeper emotion in his voice and
+bearing--so utterly surprised--that she merely gazed at him.
+
+"Haven't you been aware of it, Palla?" he said, looking her in the
+eyes.
+
+"Jim!" she protested, "you are disconcerting! You never before have
+taken such a tone toward me."
+
+She rose, walked over to the clock, examined it minutely for a few
+moments. Then she turned, cast a swift, perplexed glance at him, and
+came slowly back to resume her place on the sofa.
+
+"Men should be very, very careful what they say to me." As she
+lifted her eyes he saw them beginning to glimmer again with that
+irresponsible humour he knew so well.
+
+"Be careful," she said, her brown gaze gay with warning; "--I'm
+godless and quite lawless, and I'm a very dangerous companion for any
+well-behaved and orthodox young man who ventures to tell me that I'm
+adorable. Why, you might as safely venture to adore Diana of the
+Ephesians! And you know what she did to her admirers."
+
+"She was really Aphrodite, wasn't she?" he said, laughing.
+
+"Aphrodite, Venus, Isis, Lada--and the Ephesian Diana--I'm afraid they
+all were hussies. But I'm a hussy, too, Jim! If you doubt it, ask any
+well brought up girl you know and tell her how we met and how we've
+behaved ever since, and what obnoxious ideas I entertain toward all
+things conventional and orthodox!"
+
+"Palla, are you really serious?--I'm never entirely sure what is under
+your badinage."
+
+"Why, of course I am serious. I don't believe in any of the things
+that you believe in. I've often told you so, though you don't believe
+me----"
+
+"Nonsense!"
+
+"I don't, I tell you. I did once. But I'm awake. No 'threats of hell
+or hopes of any sugary paradise' influence me. Nor does custom and
+convention. Nor do the laws and teachings of our present civilisation
+matter one straw to me. I'd break every law if it suited me."
+
+He laughed and lifted her hand from her lap: "You funny child," he
+said, "you wouldn't steal, for example--would you?"
+
+"I don't desire to."
+
+"Would you commit perjury?"
+
+"No!"
+
+"Murder?"
+
+"I have a law of my own, kind sir. It doesn't happen to permit murder,
+arson, forgery, piracy, smuggling----"
+
+Their irresponsible laughter interrupted her.
+
+"What else wouldn't you do?" he managed to ask.
+
+"I wouldn't do anything mean, deceitful, dishonest, cruel. But it's
+not your antiquated laws--it's my own and original law that governs my
+conduct."
+
+"You always conform to it?"
+
+"I do. But you don't conform to yours. So I'll try to help you
+remember the petty but always sacred conventions of our own accepted
+code----"
+
+And, with unfeigned malice, she began to disengage her hand from
+his--loosened the slim fingers one by one, all the while watching him
+sideways with prim lips pursed and lifted eyebrows.
+
+"Try always to remember," she said, "that, according to your code, any
+demonstration of affection toward a comparative stranger is
+exceedingly bad form."
+
+However, he picked up her hand again, which she had carelessly left
+lying on the sofa near his, and again she freed it, leisurely.
+
+They conversed animatedly, as always, discussing matters of common
+interest, yet faintly in her ears sounded the unfamiliar echo of
+passion.
+
+It haunted her mind, too--an indefinable undertone delicately
+persistent--until at last she sat mute, absent-minded, while he
+continued speaking.
+
+Her stillness--her remote gaze, perhaps--presently silenced him. And
+after a little while she turned her charming head and looked at him
+with that unintentional provocation born of virginal curiosity.
+
+What had moved him so unexpectedly to deeper emotion? Had she? Had
+she, then, that power? And without effort?--For she had been conscious
+of none.... But--if she tried.... Had she the power to move him
+again?
+
+Naive instinct--the emotionless curiosity of total
+inexperience--everything embryonic and innocently ruthless in her was
+now in the ascendant.
+
+She lifted her eyes and considered him with the speculative candour of
+a child. She wished to hear once more that unfamiliar _something_ in
+his voice--see it in his features----
+
+And she did not know how to evoke it.
+
+"Of what are you thinking, Palla?"
+
+"Of you," she answered candidly, without other intention than the
+truth. And saw, instantly, the indefinable _something_ born again into
+his eyes.
+
+Calm curiosity, faintly amused, possessed her--left him possessed of
+her hand presently.
+
+"Are you attempting to be sentimental?" she asked.
+
+Very leisurely she began once more to disengage her hand--loosening
+the fingers one by one--and watching him all the while with a slight
+smile edging her lips. Then, as his clasp tightened:
+
+"Please," she said, "may I not have my freedom?"
+
+"Do you want it?"
+
+"You never did this before--touched me--unnecessarily."
+
+As he made no answer, she fell silent, her dark eyes vaguely
+interrogative as though questioning herself as well as him concerning
+this unaccustomed contact.
+
+His head had been bent a little. Now he lifted it. Neither was
+smiling.
+
+Suddenly she rose to her feet and stood with her head partly averted.
+He rose, too. Neither spoke. But after a moment she turned and looked
+straight at him, the virginal curiosity clear in her eyes. And he took
+her into his arms.
+
+Her arms had fallen to her side. She endured his lips gravely, then
+turned her head and looked at the roses beside her.
+
+"I was afraid," she said, "that we would do this. Now let me go,
+Jim."
+
+He released her in silence. She walked slowly to the mantel and set
+one slim foot on the fender.
+
+Without looking around at him she said: "Does this spoil me for you,
+Jim?"
+
+"You darling----"
+
+"Tell me frankly. Does it?"
+
+"What on earth do you mean, Palla! Does it spoil _me_ for you?"
+
+"I've been thinking.... No, it doesn't. But I wondered about you."
+
+He came over to where she stood.
+
+"Dear," he said unsteadily, "don't you know I'm very desperately in
+love with you?"
+
+At that she turned her enchanting little head toward him.
+
+"If you are," she said, "there need be nothing desperate about it."
+
+"Do you mean you care enough to marry me, you darling?" he asked
+impetuously. "Will you, Palla?"
+
+"Why, no," she said candidly. "I didn't mean that. I meant that
+I care for you quite as much as you care for me. So you need not
+be desperate. But I really don't think we are in love--I mean
+sufficiently--for anything serious."
+
+"Why don't you think so!" he demanded impatiently.
+
+"Do you wish me to be quite frank?"
+
+"Of course!"
+
+"Very well." She lifted her head and let her clear eyes rest on his.
+"I like you," she said. "I even like--what we did. I like you far
+better than any man I ever knew. But I do not care for you enough to
+give up my freedom of mind and of conduct for your asking. I do not
+care enough for you to subscribe to your religion and your laws. And
+that's the tragic truth."
+
+"But what on earth has all that to do with it? I haven't asked you to
+believe as I believe or to subscribe to any law----"
+
+Her enchanting laughter filled the room: "Yes, you have! You asked me
+to marry you, didn't you?"
+
+"Of course!"
+
+"Well, I can't, Jim, because I don't believe in the law of marriage,
+civil or religious. If I loved you I'd live with you unmarried. But
+I'm afraid to try it. And so are you. Which proves that I'm not really
+in love with you, or you with me----"
+
+The door bell rang.
+
+"But I do care for you," she whispered, bending swiftly toward him.
+Her lips rested lightly on his a moment, then she turned and walked
+out into the centre of the room.
+
+The maid announced: "Mr. Estridge!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+Young Shotwell, still too incredulous to be either hurt or angry,
+stood watching Palla welcoming her guests, who arrived within a few
+minutes of each other.
+
+First came Estridge,--handsome, athletic, standing over six feet, and
+already possessed of that winning and reassuring manner which means
+success for a physician.
+
+"It's nice of you to ask me, Palla," he said. "And is Miss Westgard
+really coming to-night?"
+
+"But here she is now!" exclaimed Palla, as the maid announced her.
+"--Ilse! You astonishing girl! How long have you been in New York?"
+
+And Shotwell beheld the six-foot goddess for the first time--gazed
+with pleasurable awe upon this young super-creature with the sea-blue
+eyes and golden hair and a skin of roses and cream.
+
+"Fancy, Palla!" she said, "I came immediately back from Stockholm, but
+you had sailed on the _Elsinore_, and I was obliged to wait!--Oh!--"
+catching sight of Estridge as he advanced--"I am so very happy to see
+you again!"--giving him her big, exquisitely sculptured hand. "Except
+for Mr. Brisson, we are quite complete in our little company of
+death!" She laughed her healthy, undisturbed defiance of that human
+enemy as she named him, gazed rapturously at Palla, acknowledged
+Shotwell's presentation in her hearty, engaging way, then turned
+laughingly to Estridge:
+
+"The world whirls like a wheel in a squirrel cage which we all
+tread:--only to find ourselves together after travelling many, many
+miles at top speed!... Are you well, John Estridge?"
+
+"Fairly," he laughed, "but nobody except the immortals could ever be
+as well as you, Ilse Westgard!"
+
+She laughed in sheer exuberance of her own physical vigour: "Only that
+old and toothless nemesis of Loki can slay me, John Estridge!" And, to
+Palla: "I had some slight trouble in Stockholm. Fancy!--a little
+shrimp of a man approached me on the street one evening when there
+chanced to be nobody near.
+
+"And the first I knew he was mouthing and grinning and saying to me in
+Russian: 'I know you, hired mercenary of the aristocrats!--I know
+you!--big white battle horse that carried the bloody war-god!'
+
+"I was too astonished, my dear; I merely gazed upon this small and
+agitated toad, who continued to run alongside and grimace and pull
+funny faces at me. He appeared to be furious, and he said some very
+vile things to me.
+
+"I was disgusted and walked faster, and he had to run. And all the
+while he was squealing at me: 'I know you! You keep out of America, do
+you hear? If you sail on that steamer, we follow you and kill you! You
+hear it what I say? We kill! Kill! Kill!----'"
+
+She threw up her superb head and laughed:
+
+"Can you see him--this insect--Palla!--so small and hairy, with crazy
+eyes like little sparks among the furry whiskers!--and running,
+running at heel, underfoot, one side and then the other, and squealing
+'Kill! Kill? Kill'----"
+
+She had made them see the picture and they all laughed.
+
+"But all the same," she added, turning to Estridge, "from that evening
+I became conscious that people were watching me.
+
+"It was the same in Copenhagen and in Christiania--always I felt that
+somebody was watching me."
+
+"Did you have any trouble?" asked Estridge.
+
+"Well--there seemed to be so many unaccountable delays, obstacles
+in securing proper papers, trouble about luggage and steamer
+accommodations--petty annoyances," she added. "And also I am sure
+that letters to me were opened, and others which I should have
+received never arrived."
+
+"You believe it was due to the Reds?" asked Palla. "Have they
+emissaries in Scandinavia?"
+
+"My dear, their agents and spies swarm everywhere over the world!"
+said Ilse calmly.
+
+"Not here," remarked Shotwell, smiling.
+
+"Oh," rejoined Ilse quickly, "I ask your pardon, but America, also, is
+badly infested by these people. As their Black Plague spreads out over
+the entire world, so spread out the Bolsheviki to infect all with the
+red sickness that slays whole nations!"
+
+"We have a few local Reds," he said, unconvinced, "but I had scarcely
+supposed----"
+
+The bell rang: Miss Lanois and Mr. Tchernov were announced, greeted
+warmly by Palla, and presented.
+
+Both spoke the beautiful English of educated Russians; Vanya Tchernov,
+a wonderfully handsome youth, saluted Palla's hand in Continental
+fashion, and met the men with engaging formality.
+
+Shotwell found himself seated beside Marya Lanois, a lithe, warm,
+golden creature with greenish golden eyes that slanted, and the
+strawberry complexion that goes with reddish hair.
+
+"You are happy," she said, "with all your streets full of bright flags
+and your victorious soldiers arriving home by every troopship.
+Ah!--but Russia is the most unhappy of all countries to-day, Mr.
+Shotwell."
+
+"It's terribly sad," he said sympathetically. "We Americans don't seem
+to know whether to send an army to help you, or merely to stand aside
+and let Russia find herself."
+
+"You should send troops!" she said. "Is it not so, Ilse?"
+
+"Sane people should unite," replied the girl, her beautiful face
+becoming serious. "It will arrive at that the world over--the sane
+against the insane."
+
+"And it is only the bourgeoisie that is sane," said Vanya Tchernov,
+in his beautifully modulated voice. "The extremes are both
+abnormal--aristocrats and Bolsheviki alike."
+
+"We social revolutionists," said Marya Lanois, "were called extremists
+yesterday and are called reactionists to-day. But we are the world's
+balance. This war was fought for our ideals; your American soldiers
+marched for them: the hun failed because of them."
+
+"And there remains only one more war," said Ilse Westgard,--"the war
+against those outlaws we call Capital and Labour--two names for two
+robbers that have disturbed the world's peace long enough!"
+
+"Two tyrants," said Marya, "who trample us to war upon each other--who
+outrage us, crush us, cripple us with their ferocious feuds. What are
+the Bolsheviki? 'Those who want more.' Then the name belongs as well
+to the capitalists. They, also, are Bolsheviki--'men who always want
+more!' And these are the two quarrelling Bolsheviki giants who
+trample us--Lord Labour, Lord Capital--the devil of envy against the
+devil of greed!--war to the death! And, to the survivor, the bones!"
+
+Shotwell, a little astonished to hear from the red lips of this warm
+young creature the bitter cynicisms of the proletariat, asked her to
+define more clearly where the Bolsheviki stood, and for what they
+stood.
+
+"Why," she said, lying back on the sofa and adjusting her lithe body
+to a more luxurious position among the pillows, "it amounts to this,
+Mr. Shotwell, that a new doctrine is promulgated in the world--the
+cult of the under-dog.
+
+"And in all dog-fights, if the under-dog ever gets on top, then he,
+also, will try to kill the ci-devant who has now become the
+under-dog." And she laughed at him out of her green eyes that slanted
+so enchantingly.
+
+"You mean that there always will be an under-dog in the battle between
+capital and labour?"
+
+"Surely. Their snarling, biting, and endless battle is a nuisance."
+She smiled again: "We should knock them both on the head."
+
+"You know," explained Ilse, "that when we speak of the two outlaws as
+Capital and Labour, we don't mean legitimate capital and genuine
+labour."
+
+"They never fight," added Tchernov, smiling, "because they are one and
+the same."
+
+"Of course," remarked Marya, "even the united suffer occasionally from
+internal pains."
+
+"The remedy," added Vanya, "is to consult a physician. That
+is--arbitration."
+
+Ilse said: "Force is good! But one uses it legitimately only against
+rabid things." She turned affectionately to Palla and took her hands:
+"Your wonderful Law of Love solves all phenomena except insanity.
+With rabies it can not deal. Only force remains to solve that
+problem."
+
+"And yet," said Palla, "so much insanity can be controlled by kind
+treatment."
+
+Estridge agreed, but remarked that strait-jackets and padded cells
+would always be necessary in the world.
+
+"As for the Bolsheviki," said Marya, turning her warm young face to
+Shotwell with a lissome movement of the shoulders, almost caressing,
+"in the beginning we social revolutionists agreed with them and
+believed in them. Why not? Kerensky was an incapable dreamer--so
+sensitive that if you spoke rudely to him he shrank away wounded to
+the soul.
+
+"That is not a leader! And the Cadets were plotting, and the Cossacks
+loomed like a tempest on the horizon. And then came Korniloff! And the
+end."
+
+"The peace of Brest," explained Vanya, in his gentle voice, "awoke us
+to what the Red Soviets stood for. We saw Christ crucified again. And
+understood."
+
+Marya sat up straight on the sofa, running her dazzling white fingers
+over her hair--hair that seemed tiger-red, and very vaguely scented.
+
+"For thirty pieces of silver," she said, "Judas sold the world. What
+Lenine and Trotsky sold was paid for in yellow metal, and there were
+more pieces."
+
+Ilse said: "Babushka is dying of it. That is enough for me."
+
+Vanya replied: "Where the source is infected, drinkers die at the
+river's mouth. Little Marie Spiridonova perished. Countess Panina
+succumbed. Alexandria Kolontar will die from its poison. And, as these
+died, so shall Ivan and Vera die also, unless that polluted source be
+cleansed."
+
+Marya rested her tawny young head on the cushions again and smiled at
+Shotwell:
+
+"It's confusing even to Russians," she said, "--like a crazy Bakst
+spectacle at the Marinsky. I wonder what you must think of us."
+
+But on her expressive mouth the word "us" might almost have meant
+"me," and he paid her the easy compliment which came naturally to him,
+while she looked at him out of lazy and very lovely eyes as green as
+beryls.
+
+"_Tiche_," she murmured, smiling, "_ce n'est pas moi l'etat,
+monsieur_." And laughed while her indolent glance slanted sideways on
+Vanya, and lingered there as though in leisurely but amiable
+appraisal.
+
+The girl was evidently very young, but there seemed to be an
+indefinable something about her that hinted of experience beyond her
+years.
+
+Palla had been looking at her--from Shotwell to her--and Marya's sixth
+sense was already aware of it and asking why.
+
+For between two females of the human species the constant occult
+interplay is like steady lighting. With invisible antennae they touch
+one another incessantly, delicately exploring inside that grosser aura
+which is all that the male perceives.
+
+And finally Marya looked back at Palla.
+
+"May Mr. Tchernov play for us?" asked Palla, smiling, as though some
+vague authority in the matter were vested in this young girl with the
+tiger-hair.
+
+Her eyes closed indolently, and opened again as though digesting the
+subtlety: then, disdainfully accepting the assumption: "Oh, Vanya,"
+she called out carelessly, "play a little for us."
+
+The handsome youth bowed in his absent, courteous way. There was
+about him a simplicity entirely winning as he seated himself at the
+piano.
+
+But his playing revealed a maturity and nobility of mind scarcely
+expected of such gentleness and youth.
+
+Never had Palla heard Beethoven until that moment.
+
+He did not drift. There was no caprice to offend when he turned with
+courtly logic from one great master to another.
+
+Only when Estridge asked for something "typically Russian" did the
+charming dignity of the sequence break. Vanya laughed and looked at
+Marya Lanois:
+
+"That means you must sing," he said.
+
+She sang, resting where she was among the silken cushions;--the song,
+one of those epics of ancient Moscow, lauded Ivan IV. and the taking
+of Kazan.
+
+The music was bizarre; the girl's voice bewitching; and though the
+song was of the _Beliny_, it had been made into brief couplets, and it
+ended very quickly.
+
+Laughing at the applause, she sang a song of the _Skomorokhi_; then a
+cradle song, infinitely tender and strange, built upon the Chinese
+scale; and another--a Cossack song--built, also, upon the pentatonic
+scale.
+
+Discussions intruded then; the diversion ended the music.
+
+Palla presently rose, spoke to Vanya and Estridge, and came over to
+where Jim Shotwell sat beside Marya.
+
+Interrupted, they both looked up, and Jim rose as Estridge also
+presented himself to Marya.
+
+Palla said: "If you will take me out, Jim, we can show everybody the
+way." And to Marya: "Just a little supper, you know--but the dining
+room is below."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Her pretty drawing-room was only partly furnished--an expensive but
+genuine set of old Aubusson being her limit for the time.
+
+But beyond, in the rear, the little glass doors opened on a charming
+dining-room, the old Georgian mahogany of which was faded to a golden
+hue. Curtains, too, were golden shot with palest mauve; and two
+Imperial Chinese panels of ancient silk, miraculously embroidered and
+set with rainbow Ho-ho birds, were the only hangings on the walls. And
+they seemed to illuminate the room like sunshine.
+
+Shotwell, who knew nothing about such things but envisaged them with
+reverence, seated Palla and presently took his place beside her.
+
+His neighbour on his left was Marya, again--an arrangement which Palla
+might have altered had it occurred to her upstairs.
+
+Estridge, very animated, and apparently happy, recalled to Palla their
+last dinner together, and their dance.
+
+Palla laughed: "You said I drank too much champagne, John Estridge! Do
+you remember?"
+
+"You bet I do. You had a cunning little bunn, Palla----"
+
+"I did not! I merely asked you and Mr. Brisson what it felt like to be
+intoxicated."
+
+"You did your best to be a sport," he insisted, "but you almost passed
+away over your first cigarette!"
+
+"Darling!" cried Ilse, "don't let them tease you!"
+
+Palla, rather pink, laughingly denied any aspirations toward sportdom;
+and she presently ventured a glance at Shotwell, to see how he took
+all this.
+
+But already Marya had engaged him in half smiling, low-voiced
+conversation; and Palla looked at her golden-green eyes and warm, rich
+colouring, cooled by a skin of snow. Tiger-golden, the _rousse_
+ensemble; the supple movement of limb and body fascinated her; but
+most of all the lovely, slanting eyes with their glint of beryl amid
+melting gold.
+
+Estridge spoke to Marya; as the girl turned slightly, Palla said to
+Shotwell:
+
+"Do you find them interesting--my guests?"
+
+He turned instantly to her, but it seemed to her as though there were
+a slight haze in his eyes--a fixedness--which cleared, however, as he
+spoke.
+
+"They are delightful--all of them," he said. "Your blond goddess
+yonder is rather overpowering, but beautiful to gaze upon."
+
+"And Vanya?"
+
+"Charming; astonishing."
+
+"Lovable," she said.
+
+"He seems so."
+
+"And--Marya?"
+
+"Rather bewildering," he replied. "Fascinating, I should say. Is she
+very learned?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"She's been in the universities."
+
+"Yes.... I don't know how learned she is."
+
+"She is very young," he remarked.
+
+It was on the tip of Palla's tongue to say something; and she remained
+silent--lest this man misinterpret her motive--and, perhaps, lest her
+own conscience misinterpret it, too.
+
+Ilse said it to Estridge, however, frankly insouciant:
+
+"You know Marya and Vanya are married--that is, they live together."
+
+And Shotwell heard her.
+
+"Is that true?" he said in a low voice to Palla.
+
+"Why, yes."
+
+He remained silent so long that she added: "The tie is not looser than
+the old-fashioned one. More rigid, perhaps, because they are on their
+honour."
+
+"And if they tire of each other?"
+
+"You, also, have divorce," said the girl, smiling.
+
+"Do you?"
+
+"It is beastly to live together where love does not exist. People who
+believe as they do--as I do--merely separate."
+
+"And contract another alliance if they wish?"
+
+"Do not your divorcees remarry if they wish?"
+
+"What becomes of the children?" he demanded sullenly.
+
+"What becomes of them when your courts divorce their parents?"
+
+"I see. It's all a parody on lawful regularity."
+
+"I'm sorry you speak of it that way----"
+
+The girl's face flushed and she extended her hand toward her wine
+glass.
+
+"I didn't intend to hurt you, Palla," he said.
+
+She drew a quick breath, looked up, smiled: "You didn't mean to," she
+said. Then into her brown eyes came the delicious glimmer:
+
+"May I whisper to you, Jim? Is it too rude?"
+
+He inclined his head and felt the thrill of her breath:
+
+"Shall we drink one glass together--to each other alone?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"To a dear comradeship, and close!... And not too desperate!" she
+added, as her glance flashed into hidden laughter.
+
+They drank, not daring to look toward each other. And Palla's careless
+gaze, slowly sweeping the circle, finally met Marya's--as she knew it
+must. Both smiled, touching each other at once with invisible
+antennae--always searching, exploring under the glimmering aura what no
+male ever discovered or comprehended.
+
+There was, in the living room above, a little more music--a song or
+two before the guests departed.
+
+Marya, a little apart, turned to Shotwell:
+
+"You find our Russian folk-song amusing?"
+
+"Wonderful!"
+
+"If, by any chance, you should remember that I am at home on
+Thursdays, there is a song I think that might interest you." She let
+her eyes rest on him with a curious stillness in their depths:
+
+"The song is called _Lada_," she said in a voice so low that he just
+heard her. The next moment she was taking leave of Palla; kissed her.
+Vanya enveloped her in her wrap.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Estridge called up a taxi; and presently went away with Ilse.
+
+Very slowly Palla came back to the centre of the room, where Shotwell
+stood. The scent of flowers was in his nostrils, his throat; the girl
+herself seemed saturated with their perfume as he took her into his
+arms.
+
+"So you didn't like my friends, Jim," she ventured.
+
+"Yes, I did."
+
+"I was afraid they might have shocked you."
+
+He said drily: "It isn't a case of being shocked. It's more like being
+bored."
+
+"Oh. My friends bore you?"
+
+"Their morals do.... Is Ilse that sort, too?"
+
+"That sort?"
+
+"You know what I mean."
+
+"I suppose she is."
+
+"Not inclined to bother herself with the formalities of marriage?"
+
+"I suppose not."
+
+"It's a mischievous, ridiculous, immoral business!" he said hotly.
+"Why, to look at you--at Ilse--at Miss Lanois----"
+
+"We don't look like very immoral people, do we?" she said, laughingly.
+
+The light raillery in her laughter angered him, and he released her
+and began to pace the room nervously.
+
+"See here, Palla," he said roughly, "suppose I accept you at your own
+valuation!"
+
+"I value myself very highly, Jim."
+
+"So do I. That's why I ask you to marry me."
+
+"And I tell you I don't believe in marriage," she rejoined coolly.
+
+"A magistrate can marry us----"
+
+"It makes no difference. A ceremony, civil or religious, is entirely
+out of the question."
+
+"You mean," he said, incensed, "that you refuse to be married by any
+law at all?"
+
+"My own law is sufficient."
+
+"Well--well, then," he stammered; "--what--what sort of procedure----"
+
+"None."
+
+"You're crazy," he said; "_you_ wouldn't do that!"
+
+"If I were in love with you I'd not be afraid."
+
+Her calm candour infuriated him:
+
+"Do you imagine that you and I could ever get away with a situation
+like that!" he blazed out.
+
+"Why do you become so irritable and excited, Jim? We're not going to
+try----"
+
+"Damnation! I should think not!" he retorted, so violently that her
+mouth quivered. But she kept her head averted until the swift emotion
+was under control.
+
+Then she said in a low voice: "If you really think me immoral, Jim, I
+can understand your manner toward me. Otherwise----"
+
+"Palla, dear! Forgive me! I'm just worried sick----"
+
+"You funny boy," she said with her quick, frank smile, "I didn't mean
+to worry you. Listen! It's all quite simple. I care for you very much
+indeed. I don't mind your--caressing--me--sometimes. But I'm not in
+love. I just care a lot for you.... But not nearly enough to love
+you."
+
+"Palla, you're hopeless!"
+
+"Why? Because I am so respectful toward love? Of course I am. A girl
+who believes as I do can't afford to make a mistake."
+
+"Exactly," he said eagerly, "but under the law, if a mistake is made
+every woman has her remedy----"
+
+"Her _remedy_! What do you mean? You can't pass one of those roses
+through the flame of that fire and still have your rose, can you?"
+
+He was silent.
+
+"And that's what happens under _your_ laws, as well as outside of
+them. No! I don't love you. Under your law I'd be afraid to marry you.
+Under mine I'm deathly afraid.... Because--I know--that where love is
+there can be no fear."
+
+"Is that your answer, Palla?"
+
+"Yes, Jim."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+He had called her up the following morning from the office, and had
+told her that he thought he had better not see her for a while.
+
+And she had answered with soft concern that he must do what he thought
+best without considering her.
+
+What other answer he expected is uncertain; but her gentle acquiescence
+in his decision irritated him and he ended the conversation in a tone
+of boyish resentment.
+
+To occupy his mind there was, that day, not only the usual office
+routine, but some extra business most annoying to Sharrow. For Angelo
+Puma had turned up again, as shiny and bland as ever, flashing his
+superb smile over clerk and stenographer impartially.
+
+So Sharrow shunted him to Mr. Brooke, that sort of property being his
+specialty; and Brooke called in Shotwell.
+
+"Go up town with that preposterous wop and settle this business one
+way or another, once for all," he whispered. "A crook named Skidder
+owns the property; but we can't do anything with him. The office is
+heartily sick of both Skidder and Puma; and Sharrow desires to be rid
+of them."
+
+Then, very cordially, he introduced Puma to young Shotwell; and they
+took Puma's handsome car and went up town to see what could be done
+with the slippery owner of the property in question, who was now
+permanently located in New York.
+
+On the way, Puma, smelling oppressively aromatic and looking
+conspicuously glossy as to hair, hat, and boots, also became
+effusively voluble. For he had instantly recognised Shotwell as
+the young man with whom that disturbingly pretty girl had been in
+consultation in Sharrow's offices; and his mind was now occupied
+with a new possibility as well as with the property which he so
+persistently desired to acquire.
+
+"With me," he said in his animated, exotic way, and all creased with
+smiles, "my cinema business is not business alone! No! It is Art! It
+is the art hunger that ever urges me onward, not the desire for
+commercial gain. For me, beauty is ever first; the box-office last!
+You understand, Mr. Shotwell? With me, art is supreme! Yes. And
+afterward my crust of bread."
+
+"Well, then," said Jim, "I can't see why you don't pay this man
+Skidder what he asks for the property."
+
+"I tell you why. I make it clear to you. For argument--Skidder he has
+ever the air of one who does not care to sell. It is an attitude! I
+know! But he has that air. Well! I say to him, 'Mr. Skidder, I offer
+you--we say for argument, one dollar! Yes?' Well, he do not say yes or
+no. He do not say, 'I take a dollar and also one quarter. Or a dollar
+and a half. Or two dollars.' No. He squint and answer: 'I am not
+anxious to sell!' My God! What can one say? What can one do?"
+
+"Perhaps," suggested Jim, "he really doesn't want to sell."
+
+"Ah! That is not so. No. He is sly, Mr. Skidder, like there never has
+been in my experience a man more sly. What is it he desires? I ask. I
+do not know. But all the time he inquire about my business if it pays,
+and is there much money in it. Also, I hear, by channels, that he
+makes everywhere inquiries if the film business shall pay."
+
+"Maybe he wants to try it himself."
+
+"Also, that has occurred to me. But to him I say nothing. No. He is
+too sly. Me, I am all art and all heart. Me, I am frank like there
+never was a man in my business! But Skidder, he squint at me. My God,
+those eye! And I do not know what is in his thought."
+
+"Well, Mr. Puma, what do you wish me to do? As I understand it, you
+are our client, and if I buy for you this Skidder property I shall
+look to you, of course, for my commission. Is that what you
+understand?"
+
+"My God! Why should he not pay that commission if you are sufficiently
+obliging to buy from him his property?"
+
+"It isn't done that way," explained Jim drily.
+
+"You suppose you can buy me this property? Yes?"
+
+"I don't know. Of course, I can buy anything for you if you'll pay
+enough."
+
+"My God! I do not enjoy commercial business. No. I enjoy art. I enjoy
+qualities of the heart. I----" He looked at Jim out of his magnificent
+black eyes, touched his full lips with a perfumed handkerchief.
+
+"Yes, sir," he said, flashing a brilliant smile, "I am all heart. But
+my heart is for art alone! I dedicate it to the film, to the moving
+picture, to beauty! It is my constant preoccupation. It is my only
+thought. Art, beauty, the picture, the world made happier, better, for
+the beauty which I offer in my pictures. It is my only thought. It is
+my life."
+
+Jim politely suppressed a yawn and said that a life devoted purely to
+art was a laudable sacrifice.
+
+"As example!" explained Puma, all animation and childlike frankness;
+"I pay my artists what they ask. What is money when it is a question
+of art? I must have quality; I must have beauty--" He shrugged: "I
+must pay. Yes?"
+
+"One usually pays for pulchritude."
+
+"Ah! As example! I watch always on the streets as I pass by. I see a
+face. It has beauty. It has quality. I follow. I speak. I am frank
+like there never was a man. I say, 'Mademoiselle, you shall not be
+offended. No. Art has no frontiers. It is my art, not I who address
+you. I am Angelo Puma. The Ultra-Film Company is mine. In you I
+perceive possibilities. This is my card. If it interests you to have a
+test, come! Who knows? It may be your life's destiny. The projection
+room should tell. Adieu!'"
+
+"Is that the way you pick stars?" asked Jim curiously.
+
+"Stars? Bah! I care nothing for stars. No. I should go bankrupt. Why?
+Beauty alone is my star. Upon it I drape the mantle of Art!"
+
+He kissed his fat finger-tips and gazed triumphantly at Jim.
+
+"You see? Out of the crowd of passersby I pick the perfect and
+unconscious rosebud. In my temple it opens into perfect bloom. And Art
+is born! And I am content. You comprehend?"
+
+Jim said that he thought he did.
+
+"As example," exclaimed Puma vivaciously, "while in conversation once
+with Mr. Sharrow, I beheld entering your office a young lady in
+mourning. Hah! Instantly I was all art!" Again he kissed his gloved
+fingers. "A face for a picture! A form for the screen! I perceive. I
+am convinced.... You recall the event, perhaps, Mr. Shotwell?"
+
+"No."
+
+"A young lady in mourning, seated beside your desk? I believe she was
+buying from you a house."
+
+"Oh."
+
+"Her name--Miss Dumont--I believe."
+
+Jim glanced at him. "Miss Dumont is not likely to do anything of that
+sort," he said.
+
+"And why?"
+
+"You mean go into the movies?" He laughed. "She wouldn't bother."
+
+"But--my God! It is Art! What you call movies, and, within, this young
+lady may hide genius. And genius belongs to Art. And Art belongs to
+the world!"
+
+The unthinkable idea of Palla on the screen was peculiarly distasteful
+to him.
+
+"Miss Dumont has no inclination for the movies," he said.
+
+"Perhaps, Mr. Shotwell," purred Puma, "if your amiable influence could
+induce the young lady to have a test made----"
+
+"There isn't a chance of it," said Jim bluntly. Their limousine
+stopped just then. They got out before one of those new apartment
+houses on the upper West Side.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mr. Skidder, it appeared, was in and would receive them.
+
+A negro servant opened the door and ushered them into a parlour where
+Mr. Elmer Skidder, sprawling over the debris of breakfast, laid aside
+newspaper and coffee cup and got up to receive them in bath robe and
+slippers.
+
+And when they were all seated: "Now, Mr. Skidder," said Jim, with his
+engaging frankness, "the simplest way is the quickest. My client, Mr.
+Puma, wants to purchase your property; and he is, I understand,
+prepared to pay considerably more than it is worth. We all have a very
+fair idea of its actual value. Our appraiser, yours, and other
+appraisers from other companies and corporations seem, for a wonder,
+to agree in their appraisal of this particular property.
+
+"Now, how much more than it is worth do you expect us to offer you?"
+
+Skidder had never before been dealt with in just this way. He squinted
+at Jim, trying to appraise him. But within his business experience in
+a country town no similar young man had he encountered.
+
+"Well," he said, "I ain't asking you to buy, am I?"
+
+"We understand that," rejoined Jim, good humouredly; "_we_ are asking
+_you_ to sell."
+
+"You seem to want it pretty bad."
+
+"We do," said the young fellow, laughing.
+
+"All right. Make your offer."
+
+Jim named the sum.
+
+"No, sir!" snapped Skidder, picking up his newspaper.
+
+"Then," remarked Jim, looking: frankly at Puma, "that definitely lets
+us out." And, to Skidder: "Many thanks for permitting us to interrupt
+your breakfast. No need to bother you again, Mr. Skidder." And he
+offered his hand in smiling finality.
+
+"Look here," said Skidder, "the property is worth all I ask."
+
+"If it's worth that to you," said Jim pleasantly, "you should keep
+it." And he turned away toward the door, wondering why Puma did not
+follow.
+
+"Are you two gentlemen in a rush?" demanded Skidder.
+
+"I have other business, of course," said Jim.
+
+"Sit down. Hell! Will you have a drink?"
+
+When they were again seated, Skidder squinted sideways at Angelo
+Puma.
+
+"Want a partner?" he inquired.
+
+"Please?" replied Puma, as though mystified.
+
+"Want more capital to put into your fillum concern?" demanded
+Skidder.
+
+Puma, innocently perplexed, asked mutely for an explanation out of his
+magnificent dark eyes.
+
+"I got money," asserted Skidder.
+
+Puma's dazzling smile congratulated him upon the accumulation of a
+fabulous fortune.
+
+"I had you looked up," continued Skidder. "It listened good. And--I
+got money, too. And I got that property in my vest pocket. See. And
+there's a certain busted fillum corporation can be bought for a
+postage stamp--all 'ncorporated 'n everything. You get me?"
+
+No; Mr. Puma, who was all art and heart, could not comprehend what Mr.
+Skidder was driving at.
+
+"This here busted fillum company is called the _Super-Picture
+Fillums_," said Skidder. "What's the matter with you and me buying it?
+Don't you ever do a little tradin'?"
+
+Jim rose, utterly disgusted, but immensely amused at himself, and
+realising, now, how entirely right Sharrow had been in desiring to be
+rid of this man Skidder, and of Puma and the property in question.
+
+He said, still smiling, but rather grimly: "I see, now, that this is
+no place for a broker who lives by his commissions." And he bade them
+adieu with perfect good humour.
+
+"Have a seegar?" inquired Skidder blandly.
+
+"Why do you go, sir?" asked Puma innocently. No doubt, being all heart
+and art, he did not comprehend that brokers can not exist on cigars
+alone.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+His commission had gone glimmering. Sharrow, evidently foreseeing
+something of that sort, had sent him out with Puma to meet Skidder and
+rid the office of the dubious affair.
+
+This Jim understood, and yet he was not particularly pleased to be
+exploited by this bland pair who had come suddenly to an understanding
+under his very nose--the understanding of two petty, dickering,
+crossroad traders, which coolly excluded any possibility both of his
+services and of his commission.
+
+"No; only a kike lawyer is required now," he said to himself, as he
+crossed the street and entered Central Park. "I've been properly
+trimmed by a perfumed wop and a squinting yap," he thought with
+intense amusement. "But we're well clear of them for good."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The park was wintry and unattractive. Few pedestrians were abroad, but
+motors sparkled along distant drives in the sunshine.
+
+Presently his way ran parallel to one of these drives. And he had been
+walking only a little while when a limousine veered in, slowing down
+abreast of him, and he saw a white-gloved hand tapping the pane.
+
+He felt himself turning red as he went up, hat in hand, to open the
+door and speak to the girl inside.
+
+"What on earth are you doing?" she demanded, laughingly, "--walking
+all by your wild lone in the park on a wintry day!"
+
+He explained. She made room for him and he got in.
+
+"We rather hoped you'd be at the opera last night," she said, but
+without any reproach in her voice.
+
+"I meant to go, Elorn--but something came up to prevent it," he added,
+flushing again. "Were they singing anything new?"
+
+"Yes, but you missed nothing," she reassured him lightly. "Where on
+earth have you kept yourself these last weeks? One sees you no more
+among the haunts of men."
+
+He said, in the deplorable argot of the hour: "Oh, I'm off all that
+social stuff."
+
+"But I'm not social stuff, am I?"
+
+"No. I've meant to call you up. Something always seems to happen--I
+don't know, Elorn, but ever since I came back from France I haven't
+been up to seeing people."
+
+She glanced at him curiously.
+
+He sat gazing out of the window, where there was nothing to see except
+leafless trees and faded grass and starlings and dingy sparrows.
+
+The girl was more worth his attention--one of those New York examples,
+built on lean, rangy, thoroughbred lines--long limbed, small of hand
+and foot and head, with cinder-blond hair, greyish eyes, a sweet but
+too generous mouth, and several noticeable freckles.
+
+Minute grooming and a sure taste gave her that ultra-smart appearance
+which does everything for a type that is less attractive in a dinner
+gown, and still less in negligee. And which, after marriage, usually
+lets a straight strand of hair sprawl across one ear.
+
+But now, coiffeur, milliner, modiste, and her own maiden cleverness
+kept her immaculate--the true Gotham model found nowhere else.
+
+They chatted of parties already past, where he had failed to
+materialise, and of parties to come, where she hoped he would appear.
+And he said he would.
+
+They chatted about their friends and the gossip concerning them.
+
+Traffic on Fifth Avenue was rather worse than usual. The competent
+police did their best, but motors and omnibuses, packed solidly, moved
+only by short spurts before being checked again.
+
+"It's after one o'clock," she said, glancing at her tiny platinum
+wrist-watch. "Here's Delmonico's, Jim. Shall we lunch together?"
+
+He experienced a second's odd hesitation, then: "Certainly," he said.
+And she signalled the chauffeur.
+
+The place was beginning to be crowded, but there was a table on the
+Fifth Avenue side.
+
+As they crossed the crowded room toward it, women looked up at Elorn
+Sharrow, instantly aware that they saw perfection in hat, gown and
+fur, and a face and figure not to be mistaken for any imitation of the
+Gotham type.
+
+She wore silver fox--just a stole and muff. Every feminine eye
+realised their worth.
+
+When they were seated:
+
+"I want," she said gaily, "some consomme and a salad. You, of course,
+require the usual nourishment of the carnivora."
+
+But it seemed not. However, he ordered a high-ball, feeling curiously
+depressed. Then he addressed himself to making the hour agreeable,
+conscious, probably, that reparation was overdue.
+
+Friends from youthful dancing-class days, these two had plenty to
+gossip about; and gradually he found himself drifting back into the
+lively, refreshing, piquant intimacy of yesterday. And realised that
+it was very welcome.
+
+For, about this girl, always a clean breeze seemed to be blowing; and
+the atmosphere invariably braced him up.
+
+And she was always responsive, whether or not agreeing with his views;
+and he was usually conscious of being at his best with her. Which
+means much to any man.
+
+So she dissected her pear-salad, and he enjoyed his whitebait, and
+they chatted away on the old footing, quite oblivious of people around
+them.
+
+Elorn was having a very happy time of it. People thought her
+captivating now--freckles, mouth and all--and every man there envied
+the fortunate young fellow who was receiving such undivided attention
+from a girl like this.
+
+But whether in Elorn's heart there really existed all the gaiety that
+laughed at him out of her grey eyes, is a question. Because it seemed
+to her that, at moments, a recurrent shadow fell across his face. And
+there were, now and then, seconds suggesting preoccupation on his
+part, when it seemed to her that his gaze grew remote and his smile a
+trifle absent-minded.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+She was drawing on her gloves; he had scribbled his signature across
+the back of the check. Then, as he lifted his head to look for their
+waiter, he found himself staring into the brown eyes of Palla Dumont.
+
+The heavy flush burnt his face--burnt into it, so it seemed to him.
+
+She was only two tables distant. When he bowed, her smile was the
+slightest; her nod coolly self-possessed. She was wearing orchids.
+There seemed to be a girl with her whom he did not know.
+
+Why the sudden encounter should have upset him so--why the quiet glance
+Elorn bestowed upon Palla should have made him more uncomfortable
+still, he could not understand.
+
+He lighted a cigarette.
+
+"A wonderfully pretty girl," said Elorn serenely. "I mean the girl you
+bowed to."
+
+"Yes, she is very charming."
+
+"Who is she, Jim?"
+
+"I met her on the steamer coming back. She is a Miss Dumont."
+
+Elorn's smile was a careless dismissal of further interest. But in her
+heart perplexity and curiosity contended with concern. For she had
+seen Jim's face. And had wondered.
+
+He laid away his half-consumed cigarette. She was quite ready to go.
+She rose, and he laid the stole around her shoulders. She picked up
+her muff.
+
+As she passed through the narrow aisle, she permitted herself a casual
+side-glance at this girl in black; and Palla looked up at her, kept
+her quietly in range of her brown eyes to the limit of breeding, then
+her glance dropped as Jim passed; and he heard her speaking serenely
+to the girl beside her.
+
+At the revolving doors, Elorn said: "Shall I drop you at the office,
+Jim?"
+
+"Thanks--if you don't mind."
+
+In the car he talked continually, not very entertainingly, but there
+was more vivacity about him than there had been.
+
+"Are you doing anything to-night?" he inquired.
+
+She was, of course. Yet, she felt oddly relieved that he had asked
+her.... But the memory of the strange expression in his face persisted
+in her mind.
+
+Who was this girl with whom he had crossed the ocean? And why should
+he lose his self-possession on unexpectedly encountering her?
+
+Had there been anything about Palla--the faintest hint of inferiority
+of any sort--Elorn Sharrow could have dismissed the episode with
+proud, if troubled, philosophy. For many among her girl friends had
+cub brothers. And the girl had learned that men are men--sometimes
+even the nicest--although she could not understand it.
+
+But this brown-eyed girl in black was evidently her own sort--Jim's
+sort. And that preoccupied her; and she lent only an inattentive ear
+to the animated monologue of the man beside her.
+
+Before the offices of Sharrow & Co. her car stopped.
+
+"I'm sorry, Jim," she said, "that I'm so busy this week. But we ought
+to meet at many places, unless you continue to play the recluse. Don't
+you really go anywhere any more?"
+
+"No. But I'm going," he said bluntly.
+
+"Please do. And call me up sometimes. Take a sporting chance whenever
+you're free. We ought to get in an hour together now and then. You're
+coming to my dance of course, are you not?"
+
+"Of course I am."
+
+The girl smiled in her sweet, generous way and gave him her hand
+again.
+
+And he went into the office feeling rather miserable and beginning to
+realise why.
+
+For in spite of what he had said to Palla about the wisdom of
+absenting himself, the mere sight of her had instantly set him afire.
+
+And now he wanted to see her--needed to see her. A day was too long to
+pass without seeing her. An evening without her--and another--and
+others, appalled him.
+
+And all the afternoon he thought of her, his mind scarcely on his
+business at all.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+His parents were dining at home. He was very gay that evening--very
+amusing in describing his misadventures with Messrs. Puma and Skidder.
+But his mother appeared to be more interested in the description of
+his encounter with Elorn.
+
+"She's such a dear," she said. "If you go to the Speedwells' dinner on
+Thursday you'll see her again. You haven't declined, I hope; have you,
+Jim?"
+
+It appeared that he had.
+
+"If you drop out of things this way nobody will bother to ask you
+anywhere after a while. Don't you know that, dear?" she said. "This
+town forgets overnight."
+
+"I suppose so, mother. I'll keep up."
+
+His father remarked that it was part of his business to know the sort
+of people who bought houses.
+
+Jim agreed with him. "I'll surely kick in again," he promised
+cheerfully.... "I think I'll go to the club this evening."
+
+His mother smiled. It was a healthy sign. Also, thank goodness, there
+were no girls in black at the club.
+
+At the club he resolutely passed the telephone booths and even got as
+far as the cloak room before he hesitated.
+
+Then, very slowly, he retraced his steps; went into the nearest booth,
+and called a number that seemed burnt into his brain. Palla answered.
+
+"Are you doing anything, dear?" he asked--his usual salutation.
+
+"Oh. It's you!" she said calmly.
+
+"It is. Who else calls you dear? May I come around for a little
+while?"
+
+"Have you forgotten what you----"
+
+"No! May I come?"
+
+"Not if you speak to me so curtly, Jim."
+
+"I'm sorry."
+
+She deliberated so long that her silence irritated him.
+
+"If you don't want me," he said, "please say so."
+
+"I certainly don't want you if you are likely to be ill-tempered,
+Jim."
+
+"I'm not ill-tempered.... I'll tell you what's the trouble if I may
+come. May I?"
+
+"Is anything troubling you?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"I'm so sorry!"
+
+"Am I to come?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+She herself admitted him. He laid his hat and coat on a chair in the
+hall and followed her upstairs to the living-room.
+
+When she had seated herself she looked up at him interrogatively,
+awaiting his pleasure. He stood a moment with his back to the fire,
+his hands twisting nervously behind him. Then:
+
+"My trouble," he explained naively, "is that I am restless and unhappy
+when I remain away from you."
+
+The girl laughed. "But, Jim, you seemed to be having a perfectly good
+time at Delmonico's this noon."
+
+He reddened and gave her a disconcerted look.
+
+"I don't see," she added, "why any man shouldn't have a good time
+with such an attractive girl. May I ask who she is?"
+
+"Elorn Sharrow," he replied bluntly.
+
+Palla's glance had sometimes wandered over social columns in the
+papers and periodicals, and she was not ignorant concerning the
+identity and local importance of Miss Sharrow.
+
+She looked up curiously at Jim. He was so very good to look at!
+Better, even, to know. And Miss Sharrow was his kind. They had seemed
+to belong together. And it came to Palla, hazily, and for the first
+time, that she herself seemed to belong nowhere in particular in the
+scheme of things.
+
+But that was quite all right. She had now established for herself a
+habitation. She had some friends--would undoubtedly make others. She
+had her interests, her peace of mind, and her independence. And behind
+her she had the dear and tragic past--a passionate memory of a dead
+girl; a terrible remembrance of a dead God.
+
+The heart of the world alone could make up to her these losses. For
+now she was already preparing to seek it in her own way, under her own
+Law of Love.
+
+"Jim," she said almost timidly, "I have not intended to make you
+unhappy. Don't you understand that?"
+
+He seated himself: she lighted a cigarette for him.
+
+"I suppose you can't help doing it," he said glumly.
+
+"I really can't, it seems. I don't love you. I wish I did."
+
+"Do you mean that?"
+
+"Of course I do.... I wish I were in love with you."
+
+After a moment she said: "I told you how much I care for you. But--if
+you think it is easier for you--not to see me----"
+
+"I can't seem to stay away."
+
+"I'm glad you can't--for my sake; but I'm troubled on your account. I
+do so adore to be with you! But--but if----"
+
+"Hang it all!" he exclaimed, forcing a wry smile. "I act like an
+unbaked fool! You've gone to my head, Palla, and I behave like a
+drunken kid.... I'll buck up. I've got to. I'm not the blithering,
+balmy, moon-eyed, melancholy ass you think me----"
+
+Her quick laughter rang clear, and his echoed it, rather uncertainly.
+
+"You poor dear," she said, "you're nearest my heart of anybody. I told
+you so. It's only that one thing I don't dare do."
+
+He nodded.
+
+"Can't you really understand that I'm afraid?"
+
+"Afraid!" he repeated. "I should think you might be, considering your
+astonishing point of view. I should think you'd be properly scared to
+death!"
+
+"I am. No girl, afraid, should ever take such a chance. Love and Fear
+cannot exist together. The one always slays the other."
+
+He looked at her curiously, remembering what Estridge had told him
+about her--how, on that terrible day in the convent chapel, this
+girl's love had truly slain the fear within her as she faced the Red
+assassins and offered to lay down her life for her friend. Than which,
+it is said, there is no greater love....
+
+"Of what are you thinking?" she asked, watching his expression.
+
+"Of you--you strange, generous, fearless, wilful girl!" Then he
+squared his shoulders and shook them as though freeing himself of
+something oppressive.
+
+"What you _may_ need is a spanking!" he suggested coolly.
+
+"Good heavens, Jim!----"
+
+"But I'm afraid you're not likely to get it. And what is going to
+happen to you--and to me--I don't know--I don't know, Palla."
+
+"May I prophesy?"
+
+"Go to it, Miriam."
+
+"Behold, then: I shall never care for any man more than I care now
+for you; I shall never care more for you than I do now.... And
+if you are sweet-tempered and sensible, we shall be very happy
+with each other.... Even after you marry.... Unless your wife
+misunderstands----"
+
+"My wife!" he repeated derisively.
+
+"Miss Sharrow, for instance."
+
+He turned a dull red; the girl's heart missed a beat, then hurried a
+little before it calmed again under her cool recognition and instant
+disdain of the first twinge of jealousy she could remember since
+childhood.
+
+The absurdity of it, too! After all, it was this man's destiny to
+marry. And, if it chanced to be that girl----
+
+"You know," he said in a detached, musing way, "it is well for you to
+remember that I shall never marry unless I marry you.... Life is long.
+There are other women.... I may forget you--at intervals.... But I
+shall never marry except with you, Palla."
+
+Her smile forced the gravity from her lips and eyes:
+
+"If you behave like a veiled prophet you'll end by scaring me," she
+said.
+
+But he merely gathered her into his arms and kissed her--laid back her
+head and looked down into her face and kissed her lips, without haste,
+as though she belonged to him.
+
+Her head rested quite motionless on his shoulder. Perhaps she was
+still too taken aback to do anything about the matter. Her heart had
+hurried a little--not much--stimulated, possibly, by the rather
+agreeable curiosity which invaded her--charmingly expressive, now, in
+her wide brown eyes.
+
+"So that's the way of it," he concluded, still looking down at her.
+"There are other women in the world. And life is long. But I marry you
+or nobody. And it's my opinion that I shall not die unmarried."
+
+She smiled defiantly.
+
+"You don't seem to think much of my opinions," she said.
+
+"Are you more friendly to mine?"
+
+"Certain opinions of yours," he retorted, "originated in the diseased
+bean of some crazy Russian--never in your mind! So of course I hold
+them in contempt."
+
+She saw his face darken, watched it a moment, then impulsively drew
+his head down against hers.
+
+"I do care for your opinions," she said, her cheek, delicately warm,
+beside his. "So, even if you can not comprehend mine, be generous to
+them. I'm sincere. I try to be honest. If you differ from me, do it
+kindly, not contemptuously. For there is no such thing as 'noble
+contempt!' There is respectability in anger and nobility in tolerance.
+But none in disdain, for they are contradictions."
+
+"I tell you," he said, "I despise and hate this loose socialistic
+philosophy that makes a bonfire of everything the world believes in!"
+
+"Don't hate other creeds; merely conform to your own, Jim. It will
+keep you very, very busy. And give others a chance to live up to their
+beliefs."
+
+He felt the smile on her lips and cheek:
+
+"I can't live up to my belief if I marry you," she said. "So let us
+care for each other peacefully--accepting each other as we are. Life
+is long, as you say.... And there are other women.... And ultimately
+you will marry one of them. But until then----"
+
+He felt her lips very lightly against his--cool young lips, still and
+fragrant and sweet.
+
+After a moment she asked him to release her; and she rose and walked
+across the room to the mirror.
+
+Still busy with her hair, she turned partly toward him:
+
+"Apropos of nothing," she said, "a man was exceedingly impudent to me
+on the street this evening. A Russian, too. I was so annoyed!"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"It happened just as I started to ascend the steps.... There was a man
+there, loitering. I supposed he meant to beg. So I felt for my purse,
+but he jumped back and began to curse me roundly for an aristocrat and
+a social parasite!"
+
+"What did he say?"
+
+"I was so amazed--quite stupefied. And all the while he was swearing
+at me in Russian and in English, and he warned me to keep away from
+Marya and Vanya and Ilse and mind my own damned business. And he said,
+also, that if I didn't there were people in New York who knew how to
+deal with any friend of the Russian aristocracy."
+
+She patted a curly strand of hair into place, and came toward him in
+her leisurely, lissome way.
+
+"Fancy the impertinence of that wretched Red! And I understand that
+both Vanya and Marya have received horribly insulting letters. And
+Ilse, also. Isn't it most annoying?"
+
+She seated herself at the piano and absently began the Adagio of the
+famous sonata.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+There was still, for Palla, much shopping to do. The drawing room she
+decided to leave, for the present, caring as she did only for a few
+genuine and beautiful pieces to furnish the pretty little French grey
+room.
+
+The purchase of these ought to be deferred, but she could look about,
+and she did, wandering into antique shops of every class along Fifth
+and Madison Avenues and the inviting cross streets.
+
+But her chiefest quest was still for pots and pans and china; for
+napery, bed linen, and hangings; also for her own and more intimate
+personal attire.
+
+To her the city was enchanting and not at all as she remembered it
+before she had gone abroad.
+
+New York, under its canopy of tossing flags and ablaze with brilliant
+posters, swarmed with unfamiliar people. Every other pedestrian seemed
+to be a soldier; every other vehicle contained a uniform.
+
+There were innumerable varieties of military dress in the thronged
+streets; there was the universal note of khaki and olive drab,
+terminating in leather vizored barrack cap or jaunty overseas service
+cap, and in spiral puttees, leather ones, or spurred boots.
+
+Silver wings of aviators glimmered on athletic chests; chevrons, wound
+stripes, service stripes, an endless variety of insignia.
+
+Here the grey-green and oxidised metal of the marines predominated;
+there, the conspicuous sage-green and gold of naval aviators. On
+campaign hats were every hue of hat cord; the rich gilt and blue of
+naval officers and the blue and white of their jackies were everywhere
+to be encountered.
+
+And then everywhere, also, the brighter hue and exotic cut of foreign
+uniforms was apparent--splashes of gayer tints amid khaki and sober
+civilian garb--the beautiful _garance_ and horizon-blue of French
+officers; the familiar "brass hat" of the British; the grey-blue and
+maroon of Italians. And there were stranger uniforms in varieties
+inexhaustible--the schapska-shaped head-gear of Polish officers, the
+beret of Czecho-Slovaks. And everywhere, too, the gay and well-known
+red pom-pon bobbed on the caps of French blue-jackets, and British
+marines stalked in pairs, looking every inch the soldier with their
+swagger sticks and their vizorless forage-caps.
+
+Always, it seemed to Palla, there was military music to be heard above
+the roar of traffic--sometimes the drums and bugles of foreign
+detachments, arrived in aid of "drives" and loans of various sorts.
+
+Ambulances painted grey and bright blue, and driven by smartly
+uniformed young women, were everywhere.
+
+And to women's uniforms there seemed no end, ranging all the way from
+the sober blue of the army nurse and the pretty white of the Red
+Cross, to bizarre but smart effects carried smartly by well set up
+girls representing scores of service corps, some invaluable, some of
+doubtful utility.
+
+Eagle huts, canteens, soldiers' rest houses, Red Cross quarters,
+clubs, temporary barracks, peppered the city. Everywhere the service
+flags were visible, also, telling their proud stories in five-pointed
+symbols--sometimes tragic, where gold stars glittered.
+
+Never had New York seemed to contain so many people; never had the
+overflow so congested avenue and street, circle and square, and the
+wretchedly inadequate and dirty street-car and subway service.
+
+And into the heart of it all went Palla, engulfed in the great tides
+of Fifth Avenue, drifting into quieter back-waters to east and west,
+and sometimes caught and tossed about in the glittering maelstrom of
+Broadway when she ventured into the theatre district.
+
+Opera, comedy, musical show and cinema interested her; restaurant and
+cabaret she had evaded, so far, but what most excited and fascinated
+her was the people themselves--these eager, restless moving millions
+swarming through the city day and night, always in motion under blue
+skies or falling rain, perpetually in quest of what the world
+eternally offered, eternally concealed--that indefinite, glimmering
+thing called "heart's desire."
+
+To discover, to comprehend, to help, to guide their myriad aspirations
+in the interminable and headlong hunt for happiness, was, to Palla,
+the most vital problem in the world.
+
+For her there existed only one solution of this problem: the Law of
+Love.
+
+And in this world-wide Hunt for Happiness, where scrambling millions
+followed the trail of Heart's Desire, she saw the mad huntsman, Folly,
+leading, and Black Care, the whipper-in; and, at the bitter end, only
+the bones of the world's woe; and a Horseman seated on his Pale
+Horse.
+
+But the problem that still remained was how to swerve the headlong
+hunt to the true trail toward the only goal where the world's quarry,
+happiness, lies asleep.
+
+How to make service the Universal Heart's Desire? How to transfigure
+self-love into Love?
+
+To preach her faith from the street corners--to cry it aloud in the
+wilderness where no ear heeded--violence, aggression, the campaign
+militant, had never appealed to the girl.
+
+Like her nation, only when cornered did she blaze out and strike. But
+to harangue, threaten, demand of the world that it accept the Law of
+Service and of Love, seemed to her a mockery of the faith she had
+embraced, which, unless irrevocably in liaison with freedom, was no
+faith at all.
+
+So, for Palla, the solution lay in loyalty to the faith she professed;
+in living it; in swaying ignorance by example; in overcoming
+incredulity by service, scepticism by love.
+
+Love and Service? Why, all around her among these teeming millions
+were examples--volunteers in khaki, their sisters in the garments of
+mercy! Why must the world stop there? This was the right scent. Why
+should the hunt swerve for the devil's herring drawn across the
+trail?
+
+One for all; all for one! She had read it on one of the war-posters.
+Somebody had taken the splendid Guardsman's creed and had made it the
+slogan for this war against darkness.
+
+And that was her creed--the true faith--the Law of Love. Then, was it
+good only in war? Why not make it the nation's creed? Why not emblazon
+it on the wall of every city on earth?--one for all; all for one;
+Love, Service, Freedom!
+
+Before such a faith, autocracy and tyranny die. Under such a law
+every evil withers, every question is unravelled. There are no more
+problems of poverty and riches, none of greed and oppression.
+
+The tyranny of convention, of observance, of taboo, of folkways, ends.
+And into the brain of all living beings will be born the perfect
+comprehension of their own indestructible divinity.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Part of this she ventured to say to Ilse Westgard one day, when they
+had met for luncheon in a modest tea-room on Forty-third Street.
+
+But Ilse, always inclined toward militancy, did not entirely agree
+with Palla.
+
+"To embody in one's daily life the principles of one's living faith is
+scarcely sufficient," she said. "Good is a force, not an inert
+condition. So is evil. And we should not sit still while evil moves."
+
+"Example is not inertia," protested Palla.
+
+"Example, alone, is sterile, I think," said the ex-girl-soldier of the
+Battalion of Death, buttering a crescent. She ate it with the
+delightful appetite of flawless health, and poured out more
+chocolate.
+
+"For instance, dear," she went on, "the forces of evil--of degeneration,
+ignorance, envy, ferocity, are gathering like a tornado in Russia.
+Virtuous example, sucking its thumbs and minding its own business, will
+be torn to fragments when the storm breaks."
+
+"The Bolsheviki?"
+
+"The Reds. The Terrorists, I mean. You know as well as I do what they
+really are--merely looters skulking through the smoke of a world in
+flames--buzzards on the carcass of a civilisation dead. But, Palla,
+they do not sit still and suck their thumbs and say, 'I am a
+Terrorist. Behold me and be converted.' No, indeed! They are moving,
+always in motion, preoccupied by their hellish designs."
+
+"In Russia, yes," admitted Palla.
+
+"Everywhere, dearest. Here, also."
+
+"I believe there are scarcely any in America," insisted Palla.
+
+"The country crawls with them," retorted Ilse. "They work like moles,
+but already if you look about you can see the earth stirring above
+their tunnels. They are here, everywhere, active, scheming, plotting,
+whispering treason, stirring discontent, inciting envy, teaching
+treason.
+
+"They are the Russians--Christians and Jews--who have filtered in here
+to do the nation mischief. They are the Germans who blew up factories,
+set fires, scuttled ships. They are foreigners who came here poisoned
+with envy; who have acquired nothing; whose greed and ferocity are
+whetted and ready for a universal conflagration by which they alone
+could profit.
+
+"They are the labour leaders who break faith and incite to violence;
+they are the I. W. W.; they are the Black Hand, the Camorra; they are
+the penniless who would slay and rob; the landless who would kill and
+seize; the ignorant, nursing suspicion; the shiftless, brooding crimes
+to bring them riches quickly.
+
+"And, Palla, your Law of Love and Service is good. But not for
+these."
+
+"What law for them, then?"
+
+"Education. Maybe with machine guns."
+
+Palla shook her head. "Is that the way to educate defectives?"
+
+"When they come at you _en masse_, yes!"
+
+Palla laughed. "Dear," she said, "there is no nation-wide Terrorist
+plot. These mental defectives are not in mass anywhere in America."
+
+"They are in dangerous groups everywhere. And every group is devoting
+its cunning to turning the working masses into a vast mob of the Black
+Hundred! They did it in Russia. They are working for it all over the
+world. You do not believe it?"
+
+"No, I don't, Ilse."
+
+"Very well. You shall come with me this evening. Are you busy?"
+
+The thought of Jim glimmered in her mind. He might feel aggrieved. But
+he ought to begin to realise that he couldn't be with her every
+evening.
+
+"No, I haven't any plans, Ilse," she said, "no definite engagement, I
+mean. Will you dine at home with me?"
+
+"Early, then. Because there is a meeting which you and I shall attend.
+It is an education."
+
+"An anarchist meeting?"
+
+"Yes, Reds. I think we should go--perhaps take part----"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Why not? I shall not listen to lies and remain silent!" said Ilse,
+laughing. "The Revolution was good. But the Bolsheviki are nothing but
+greedy thieves and murderers. You and I know that. If anybody teaches
+people the contrary, I certainly shall have something to say."
+
+Palla desired to purchase silk for sofa pillows, having acquired a
+chaise-longue for her bedroom.
+
+So she and Ilse went out into the sunshine and multi-coloured crowd;
+and all the afternoon they shopped very blissfully--which meant, also,
+lingering before store windows, drifting into picture-galleries,
+taking tea at Sherry's, and finally setting out for home through a
+beflagged avenue jammed with traffic.
+
+Dusk fell early but the drooping, orange-tinted globes which had
+replaced the white ones on the Fifth Avenue lamps were not yet
+lighted; and there still remained a touch of sunset in the sky when
+they left the bus.
+
+At the corner of Palla's street, there seemed to be an unusual
+congestion, and now, above the noise of traffic, they caught the sound
+of a band; and turned at the curb to see, supposing it to be a
+military music.
+
+The band was a full one, not military, wearing a slatternly sort of
+uniform but playing well enough as they came up through the thickening
+dusk, marching close to the eastern curb of the avenue.
+
+They were playing _The Marseillaise_. Four abreast, behind them,
+marched a dingy column of men and women, mostly of foreign aspect and
+squatty build, carrying a flag which seemed to be entirely red.
+
+Palla, perplexed, incredulous, yet almost instantly suspecting the
+truth, stared at the rusty ranks, at the knots of red ribbon on every
+breast.
+
+Other people were staring, too, as the unexpected procession came
+shuffling along--late shoppers, business men returning home,
+soldiers--all paused to gaze at this sullen visaged battalion clumping
+up the avenue.
+
+"Surely," said Palla to Ilse, "these people can't be Reds!"
+
+"Surely they are!" returned the tall, fair girl calmly. Her face had
+become flushed, and she stepped to the edge of the curb, her blue,
+wrathful eyes darkening like sapphires.
+
+A soldier came up beside her. Others, sailors and soldiers, stopped
+to look. There was a red flag passing. Suddenly Ilse stepped from the
+sidewalk, wrenched the flag from the burly Jew who carried it, and,
+with the same movement, shattered the staff across her knee.
+
+Men and women in the ranks closed in on her; a shrill roar rose from
+them, but the soldiers and sailors, cheering and laughing, broke into
+the enraged ranks, tearing off red rosettes, cuffing and kicking the
+infuriated Terrorists, seizing every seditious banner, flag, emblem
+and placard in sight.
+
+Female Reds, shrieking with rage, clawed, kicked and bit at soldier,
+sailor and civilian. A gaunt man, with a greasy bunch of hair under a
+bowler, waved dirty hands above the melee and shouted that he had the
+Mayor's permission to parade.
+
+Everywhere automobiles were stopping, crowds of people hurrying up,
+policemen running. The electric lights snapped alight, revealed a mob
+struggling there in the yellowish glare.
+
+Ilse had calmly stepped to the sidewalk, the fragments of flag and
+staff in her white-gloved hands; and, as she saw the irresponsible
+soldiers and blue-jackets wading lustily into the Reds--saw the lively
+riot which her own action had started--an irresistible desire to laugh
+seized her.
+
+Clear and gay above the yelling of Bolsheviki and the "Yip--yip!" of
+the soldiers, peeled her infectious laughter. But Palla, more gentle,
+stood with dark eyes dilated, fearful of real bloodshed in the furious
+scene raging in the avenue before her.
+
+A little shrimp of a Terrorist, a huge red rosette streaming from his
+buttonhole, suddenly ran at Ilse and seized the broken staff and the
+rags of the red flag. And Palla, alarmed, caught him by the
+coat-collar and dragged him screeching and cursing away from her
+friend, rebuking him in a firm but excited voice.
+
+Ilse came over, shouldering her superb figure through the crowd;
+looked at the human shrimp a moment; then her laughter pealed anew.
+
+"That's the man who abused me in Denmark!" she said. "Oh, Palla,
+_look_ at him! Do you really believe you could educate a thing like
+that!"
+
+The man had wriggled free, and now he turned a flat, whiskered visage
+on Palla, menaced her with both soiled fists, inarticulate in his
+fury.
+
+But police were everywhere, now, sweeping this miniature riot from the
+avenue, hustling the Reds uptown, checking the skylarking soldiery,
+sending amused or indignant citizens about their business.
+
+A burly policeman said to Ilse with a grin: "I'll take what's left of
+that red flag, Miss;" and the girl handed it to him still laughing.
+
+Soldiers wearing overseas caps cheered her and Palla. Everybody on the
+turbulent sidewalk was now laughing.
+
+"D'yeh see that blond nab the red flag outer that big kike's fists?"
+shouted one soldier to his sweating bunkie. "Some skirt!"
+
+"God love the Bolsheviki she grabs by the slack o' the pants!" cried a
+blue-jacket who had lost his cap. A roar followed.
+
+"Only one flag in this little old town!" yelled a citizen nursing a
+cut cheek with reddened handkerchief.
+
+"G'wan, now!" grumbled a policeman, trying to look severe; "it's all
+over; they's nothing to see. Av ye got homes----"
+
+"Yip! Where do we go from here?" demanded a marine.
+
+"Home!" repeated the policeman; "--that's the answer. G'wan, now,
+peaceable--lave these ladies pass!----"
+
+Ilse and Palla, still walled in by a grinning, admiring soldiery, took
+advantage of the opening and fled, followed by cheers as far as
+Palla's door.
+
+"Good heavens, Ilse," she exclaimed in fresh dismay, as she began to
+realise the rather violent roles they both had played, "--is that your
+idea of education for the masses?"
+
+A servant answered the bell and they entered the house. And presently,
+seated on the chaise-longue in Palla's bedroom, Ilse Westgard
+alternately gazed upon her ruined white gloves and leaned against the
+cane back, weak with laughter.
+
+"How funny! How degrading! But how funny!" she kept repeating. "That
+large and enraged Jew with the red flag!--the wretched little
+Christian shrimp you carried wriggling away by the collar! Oh, Palla!
+Palla! Never shall I forget the expression on your face--like a bored
+housewife, who, between thumb and forefinger, carries a dead mouse by
+the tail----"
+
+"He was trying to kick you, my dear," explained Palla, beginning to
+remove the hairpins from her hair.
+
+Ilse touched her eyes with her handkerchief.
+
+"They might have thrown bombs," she said. "It's all very well to
+laugh, darling, but sometimes such affairs are not funny."
+
+Palla, seated at her dresser, shook down a mass of thick, bright-brown
+hair, and picked up her comb.
+
+"I am wondering," she said, turning partly toward Ilse, "what Jim
+Shotwell would think of me."
+
+"Fighting on the street!"--her laughter rang out uncontrolled. And
+Palla, too, was laughing rather uncertainly, for, as her recollection
+of the affair became more vivid, her doubts concerning the entire
+procedure increased.
+
+"Of course," she said, "that red flag was outrageous, and you were
+quite right in destroying it. One could hardly buttonhole such a
+procession and try to educate it."
+
+Ilse said: "One can usually educate a wild animal, but never a rabid
+one. You'll see, to-night."
+
+"Where are we going, dear?"
+
+"We are going to a place just west of Seventh Avenue, called the Red
+Flag Club."
+
+"Is it a club?"
+
+"No. The Reds hire it several times a week and try to fill it with
+people. There is the menace to this city and to the nation, Palla--for
+these cunning fomenters of disorder deluge the poorer quarters of the
+town with their literature. That's where they get their audiences. And
+that is where are being born the seeds of murder and destruction."
+
+Palla, combing out her hair, gazed absently into the mirror.
+
+"Why should not we do the same thing?" she asked.
+
+"Form a club, rent a room, and talk to people?"
+
+"Yes; why not?" asked Palla.
+
+"That is exactly why I wish you to come with me to-night--to realise
+how we should combat these criminal and insane agents of all that is
+most terrible in Europe.
+
+"And you are right, Palla; that is the way to fight them. That is the
+way to neutralise the poison they are spreading. That is the way to
+educate the masses to that sane socialism in which we both believe. It
+can be done by education. It can be done by matching them with club
+for club, meeting for meeting, speech for speech. And when, in some
+local instances, it can not be done that way, then, if there be
+disorder, force!"
+
+"It can be done entirely by education," said Palla. "But remember!--Marx
+gave the forces of disorder their slogan--'Unite!' Only a rigid
+organisation of sane civilisation can meet that menace."
+
+"You are very right, darling, and a club to combat the Bolsheviki
+already exists. Vanya and Marya already have joined; there are workmen
+and working women, college professors and college graduates among its
+members. Some, no doubt, will be among the audience at the Red Flag
+Club to-night.
+
+"I shall join this club. I think you, also, will wish to enroll. It is
+called only 'Number One.' Other clubs are to be organised and
+numbered.
+
+"And now you see that, in America, the fight against organised
+rascality and exploited insanity has really begun."
+
+Palla, her hair under discipline once more, donned a fresh but severe
+black gown. Ilse unpinned her hat, made a vigorous toilet, then
+lighted a cigarette and sauntered into the living room where the
+telephone was ringing persistently.
+
+"Please answer," said Palla, fastening her gown before the pier
+glass.
+
+Presently Ilse called her: "It's Mr. Shotwell, dear."
+
+Palla came into the room and picked up the receiver:
+
+"Yes? Oh, good evening, Jim! Yes.... Yes, I am going out with Ilse....
+Why, no, I had no engagement with you, Jim! I'm sorry, but I didn't
+understand--No; I had no idea that you expected to see me--wait a
+moment, please!"--she put one hand over the transmitter, turned to
+Ilse with flushed cheeks and a shyly interrogative smile: "Shall I
+ask him to dine with us and go with us?"
+
+"If you choose," called Ilse, faintly amused.
+
+Then Palla called him: "--Jim! Come to dinner at once. And wear your
+business clothes.... What?... Yes, your every day clothes.... What?...
+Why, because I ask you, Jim. Isn't that a reason?... Thank you....
+Yes, come immediately.... Good-bye, de----"
+
+She coloured crimson, hung up the receiver, and picked up the evening
+paper, not daring to glance at Ilse.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+When Shotwell arrived, dinner had already been announced, and Palla
+and Ilse Westgard were in the unfurnished drawing-room, the former on
+a step-ladder, the latter holding that collapsible machine with one
+hand and Palla's ankle with the other.
+
+Palla waved a tape-measure in airy salute: "I'm trying to find out how
+many yards it takes for my curtains," she explained. But she climbed
+down and gave him her hand; and they went immediately into the
+dining-room.
+
+"What's all this nonsense about the Red Flag Club?" he inquired, when
+they were seated. "Do you and Ilse really propose going to that dirty
+anarchist joint?"
+
+"How do you know it's dirty?" demanded Palla, "--or do you mean it's
+only morally dingy?"
+
+Both she and Ilse appeared to be in unusually lively spirits, and they
+poked fun at him when he objected to their attending the meeting in
+question.
+
+"Very well," he said, "but there may be a free fight. There was a row
+on Fifth Avenue this evening, where some of those rats were parading
+with red flags."
+
+Palla laughed and cast a demure glance at Ilse.
+
+"What is there to laugh at?" demanded Jim. "There was a small riot on
+Fifth Avenue! I met several men at the club who witnessed it."
+
+The sea-blue eyes of Ilse were full of mischief. He was aware of
+Palla's subtle exhilaration, too.
+
+"Why hunt for a free fight?" he asked.
+
+"Why avoid one if it's free?" retorted Ilse, gaily.
+
+They all laughed.
+
+"Is that your idea of liberty?" he asked Palla.
+
+"What is all human progress but a free fight?" she retorted. "Of
+course," she added, "Ilse means an intellectual battle. If they
+misbehave otherwise, I shall flee."
+
+"I don't see why you want to go to hear a lot of Reds talk bosh," he
+remarked. "It isn't like you, Palla."
+
+"It _is_ like me. You see you don't really know me, Jim," she added
+with smiling malice.
+
+"The main thing," said Ilse, "is for one to be one's self. Palla and I
+are social revolutionists. Revolutionists revolt. A revolt is a row.
+There can be no row unless people fight."
+
+He smiled at their irresponsible gaiety, a little puzzled by it and a
+little uneasy.
+
+"All right," he said, as coffee was served; "but it's just as well
+that I'm going with you."
+
+The ex-girl-soldier gave him an amused glance, lighted a cigarette,
+glanced at her wrist-watch, then rose lightly to her graceful,
+athletic height, saying that they ought to start.
+
+So they went away to pin on their hats, and Jim called a taxi.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The hall was well filled when they arrived. There was a rostrum, on
+which two wooden benches faced a table and a chair in the centre. On
+the table stood a pitcher of drinking water, a soiled glass, and a jug
+full of red carnations.
+
+A dozen men and women occupied the two benches. At the table a man
+sat writing. He held a lighted cigar in one hand; a red silk
+handkerchief trailed from his coat pocket.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+As Ilse and Palla seated themselves on an empty bench and Shotwell
+found a place beside them, somebody on the next bench beyond leaned
+over and bade them good evening in a low voice.
+
+"Mr. Brisson!" exclaimed Palla, giving him her hand in unfeigned
+pleasure.
+
+Brisson shook hands, also, with Ilse, cordially, and then was
+introduced to Jim.
+
+"What are you doing here?" he inquired humorously of Palla. "And, by
+the way,"--dropping his voice--"these Reds don't exactly love me, so
+don't use my name."
+
+Palla nodded and whispered to Jim: "He secured all that damning
+evidence at the Smolny for our Government."
+
+Brisson and Ilse were engaged in low-voiced conversation: Palla
+ventured to look about her.
+
+The character of the gathering was foreign. There were few American
+features among the faces, but those few were immeasurably superior
+in type--here and there the intellectual, spectacled visage of
+some educated visionary, lured into the red tide and left there
+drifting;--here and there some pale girl, carelessly dressed, seated
+with folded hands, and intense gaze fixed on space.
+
+But the majority of these people, men and women, were foreign in
+aspect--round, bushy heads with no backs to them were everywhere;
+muddy skins, unhealthy skins, loose mouths, shifty eyes!--everywhere
+around her Palla saw the stigma of degeneracy.
+
+She said in a low voice to Jim: "These poor things need to be properly
+housed and fed before they're taught. Education doesn't interest empty
+stomachs. And when they're given only poison to stop the pangs--what
+does civilisation expect?"
+
+He said: "They're a lot of bums. The only education they require is
+with a night-stick."
+
+"That's cruel, Jim."
+
+"It's law."
+
+"One of your laws which does not appeal to me," she remarked, turning
+to Brisson, who was leaning over to speak to her.
+
+"There are half a dozen plain-clothes men in the audience," he said.
+"There are Government detectives here, too. I rather expect they'll
+stop the proceedings before the programme calls for it."
+
+Jim turned to look back. A file of policemen entered and carelessly
+took up posts in the rear of the hall. Hundreds of flat-backed heads
+turned, too; hundreds of faces darkened; a low muttering arose from
+the benches.
+
+Then the man at the table on the rostrum got up abruptly, and pulled
+out his red handkerchief as though to wipe his face.
+
+At the sudden flourish of the red fabric, a burst of applause came
+from the benches. Orator and audience were _en rapport_; the former
+continued to wave the handkerchief, under pretence of swabbing his
+features, but the intention was so evident and the applause so
+enlightening that a police officer came part way down the aisle and
+held up a gilded sleeve.
+
+"Hey!" he called in a bored voice, "Cut that out! See!"
+
+"That man on the platform is Max Sondheim," whispered Brisson. "He'll
+skate on thin ice before he's through."
+
+Sondheim had already begun to speak, ignoring the interruption from
+the police:
+
+"The Mayor has got cold feet," he said with a sneer. "He gave us a
+permit to parade, but when the soldiers attacked us his police clubbed
+us. That's the kind of government we got."
+
+"Shame!" cried a white-faced girl in the audience.
+
+"Shame?" repeated Sondheim ironically. "What's shame to a cop? They
+got theirs all the same----"
+
+"That's enough!" shouted the police captain sharply. "Any more of that
+and I'll run you in!"
+
+Sondheim's red-rimmed eyes measured the officer in silence for a
+moment.
+
+"I have the privilege," he said to his audience, "of introducing to
+you our comrade, Professor Le Vey."
+
+"Le Vey," whispered Brisson in Palla's ear. "He's a crack-brained
+chemist, and they ought to nab him."
+
+The professor rose from one of the benches on the rostrum and came
+forward--a tall, black-bearded man, deathly pale, whose protruding,
+bluish eyes seemed almost stupid in their fixity.
+
+"Words are by-products," he said, "and of minor importance. Deeds
+educate. T. N. T., also, is a byproduct, and of no use in conversation
+unless employed as an argument--" A roar of applause drowned his
+voice: he gazed at the audience out of his stupid pop-eyes.
+
+"Tyranny has kicked you into the gutter," he went on. "Capital makes
+laws to keep you there and hires police and soldiers to enforce those
+laws. This is called civilisation. Is there anything for you to do
+except to pick yourselves out of the gutter and destroy what kicked
+you into it and what keeps you there?"
+
+"No!" roared the audience.
+
+"Only a clean sweep will do it," said Le Vey. "If you have a single
+germ of plague in the world, it will multiply. If you leave a single
+trace of what is called civilisation in the world, it will hatch out
+more tyrants, more capitalists, more laws. So there is only one
+remedy. Destruction. Total annihilation. Nothing less can purify this
+rotten hell they call the world!"
+
+Amid storms of applause he unrolled a manuscript and read without
+emphasis:
+
+"Therefore, the Workers of the World, in council assembled, hereby
+proclaim at midnight to-night, throughout the entire world:
+
+"1. That all debts, public and private, are cancelled.
+
+"2. That all leases, contracts, indentures and similar instruments,
+products of capitalism, are null and void.
+
+"3. All statutes, ordinances and other enactments of capitalist
+government are repealed.
+
+"4. All public offices are declared vacant.
+
+"5. The military and naval organisations will immediately dissolve
+and reorganise themselves upon a democratic basis for speedy
+mobilisation.
+
+"6. All working classes and political prisoners will be immediately
+freed and all indictments quashed.
+
+"7. All vacant and unused land shall immediately revert to the people
+and remain common property until suitable regulations for its
+disposition can be made.
+
+"8. All telephones, telegraphs, cables, railroads, steamship lines and
+other means of communication and transportation shall be immediately
+taken over by the workers and treated henceforth as the property of
+the people.
+
+"9. As speedily as possible the workers in the various industries will
+proceed to take over these industries and organise them in the spirit
+of the new epoch now beginning.
+
+"10. The flag of the new society shall be plain red, marking our unity
+and brotherhood with similar republics in Russia, Germany, Austria and
+elsewhere----"
+
+"That'll be about all from you, Professor," interrupted the police
+captain, strolling down to the platform. "Come on, now. Kiss your
+friends good-night!"
+
+A sullen roar rose from the audience; Le Vey lifted one hand:
+
+"I told you how to argue," he said in his emotionless voice. "Anybody
+can talk with their mouths." And he turned on his heel and went back
+to his seat on the bench.
+
+Sondheim stood up:
+
+"Comrade Bromberg!" he shouted.
+
+A small, shabby man arose from a bench and shambled forward. His hair
+grew so low that it left him practically no forehead. Whiskers blotted
+out the remainder of his features except two small and very bright
+eyes that snapped and sparkled, imbedded in the hairy ensemble.
+
+"Comrades," he growled, "it has come to a moment when the only law
+worth obeying is the law of force!----"
+
+"You bet!" remarked the police captain, genially, and, turning his
+back, he walked away up the aisle toward the rear of the hall, while
+all around him from the audience came a savage muttering.
+
+Bromberg's growling voice grew harsher and deeper as he resumed: "I
+tell you that there is only one law left for proletariat and tyrant
+alike! It is the law of force!"
+
+As the audience applauded fiercely, a man near them stood up and
+shouted for a hearing.
+
+"Comrade Bromberg is right!" he cried, waving his arms excitedly.
+"There is only one real law in the world! The fit survive! The unfit
+die! The strong take what they desire! The weak perish. That is the
+law of life! That is the----"
+
+An amazing interruption checked him--a clear, crystalline peal of
+laughter; and the astounded audience saw a tall, fresh, yellow-haired
+girl standing up midway down the hall. It was Ilse Westgard, unable to
+endure such nonsense, and quite regardless of Brisson's detaining hand
+and Shotwell's startled remonstrance.
+
+"What that man says is absurd!" she cried, her fresh young voice still
+gay with laughter. "He looks like a Prussian, and if he is he ought to
+know where the law of force has landed his nation."
+
+In the ominous silence around her, Ilse turned and gaily surveyed the
+audience.
+
+"The law of force is the law of robbers," she said. "That is why this
+war has been fought--to educate robbers. And if there remain any
+robbers they'll have to be educated. Don't let anybody tell you that
+the law of force is the law of life!----"
+
+"Who are you?" interrupted Bromberg hoarsely.
+
+"An ex-soldier of the Death Battalion, comrade," said Ilse cheerfully.
+"I used a rifle in behalf of the law of education. Sometimes bayonets
+educate, sometimes machine guns. But the sensible way is to have a
+meeting, and everybody drink tea and smoke cigarettes and discuss
+their troubles without reserve, and then take a vote as to what is
+best for everybody concerned."
+
+And she seated herself with a smile just as the inevitable uproar
+began.
+
+All around her now men and women were shouting at her; inflamed faces
+ringed her; gesticulating fists waved in the air.
+
+"What are you--a spy for Kerensky?" yelled a man in Russian.
+
+"The bourgeoisie has its agents here!" bawled a red-haired Jew. "I
+offer a solemn protest----"
+
+"Agent provocateur!" cried many voices. "Pay no attention to her! Go
+on with the debate!"
+
+An I. W. W.--a thin, mean-faced American--half arose and pointed an
+unwashed finger at Ilse.
+
+"A Government spy," he said distinctly. "Keep your eye on her,
+comrades. There seems to be a bunch of them there----"
+
+"Sit down and shut up!" said Shotwell, sharply. "Do you want to start
+a riot?"
+
+"You bet I'll start something!" retorted the man, showing his teeth
+like a rat. "What the hell did you come here for----"
+
+"Silence!" bawled Bromberg, hoarsely, from the platform. "That woman
+is recognised and known. Pay no attention to her, but listen to me. I
+tell you that your law is the law of hatred!----"
+
+Palla attempted to rise. Jim tried to restrain her: she pushed his arm
+aside, but he managed to retain his grasp on her arm.
+
+"Are you crazy?" he whispered.
+
+"That man lies!" she said excitedly. "Don't you hear him preaching
+hatred?"
+
+"Well, it's not your business----"
+
+"It _is_! That man is lying to these ignorant people! He's telling
+them a vile untruth! Let me go, Jim----"
+
+"Better keep cool," whispered Brisson, leaning over. "We're all in
+dutch already."
+
+Palla said to him excitedly: "I'm afraid to stand up and speak, but
+I'm going to! I'd be a coward to sit here and let that man deceive
+these poor people----"
+
+"Listen to Bromberg!" motioned Ilse, her blue eyes frosty and her
+cheeks deeply flushed.
+
+The orator had come down into the aisle. Every venomous word he was
+uttering now he directed straight at the quartette.
+
+"Russia is showing us the way," he said in his growling voice. "Russia
+makes no distinctions but takes them all by the throat and wrings
+their necks--aristocrats, bourgeoisie, cadets, officers, land owners,
+intellectuals--all the vermin, all the parasites! And that is the law,
+I tell you! The unfit perish! The strong inherit the earth!----"
+
+Palla sprang to her feet: "Liar!" she said hotly. "Did not Christ
+Himself tell us that the meek shall inherit the earth!"
+
+"Christ?" thundered Bromberg. "Have you come here to insult us with
+legends and fairy-tales about a god?"
+
+"Who mentioned God?" retorted Palla in a clear voice. "Unless we
+ourselves are gods there is none! But Christ did live! And He was as
+much a god as we are. And no more. But He was wiser! And what He told
+us is the truth! And I shall not sit silent while any man or woman
+teaches robbery and murder. That's what you mean when you say that the
+law of the stronger is the only law! If it is, then the poor and
+ignorant are where they belong----"
+
+"They won't be when they learn the law of life!" roared Bromberg.
+
+"There is only one law of life!" cried Palla, turning to look around
+her at the agitated audience. "The only law in the world worth
+obedience is the Law of Love and of Service! No other laws amount to
+anything. Under that law every problem you agitate here is already
+solved. There is no injustice that cannot be righted under it! There
+is no aspiration that cannot be realised!"
+
+She turned on Bromberg, her hazel eyes very bright, her face surging
+with colour.
+
+"You came here to pervert the exhortation of Karl Marx, and unite
+under the banner of envy and greed every unhappy heart!
+
+"Very well. Others also can unite to combat you. A league of evil is
+not the only league that can be formed under this roof. Nor are the
+soldiers and police the only or the better weapons to use against you.
+What you agitators and mischief makers are really afraid of is that
+somebody may really educate your audiences. And that's exactly what
+such people as I intend to do!"
+
+A score or more of people had crowded around her while she was
+speaking. Shotwell and Brisson, too, had risen and stepped to her
+side. And the entire audience was on its feet, craning hundreds of
+necks and striving to hear and see.
+
+Somewhere in the crowd a shrill American voice cried: "Throw them guys
+out! They got Wall Street cash in their pockets!"
+
+Sondheim levelled a finger at Brisson:
+
+"Look out for that man!" he said. "He published those lies about
+Lenine and Trotsky, and he's here from Washington to lie about us in
+the newspapers!"
+
+The I. W. W. lurched out of his seat and shoved against Shotwell.
+
+"Get the hell out o' here," he snarled; "--go on! Beat it! And take
+your lady-friends, too."
+
+Brisson said: "No use talking to them. You'd better take the ladies
+out while the going is good."
+
+But as they moved there was an angry murmur: the I. W. W. gave Palla a
+violent shove that sent her reeling, and Shotwell knocked him
+unconscious across a bench.
+
+Instantly the hall was in an uproar: there was a savage rush for
+Brisson, but he stopped it with levelled automatic.
+
+"Get the ladies out!" he said coolly to Shotwell, forcing a path
+forward at his pistol's point.
+
+Plain clothes men were active, too, pushing the excited Bolsheviki
+this way and that and clearing a lane for Palla and Ilse.
+
+Then, as they reached the rear of the hall, there came a wild howl
+from the audience, and Shotwell, looking back, saw Sondheim unfurl a
+big red flag.
+
+Instantly the police started for the rostrum. The din became deafening
+as he threw one arm around Palla and forced her out into the street,
+where Ilse and Brisson immediately joined them.
+
+Then, as they looked around for a taxi, a little shrimp of a man came
+out on the steps of the hall and spat on the sidewalk and cursed them
+in Russian.
+
+And, as Palla, recognising him, turned around, he shook his fists at
+her and at Ilse, promising that they should be attended to when the
+proper moment arrived.
+
+Then he spat again, laughed a rather ghastly and distorted laugh, and
+backed into the doorway behind him.
+
+They walked east--there being no taxi in sight. Ilse and Brisson led;
+Palla followed beside Jim.
+
+"Well," said the latter, his voice not yet under complete control,
+"don't you think you'd better keep away from such places in the
+future?"
+
+She was still very much excited: "It's abominable," she exclaimed,
+"that this country should permit such lies to be spread among the
+people and do nothing to counteract this campaign of falsehood! What
+is going to happen, Jim, unless educated people combine to educate the
+ignorant?"
+
+"How?" he asked contemptuously.
+
+"By example, first of all. By the purity and general decency of their
+own lives. I tell you, Jim, that the unscrupulous greed of the
+educated is as dangerous and vile as the murderous envy of the
+Bolsheviki. We've got to reform ourselves before we can educate
+others. And unless we begin by conforming to the Law of Love and
+Service, some day the Law of Hate and Violence will cut our throats
+for us."
+
+"Palla," he said, "I never dreamed that you'd do such a thing as you
+did to-night."
+
+"I was afraid," she said with a nervous tightening of her arm under
+his, "but I was still more afraid of being a coward."
+
+"You didn't have to answer that crazy anarchist!"
+
+"Somebody had to. He lied to those poor creatures. I--I couldn't stand
+it!--" Her voice broke a little. "And if there is truly a god in me,
+as I believe, then I should show Christ's courage ... lacking His
+wisdom," she added so low that he scarcely heard her.
+
+Ilse, walking ahead with Brisson, looked back over her shoulder at
+Palla laughing.
+
+"Didn't I tell you that there are some creatures you can't educate?
+What do you think of your object lesson, darling?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+On a foggy afternoon, toward midwinter, John Estridge strolled into
+the new Overseas Club, which, still being in process of incubation,
+occupied temporary quarters on Madison Avenue.
+
+Officers fresh from abroad and still in uniform predominated; tunics
+were gay with service and wound chevrons, citation cords, stars,
+crosses, strips of striped ribbon.
+
+There was every sort of head-gear to be seen there, too, from the
+jaunty overseas _bonnet de police_, piped in various colours, to the
+corded campaign hat and leather-visored barrack-cap.
+
+Few cavalry officers were in evidence, but there were plenty of spurs
+glittering everywhere--to keep their owners' heels from slipping off
+the desks, as the pleasantry of the moment had it.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Estridge went directly to a telephone booth, and presently got his
+connection.
+
+"It's John Estridge, as usual," he said in a bantering tone. "How are
+you, Ilse?"
+
+"John! I'm so glad you called me! Thank you so much for the roses!
+They're exquisite!--matchless!----"
+
+"Not at all!"
+
+"What?"
+
+"If you think they're matchless, just hold one up beside your cheek
+and take a slant at your mirror."
+
+"I thought you were not going to say such things to me!"
+
+"I thought I wasn't."
+
+"Are you alone?" She laughed happily. "Where are you, Jack?"
+
+"At the Overseas Club. I stopped on my way from the hospital."
+
+"Y--es."
+
+A considerable pause, and then Ilse laughed again----a confused, happy
+laugh.
+
+"Did you think you'd--come over?" she inquired.
+
+"Shall I?"
+
+"What do _you_ think about it, Jack?"
+
+"I suppose," he said in a humourous voice, "you're afraid of that
+tendency which you say I'm beginning to exhibit."
+
+"The tendency to drift?"
+
+"Yes;--toward those perilous rocks you warned me of."
+
+"They _are_ perilous!" she insisted.
+
+"You ought to know," he rejoined; "you're sitting on top of 'em like a
+bally Lorelei!"
+
+"If that's your opinion, hadn't you better steer for the open sea,
+John?"
+
+"Certainly I'd better. But you look so sweet up there, with your
+classical golden hair, that I think I'll risk the rocks."
+
+"Please don't! There's a deadly whirlpool under them. I'm looking down
+at it now."
+
+"What do you see at the bottom, Ilse? Human bones?"
+
+"I can't see the bottom. It's all surface, like a shining mirror."
+
+"I'll come over and take a look at it with you."
+
+"I think you'll only see our own faces reflected.... I think you'd
+better not come."
+
+"I'll be there in about half an hour," he said gaily.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+He sauntered out and on into the body of the club, exchanging with
+friends a few words here, a smiling handclasp there; and presently he
+seated himself near a window.
+
+For a while he rested his chin on his clenched hand, staring into
+space, until a waiter arrived with his order.
+
+He signed the check, drained his glass, and leaned forward again with
+both elbows on his knees, twirling his silver-headed stick between
+nervous hands.
+
+"After all," he said under his breath, "it's too late, now.... I'm
+going to see this thing through."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+As he rose to go he caught sight of Jim Shotwell, seated alone by
+another window and attempting to read an evening paper by the foggy
+light from outside. He walked over to him, fastening his overcoat on
+the way. Jim laid aside his paper and gave him a dull glance.
+
+"How are things with you?" inquired Estridge, carelessly.
+
+"All right. Are you walking up town?"
+
+"No."
+
+Jim's sombre eyes rested on the discarded paper, but he did not pick
+it up. "It's rotten weather," he said listlessly.
+
+"Have you seen Palla lately?" inquired Estridge, looking down at him
+with a certain curiosity.
+
+"No, not lately."
+
+"She's a very busy girl, I hear."
+
+"So I hear."
+
+Estridge seated himself on the arm of a leather chair and began to
+pull on his gloves. He said:
+
+"I understand Palla is doing Red Cross and canteen work, besides
+organising her celebrated club;--what is it she calls it?--Combat Club
+No. 1?"
+
+"I believe so."
+
+"And you haven't seen her lately?"
+
+Shotwell glanced at the fog and shrugged his shoulders: "She's rather
+busy--as you say. No, I haven't seen her. Besides, I'm rather out of
+my element among the people one runs into at her house. So I simply
+don't go any more."
+
+"Palla's parties are always amusing," ventured Estridge.
+
+"Very," said the other, "but her guests keep you guessing."
+
+Estridge smiled: "Because they don't conform to the established scheme
+of things?"
+
+"Perhaps. The scheme of things, as it is, suits me."
+
+"But it's interesting to hear other people's views."
+
+"I'm fed up on queer views--and on queer people," said Jim, with
+sudden and irritable emphasis. "Why, hang it all, Jack, when a fellow
+goes out among apparently well bred, decent people he takes it for
+granted that ordinary, matter of course social conventions prevail.
+But nobody can guess what notions are seething in the bean of any girl
+you talk to at Palla's house!"
+
+Estridge laughed: "What do you care, Jim?"
+
+"Well, I wouldn't care if they all didn't seem so exactly like one's
+own sort. Why, to look at them, talk to them, you'd never suppose them
+queer! The young girl you take in to dinner usually looks as though
+butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. And the chances are that she's all
+for socialism, self-determination, trial marriages and free love!
+
+"Hell's bells! I'm no prude. I like to overstep conventions, too. But
+this wholesale wrecking of the social structure would be ruinous for a
+girl like Palla."
+
+"But Palla doesn't believe in free love."
+
+"She hears it talked about by cracked illuminati."
+
+"Rain on a duck's back, Jim!"
+
+"Rain drowns young ducks."
+
+"You mean all this spouting will end in a deluge?"
+
+"I do. And then look for dead ducks."
+
+"You're not very respectful toward modernism," remarked Estridge,
+smiling.
+
+Then Jim broke loose:
+
+"Modernism? You yourself said that all these crazy social notions--crazy
+notions in art, literature, music--arise from some sort of physical
+degeneration, or from the perversion or checking of normal physical
+functions."
+
+"Usually they do----"
+
+"Well," continued Shotwell, "it's mostly due to perversion, in my
+opinion. Women have had too much of a hell of a run for their money
+during this war. They've broken down all the fences and they're loose
+and running all over the world.
+
+"If they'd only kept their fool heads! But no. Every germ in the wind
+lodged in their silly brains! Biff. They want sex equality and a pair
+of riding breeches! Bang! They kick over the cradle and wreck the
+pantry.
+
+"Wifehood? Played out! Motherhood? In the discards! Domestic
+partnership?--each sex to its own sphere? Ha-ha! That was all very
+well yesterday. But woman as a human incubator and brooder is an
+obsolete machine. Why the devil should free and untramelled womanhood
+hatch out young?
+
+"If they choose to, casually, all right. But it's purely a matter for
+self-determination. If a girl cares to take off her Sam Brown belt and
+her puttees long enough to nurse a baby, it's a matter that concerns
+her, not humanity at large. Because the social revolution has settled
+all such details as personal independence and the same standard for
+both sexes. So, _a bas_ Madame Grundy! _A la lanterne_ with the old
+regime! No--hang it all, I'm through!"
+
+"Don't you like Palla any more?" inquired Estridge, still laughing.
+
+Jim gave him a singular look: "Yes.... Do you like Ilse Westgard?"
+
+Estridge said coolly: "I am accepting her as she is. I like her that
+much."
+
+"Oh. Is that very much?" sneered the other.
+
+"Enough to marry her if she'd have me," replied Estridge pleasantly.
+
+"And she won't do that, I suppose?"
+
+"Not so far."
+
+Jim eyed him sullenly: "Well, I don't accept Palla as she is--or
+thinks she is."
+
+"She's sincere."
+
+"I understand that. But no girl can get away with such notions. Where
+is it all going to land her? What will she be?"
+
+Estridge quoted: "'It hath not yet appeared what we shall be.'"
+
+Shotwell rose impatiently, and picked up his overcoat: "All I know is
+that when two healthy people care for each other it's their
+business--their _business_, I repeat--to get together legally and do
+the decent thing by the human race."
+
+"Breed?"
+
+"Certainly! Breed legally the finest, healthiest, best of specimens;--and
+as many as they can feed and clothe! For if they don't--if we don't--I
+mean our own sort--the land will be crawling with the robust get of
+all these millions of foreigners, who already have nearly submerged us in
+America; and whose spawn will, one day, smother us to death.
+
+"Hang it all, aren't they breeding like vermin now? All yellow dogs
+do--all the unfit produce big litters. That's the only thing they ever
+do--accumulate progeny.
+
+"And what are we doing?--our sort, I mean? I'll tell you! Our sisters
+are having such a good time that they won't marry, if they can avoid
+it, until they're too mature to get the best results in children. Our
+wives, if they condescend to have any offspring at all, limit the
+output to one. Because more than one _might_ damage their beauty.
+Hell! If the educated classes are going to practise race suicide and
+the Bolsheviki are going to breed like lice, you can figure out the
+answer for yourself."
+
+They walked to the foggy street together. Shotwell said bitterly:
+
+"I do care for Palla. I like Ilse. All the women one encounters at
+Palla's parties are gay, accomplished, clever, piquant. The men also
+are more or less amusing. The conversation is never dull. Everybody
+seems to be well bred, sincere, friendly and agreeable. But there's
+something lacking. One feels it even before one is enlightened
+concerning the ultra-modernism of these admittedly interesting people.
+And I'll tell you what it is. Actually, deep in their souls, they
+don't believe in themselves.
+
+"Take Palla. She says there is no God--no divinity except in herself.
+And I tell you she may think she believes it, but she doesn't.
+
+"And her school-girl creed--Love and Service! Fine. Only there's a
+prior law--self-preservation; and another--race preservation! By God,
+how are you going to love and serve if girls stop having babies?
+
+"And as for this silly condemnation of the marriage ceremony, merely
+because some sanctified Uncle Foozle once inserted the word 'obey' in
+it--just because, under the marriage laws, tyranny and cruelty have
+been practised--what callow rot!
+
+"Laws can be changed; divorce made simple and non-scandalous as it
+should be; all rights safeguarded for the woman; and still have
+something legal and recognised by one of those necessary conventions
+which make civilisation possible.
+
+"But this irresponsible idea of procedure through mere inclination--this
+sauntering through life under no law to safeguard and govern, except
+the law of personal preference--that's anarchy! That code spells
+demoralisation, degeneracy and disaster!... And the whole damned
+thing to begin again--a slow development of the human race, once more,
+out of the chaos of utter barbarism."
+
+Estridge, standing there on the sidewalk in the fog, smiled:
+
+"You're very eloquent, Jim. Why don't you say all this to Palla?"
+
+"I did. I told her, too, that the root of the whole thing was
+selfishness. And it is. It's a refusal to play the game according to
+rule. There are only two sexes and one of 'em is fashioned to bear
+young, and the other is fashioned to hustle for mother and kid. You
+can't alter that, whether it's fair or not. It's the game as we found
+it. The rules were already provided for playing it. The legal father
+and mother are supposed to look out for their own legal progeny. And
+any alteration of this rule, with a view to irresponsible mating and
+turning the offspring over to the community to take care of, would
+create an unhuman race, unconscious of the highest form of love--the
+love for parents.
+
+"A fine lot we'd be as an incubated race!"
+
+Estridge laughed: "I've got to go," he said, "And, if you care for
+Palla as you say you do, you oughtn't to leave her entirely alone with
+her circle of modernist friends. Stick around! It may make you mad,
+but if she likes you, at least she won't commit an indiscretion with
+anybody else."
+
+"I wish I could find my own sort as amusing," said Jim, naively. "I've
+been going about recently--dances, dinners, theatres--but I can't seem
+to keep my mind off Palla."
+
+Estridge said: "If you'd give your sense of humour half a chance you'd
+be all right. You take yourself too solemnly. You let Palla scare you.
+That's not the way. The thing to do is to have a jolly time with her,
+with them all. Accept her as she thinks she is. There's no damage done
+yet. Time enough to throw fits if she takes the bit and bolts----"
+
+He extended his hand, cordially but impatiently:
+
+"You remember I once said that girl ought to be married and have
+children? If you do the marrying part she's likely to do the rest very
+handsomely. And it will be the making of her."
+
+Jim held on to his hand:
+
+"Tell me what to do, Jack. She isn't in love with me. And she wouldn't
+submit to a legal ceremony if she were. You invoke my sense of humour.
+I'm willing to give it an airing, only I can't see anything funny in
+this business."
+
+"It _is_ funny! Palla's funny, but doesn't know it. You're funny!
+They're all funny--unintentionally. But their motives are tragically
+immaculate. So stick around and have a good time with Palla until
+there's really something to scare you."
+
+"And then?"
+
+"How the devil do I know? It's up to you, of course, what you do about
+it."
+
+He laughed and strode away through the fog.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+It had seemed to Jim a long time since he had seen Palla. It wasn't
+very long. And in all that interminable time he had not once called
+her up on the telephone--had not even written her a single line. Nor
+had she written to him.
+
+He had gone about his social business in his own circle, much to his
+mother's content. He had seen quite a good deal of Elorn Sharrow; was
+comfortably back on the old, agreeable footing; tried desperately to
+enjoy it; pretended that he did.
+
+But the days were long in the office; the evenings longer, wherever he
+happened to be; and the nights, alas! were becoming interminable, now,
+because he slept badly, and the grey winter daylight found him
+unrefreshed.
+
+Which, recently, had given him a slightly battered appearance,
+commented on jestingly by young rakes and old sports at the Patroon's
+Club, and also observed by his mother with gentle concern.
+
+"Don't overdo it, Jim," she cautioned him, meaning dances that ended
+with breakfasts and that sort of thing. But her real concern was
+vaguer than that--deeper, perhaps. And sometimes she remembered the
+girl in black.
+
+Lately, however, that anxiety had been almost entirely allayed. And
+her comparative peace of mind had come about in an unexpected manner.
+
+For, one morning, entering the local Red Cross quarters, where for
+several hours she was accustomed to sew, she encountered Mrs.
+Speedwell and her lively daughter, Connie--her gossiping informants
+concerning her son's appearance at Delmonico's with the mysterious
+girl in black.
+
+"Well, what do you suppose, Helen?" said Mrs. Speedwell, mischievously.
+"Jim's pretty mystery in black is here!"
+
+"Here?" repeated Mrs. Shotwell, flushing and looking around her at the
+rows of prophylactic ladies, all sewing madly side by side.
+
+"Yes, and she's prettier even than I thought her in Delmonico's,"
+remarked Connie. "Her name is Palla Dumont, and she's a friend of
+Leila Vance."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+During the morning, Mrs. Shotwell found it convenient to speak to
+Leila Vance; and they exchanged a pleasant word or two--merely the
+amiable civilities of two women who recognise each other socially as
+well as personally.
+
+And it happened in that way, a few days later, that Helen Shotwell met
+this pretty friend of Leila Vance--Palla Dumont--the girl in black.
+
+And Palla had looked up from her work with her engaging smile, saying:
+"I know your son, Mrs. Shotwell. Is he quite well? I haven't seen him
+for such a long time."
+
+And instantly the invisible antennae of these two women became busy
+exploring, probing, searching, and recognising in each other all that
+remains forever incomprehensible to man.
+
+For Palla somehow understood that Jim had never spoken of her to his
+mother; and yet that his mother had heard of her friendship with her
+son.
+
+And Helen knew that Palla was quietly aware of this, and that the
+girl's equanimity remained undisturbed.
+
+Only people quite sure of themselves preserved serenity under the
+merciless exploration of the invisible feminine antennae. And it was
+evident that the girl in black had nothing to conceal from her in
+regard to her only son--whatever that same son might think he ought to
+make an effort to conceal from his mother.
+
+To herself Helen thought: "Jim has had his wings singed, and has fled
+the candle."
+
+To Palla she said: "Mrs. Vance tells me such interesting stories of
+your experiences in Russia. Really, it's like a charming romance--your
+friendship for the poor little Grand Duchess."
+
+"A tragic one," said Palla in a voice so even that Helen presently
+lifted her eyes from her sewing to read in her expression something
+more than the mere words that this young girl had uttered. And saw a
+still, pale face, sensitive and very lovely; and the needle flying
+over a bandage no whiter than the hand that held it.
+
+"It was a great shock to you--her death," said Helen.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And--you were there at the time! How dreadful!"
+
+Palla lifted her brown eyes: "I can't talk about it yet," she said so
+simply that Helen's sixth sense, always alert for information from the
+busy, invisible antennae, suddenly became convinced that there were no
+more hidden depths to explore--no motives to suspect, no pretense to
+expose.
+
+Day after day she chose to seat herself between Palla and Leila Vance;
+and the girl began to fascinate her.
+
+There was no effort to please on Palla's part, other than that natural
+one born of sweet-tempered consideration for everybody. There seemed
+to be no pretence, no pose.
+
+Such untroubled frankness, such unconscious candour were rather
+difficult to believe in, yet Helen was now convinced that in Palla
+these phenomena were quite genuine. And she began to understand more
+clearly, as the week wore on, why her son might have had a hard time
+of it with Palla Dumont before he returned to more familiar pastures,
+where camouflage and not candour was the rule in the gay and endless
+game of blind-man's buff.
+
+"This girl," thought Helen Shotwell to herself, "could easily have
+taken Jim away from Elorn Sharrow had she chosen to do so. There is no
+doubt about her charm and her goodness. She certainly is a most
+unusual girl."
+
+But she did not say this to her only son. She did not even tell him
+that she had met his girl in black. And Palla had not informed him;
+she knew that; because the girl herself had told her that she had not
+seen Jim for "a long, long time." It really was not nearly as long as
+Palla seemed to consider it.
+
+Helen lunched with Leila Vance one day. The former spoke pleasantly of
+Palla.
+
+"She's such a darling," said Mrs. Vance, "but the child worries me."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well, she's absorbed some ultra-modern Russian notions--socialistic
+ones--rather shockingly radical. Can you imagine it in a girl who
+began her novitiate as a Carmelite nun?"
+
+Helen said: "She does not seem to have a tendency toward extremes."
+
+"She has. That awful affair in Russia seemed to shock her from one
+extreme to another. It's a long way from the cloister to the radical
+rostrum."
+
+"She spoke of this new Combat Club."
+
+"She organised it," said Leila. "They have a hall where they invite
+public discussion of social questions three nights a week. The other
+three nights, a rival and very red club rents the hall and howls for
+anarchy and blood."
+
+"Isn't it strange?" said Helen. "One can not imagine such a girl
+devoting herself to radical propaganda."
+
+"Too radical," said Leila. "I'm keeping an uneasy eye on that very
+wilful and wrong-headed child. Why, my dear, she has the most
+fastidious, the sweetest, the most chaste mind, and yet the things she
+calmly discusses would make your hair curl."
+
+"For example?" inquired Helen, astonished.
+
+"Well, for example, they've all concluded that it's time to strip poor
+old civilisation of her tinsel customs, thread-worn conventions,
+polite legends, and pleasant falsehoods.
+
+"All laws are silly. Everybody is to do as they please, conforming
+only to the universal law of Love and Service. Do you see where that
+would lead some of those pretty hot-heads?"
+
+"Good heavens, I should think so!"
+
+"Of course. But they can't seem to understand that the unscrupulous
+are certain to exploit them--that the most honest motives--the
+purest--invite that certain disaster consequent on social irregularities.
+
+"Palla, so far, is all hot-headed enthusiast--hot-hearted theorist.
+But I remember that she did take the white veil once. And, as I tell
+you, I shall try to keep her within range of my uneasy vision.
+Because," she added, "she's really a perfect darling."
+
+"She is a most attractive girl," said Helen slowly; "but I think she'd
+be more attractive still if she were happily married."
+
+"And had children."
+
+Their eyes met, unsmilingly, yet in silent accord.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Their respective cars awaited them at the Ritz and took them in
+different directions. But all the afternoon Helen Shotwell's mind was
+occupied with what she now knew of Palla Dumont. And she realised that
+she wished the girl were back in Russia in spite of all her charm and
+fascination--yes, on account of it.
+
+Because this lovely, burning asteroid might easily cross the narrow
+orbit through which her own social world spun peacefully in its
+orderly progress amid that metropolitan galaxy called Society.
+
+Leila Vance was part of that galaxy. So was her own and only son.
+Wandering meteors that burnt so prettily might yet do damage.
+
+For Helen, having known this girl, found it not any too easy to
+believe that her son could have relinquished her completely in so
+disturbingly brief a time.
+
+Had she been a young man she knew that she would not have done so.
+And, knowing it, she was troubled.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile, her only son was troubled, too, as he walked slowly
+homeward through the winter fog.
+
+And by the time he was climbing his front steps he had concluded to
+accept this girl as she was--or thought she was--to pull no more long
+faces or sour faces, but to go back to her, resolutely determined to
+enjoy her friendship and her friends too; and give his long
+incarcerated sense of humour an airing, even if he suffered acutely
+while it revelled.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+Palla's activities seemed to exhilarate her physically and mentally.
+Body and brain were now fully occupied; and, if the profit to her soul
+were dubious, nevertheless the restless spirit of the girl now had an
+outlet; and at home and in the Combat Club she planned and discussed
+and investigated the world's woes to her ardent heart's content.
+
+Physically, too, Red Cross and canteen work gave her much needed
+occupation; and she went everywhere on foot, never using bus, tram or
+taxicab. The result was, in spite of late and sometimes festive hours,
+that Palla had become something more than an unusually pretty girl,
+for there was much of real beauty in her full and charming face and in
+her enchantingly rounded yet lithe and lissome figure.
+
+About the girl, also, there seemed to be a new freshness like
+fragrance--a virginal sweetness--that indefinable perfume of something
+young and vigorous that is already in bud.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+That morning she went over to the dingy row of buildings to sign the
+lease of the hall for three evenings a week, as quarters for Combat
+Club No. 1.
+
+The stuffy place where the Red Flag Club had met the night before was
+still reeking with stale smoke and the effluvia of the unwashed; but
+the windows were open and a negro was sweeping up a litter of defunct
+cigars.
+
+"Yaas'm, Mr. Puma's office is next do'," he replied to Palla's
+inquiry; "--Sooperfillum Co'poration. Yaas'm."
+
+Next door had been a stable and auction ring, and odours characteristic
+still remained, although now the ring had been partitioned, boarded over
+and floored, and Mr. Hewitt's glass rods full of blinding light were
+suspended above the studio ceilings of the Super-Picture Corporation.
+
+Palla entered the brick archway. An office on the right bore the name
+of Angelo Puma; and that large, richly coloured gentleman hastily got
+out of his desk chair and flashed a pair of magnificent as well as
+astonished eyes upon Palla as she opened the door and walked in.
+
+When she had seated herself and stated her business, Puma, with a
+single gesture, swept from the office several men and a stenographer,
+and turned to Palla.
+
+"Is it you, then, who are this Combat Club which would rent from me
+the hall next door!" he exclaimed, showing every faultless tooth in
+his head.
+
+Palla smiled: "I am empowered by the club to sign a lease."
+
+"That is sufficient!" exclaimed Puma, with a superb gesture. "So! It
+is signed! Your desire is enough. The matter is accomplished when you
+express the wish!"
+
+Palla blushed a little but smilingly affixed her signature to the
+papers elaborately presented by Angelo Puma.
+
+"A lease?" he remarked, with a flourish of his large, sanguine, and
+jewelled hand. "A detail merely for your security, Miss Dumont. For
+me, I require only the expression of your slightest wish. That, to
+me, is a command more binding than the seal of the notary!"
+
+And he flashed his dazzling smile on Palla, who was tucking her copy
+of the agreement into her muff.
+
+"Thank you so much, Mr. Puma," she said, almost inclined to laugh at
+his extravagances. And she laid down a certified check to cover the
+first month's rental.
+
+Mr. Puma bowed; his large, heavily lashed black eyes were very
+brilliant; his mouth much too red under the silky black moustache.
+
+"For me," he said impulsively, "art alone matters. What is money? What
+is rent? What are all the annoying details of commerce? Interruptions
+to the soul-flow! Checks to the fountain jet of inspiration! Art only
+is important. Have you ever seen a cinema studio, Miss Dumont?"
+
+Palla never had.
+
+"Would it interest you, perhaps?"
+
+"Thank you--some time----"
+
+"It is but a step! They are working. A peep will take but a moment--if
+you please--a thousand excuses that I proceed to show you the
+way!----"
+
+She stepped through a door. From a narrow anteroom she saw the
+set-scene in a ghastly light, where men in soiled shirt-sleeves
+dragged batteries of electric lights about, each underbred face as
+livid as the visage of a corpse too long unburied.
+
+There were women there, too, looking a little more human in their
+makeups under the horrible bluish glare. Camera men were busy; a
+cadaverous and profane director, with his shabby coat-collar turned
+up, was talking loudly in a Broadway voice and jargon to a bewildered
+girl wearing a ball gown.
+
+As Puma led Palla through the corridor from partition to partition,
+disclosing each set with its own scene and people--the whole studio
+full of blatant noise and ghastly faces or painted ones, Palla thought
+she had never before beheld such a concentration of every type of
+commonness in her entire existence. Faces, shapes, voices, language,
+all were essentially the properties of congenital vulgarity. The
+language, too, had to be sharply rebuked by Puma once or twice amid
+the wrangling of director, camera man and petty subordinates.
+
+"So intense are the emotions evoked by a fanatic devotion to art," he
+explained to Palla, "that, at moments, the old, direct and vigorous
+Anglo-Saxon tongue is heard here, unashamed. What will you? It is art!
+It is the fervour that forgets itself in blind devotion--in rapturous
+self-dedication to the god of Truth and Beauty!"
+
+As she turned away, she heard from a neighbouring partition the hoarse
+expostulations of one of Art's blind acolytes: "Say, f'r Christ's
+sake, Delmour, what the hell's loose in your bean! Yeh done it wrong
+an' yeh know damn well yeh done it wrong----"
+
+Puma opened another door: "One of our projection rooms, Miss Dumont.
+If it is your pleasure to see a few reels run off----"
+
+"Thank you, but I really must go----"
+
+The office door stood open and she went out that way. Mr. Puma
+confronted her, moistly brilliant of eye:
+
+"For me, Miss Dumont, I am frank like there never was a child in arms!
+Yes. I am all art; all heart. For me, beauty is God!--" he kissed his
+fat fingers and wafted the caress toward the dirty ceiling.
+
+"Please excuse," he said with his powerful smile, "but have you ever,
+perhaps, thought, Miss Dumont, of the screen as a career?"
+
+"I?" asked Palla, surprised and amused. "No, Mr. Puma, I haven't."
+
+"A test! Possibly, in you, latent, sleeps the exquisite apotheosis of
+Art incarnate! Who can tell? You have youth, beauty, a mind! Yes. Who
+knows if, also, happily, genius slumbers within? Yes?"
+
+"I'm very sure it doesn't," replied Palla, laughing.
+
+"Ah! Who can be sure of anything--even of heaven!" cried Puma.
+
+"Very true," said Palla, trying to speak seriously, "But the career of
+a moving picture actress does not attract me."
+
+"The emoluments are enormous!"
+
+"Thank you, no----"
+
+"A test! We try! It would be amusing for you to see yourself upon the
+screen as you are, Miss Dumont? As you _are_--young, beautiful,
+vivacious----"
+
+He still blocked her way, so she said, laying her gloved hand on the
+knob:
+
+"Thank you very much. Some day, perhaps. But I really must go----"
+
+He immediately bowed, opened the glass door, and went with her to the
+brick arch.
+
+"I do not think you know," he said, "that I have entered partnership
+with a friend of yours?"
+
+"A friend of mine?"
+
+"Mr. Elmer Skidder."
+
+"Oh," she exclaimed, smilingly, "I hope the partnership will be a
+fortunate one. Will you kindly inform Mr. Skidder of my congratulations
+and best wishes for his prosperity? And you may say that I shall be
+glad to hear from him about his new enterprise."
+
+To Mr. Puma's elaborate leave-taking she vouchsafed a quick, amused
+nod, then hurried away eastward to keep her appointment at the
+Canteen.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+About five o'clock she experienced a healthy inclination for tea and
+wavered between the Plaza and home. Ilse and Marya were with her, but
+an indefinable something caused her to hesitate, and finally to let
+them go to the Plaza without her.
+
+What might be the reason of this sudden whim for an unpremeditated cup
+of tea at home she scarcely took the trouble to analyse. Yet, she was
+becoming conscious of a subtle and increasing exhilaration as she
+approached her house and mounted the steps.
+
+Suddenly, as she fitted the latch-key, her heart leaped and she knew
+why she had come home.
+
+For a moment her fast pulse almost suffocated her. Was she mad to
+return here on the wildest chance that Jim might have come--might be
+inside, waiting? And what in the world made her suppose so?--for she
+had neither seen him nor heard from him in many days.
+
+"I'm certainly a little crazy," she thought as she opened the door. At
+the same moment her eyes fell on his overcoat and hat and stick.
+
+Her skirt was rather tight, but her limbs were supple and her feet
+light, and she ran upstairs to the living room.
+
+As he rose from an armchair she flung her arms out with a joyous
+little cry and wrapped them tightly around his neck, muff, reticule
+and all.
+
+"You darling," he was saying over and over in a happy but rather
+stupid voice, and crushing her narrow hands between his; "--you
+adorable child, you wonderful girl----"
+
+"Oh, I'm so glad, Jim! Shall we have tea?... You dear fellow! I'm so
+very happy that you came! Wait a moment--" she leaned wide from him
+and touched an electric bell. "Now you'll have to behave properly,"
+she said with delightful malice.
+
+He released her; she spoke to the maid and then went over with him to
+the sofa, flinging muff, stole and purse on a chair.
+
+"Pure premonition," she explained, stripping the gloves from her
+hands. "Ilse and Marya were all for the Plaza, but something sent me
+homeward! Isn't it really very strange, Jim? Why, I almost had an
+inclination to run when I turned into our street--not even knowing
+why, of course----"
+
+"You're so sweet and generous!" he blurted out. "Why don't you raise
+hell with me?"
+
+"You know," she said demurely, "I don't raise hell, dear."
+
+"But I've behaved so rottenly----"
+
+"It really wasn't friendly to neglect me so entirely."
+
+He looked down--laid one hand on hers in silence.
+
+"I understand, Jim," she said sweetly. "Is it all right now?"
+
+"It's all right.... Of course I haven't changed."
+
+"Oh."
+
+"But it's all right."
+
+"Really?"
+
+"Yes.... What is there for me to do but to accept things as they
+are?"
+
+"You mean, 'accept _me_ as I am!' Oh, Jim, it's so dear of you. And
+you know well enough that I care for no other man as I do for
+you----"
+
+The waitress with the tea-tray cut short that sort of conversation.
+Palla's appetite was a healthy one. She unpinned her hat and flung it
+on the piano. Then she nestled down sideways on the sofa, one leg
+tucked under the other knee, her hair in enough disorder to worry any
+other girl--and began to tuck away tea and cakes. Sometimes, in
+animated conversation, she gesticulated with a buttered bun--once she
+waved her cup to emphasise her point:
+
+"The main idea, of course, is to teach the eternal law of Love and
+Service," she explained. "But, Jim, I have become recently, and in a
+measure, militant."
+
+"You're going to love the unwashed with a club?"
+
+"You very impudent boy! We're going to combat this new and terrible
+menace--this sinister flood that threatens the world--the crimson tide
+of anarchy!"
+
+"Good work, darling! I enlist for a machine gun uni----"
+
+"Listen! The battle is to be entirely verbal. Our Combat Club No. 1,
+the first to be established--is open to anybody and everybody. All are
+at liberty to enter into the discussions. We who believe in the Law of
+Love and Service shall have our say every evening that the club is
+open----"
+
+"The Reds may come and take a crack at you."
+
+"The Reds are welcome. We wish to face them across the rostrum, not
+across a barricade!"
+
+"Well, you dear girl, I can't see how any Red is going to resist you.
+And if any does, I'll knock his bally block off----"
+
+"Oh, Jim, you're so vernacularly inclined! And you're very flippant,
+too----"
+
+"I'm not really," he said in a lower voice. "Whatever you care about
+could not fail to appeal to me."
+
+She gave him a quick, sweet glance, then searched the tea-tray to
+reward him.
+
+As she gave him another triangle of cinnamon toast, she remembered
+something else. It was on the tip of her tongue, now; and she checked
+herself.
+
+_He_ had not spoken of it. Had his mother mentioned meeting her at the
+Red Cross? If not--was it merely a natural forgetfulness on his
+mother's part? Was her silence significant?
+
+Nibbling pensively at her cinnamon toast, Palla pondered this. But the
+girl's mind worked too directly for concealment to come easy.
+
+"I'm wondering," she said, "whether your mother mentioned our meeting
+at the Red Cross." And she knew immediately by his expression that he
+heard it for the first time.
+
+"I was introduced at our headquarters by Leila Vance," said Palla, in
+her even voice; "and your mother and she are acquaintances. That is
+how it happened, Jim."
+
+He was still somewhat flushed but he forced a smile: "Did you find my
+mother agreeable, Palla?"
+
+"Yes. And she is so beautiful with her young face and pretty white
+hair. She always sits between Leila and me while we sew."
+
+"Did you say you knew me?"
+
+"Yes, of course."
+
+"Of course," he repeated, reddening again.
+
+No man ever has successfully divined any motive which any woman
+desires to conceal.
+
+Why his mother had not spoken of Palla to him he did not know. He was
+aware, of course, that nobody within the circle into which he had been
+born would tolerate Palla's social convictions. Had she casually and
+candidly revealed a few of them to his mother in the course of the
+morning's conversation over their sewing?
+
+He gave Palla a quick look, encountered her slightly amused eyes, and
+turned redder than ever.
+
+"You dear boy," she said, smiling, "I don't think your very charming
+mother would be interested in knowing me. The informality of
+ultra-modern people could not appeal to her generation."
+
+"Did you--talk to her about----"
+
+"No. But it might happen. You know, Jim, I have nothing to conceal."
+
+The old troubled look had come back into his face. She noticed it and
+led the conversation to lighter themes.
+
+"We danced last night after dinner," she said. "There were some
+amusing people here for dinner. Then we went to see such a charming
+play--_Tea for Three_--and then we had supper at the Biltmore and
+danced.... Will you dine with me to-morrow?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Do you think you'd enjoy it?--a lot of people who entertain the same
+shocking beliefs that I do?"
+
+"All right!" he said with emphasis. "I'm through playing the role of
+death's-head at the feast. I told you that I'm going to take you as
+you are and enjoy you and our friends--and quit making an ass of
+myself----"
+
+"Dear, you never did!"
+
+"Oh, yes, I did. And maybe I'm a predestined ass. But every ass has a
+pair of heels and I'm going to flourish mine very gaily from now on!"
+
+She protested laughingly at his self-characterisation, and bent toward
+him a little, caressing his sleeve in appeal, or shaking it in
+protest as he denounced himself and promised to take the world more
+gaily in the future.
+
+"You'll see," he remarked, rising to take his leave: "I may even call
+the bluff of some of your fluffy ultra-modern friends and try a few
+trial marriages with each of 'em----"
+
+"Oh, Jim, you're absolutely horrid! As if my friends believed in such
+disgusting ideas!"
+
+"They do--some of 'em."
+
+"They don't!"
+
+"Well, then, I do!" he announced so gravely that she had to look at
+him closely in the rather dim lamplight to see whether he was
+jesting.
+
+She walked to the top of the staircase with him; let him take her into
+his arms; submitted to his kiss. Always a little confused by his
+demonstrations, nevertheless her hand retained his for a second
+longer, as though shyly reluctant to let him go.
+
+"I am so glad you came," she said. "Don't neglect me any more."
+
+And so he went his way.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+His mother discovered him in the library, dressed for dinner.
+Something, as he rose--his manner of looking at her, perhaps--warned
+her that they were not perfectly _en rapport_. Then the subtle,
+invisible antennae, exploring caressingly what is so palpable in the
+heart of man, told her that once more she was to deal with the girl in
+black.
+
+When his mother was seated, he said: "I didn't know you had met Palla
+Dumont, mother."
+
+Helen hesitated: "Mrs. Vance's friend? Oh, yes; she comes to the Red
+Cross with Leila Vance."
+
+"Do you like her?"
+
+In her son's eyes she was aware of that subtle and unconscious appeal
+which all mothers of boys are, some day, fated to see and understand.
+
+Sometimes the appeal is disguised, sometimes it is so subtle that only
+mothers are able to perceive it.
+
+But what to do about it is the perennial problem. For between lack of
+sympathy and response there are many nuances; and opposition is always
+to be avoided.
+
+Helen said, pleasantly, that the girl appeared to be amiable and
+interesting.
+
+"I know her merely in that way," she continued. "We sit there sewing
+slings, pads, compresses, and bandages, and we gossip at random with
+our neighbours."
+
+"I like her very much," said Jim.
+
+"She does seem to be an attractive girl," said his mother carelessly....
+"Are you going to Yama Farms for the week end?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Oh, I'm sorry. The Speedwells' party is likely to be such a jolly
+affair, and I hear there's lots of snow up there."
+
+"I haven't met Mrs. Vance," said her son. "Is she nice?"
+
+"Leila Vance? Why, of course."
+
+"Who is she?"
+
+"She married an embassy attache, Captain Vance. He was in the old
+army--killed at Mons four years ago."
+
+"She and Palla are intimate?"
+
+"I believe they are good friends," remarked his mother, deciding not
+to attempt to turn the current of conversation for the moment.
+
+"Mother?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"I am quite sure I never met a girl I like as well."
+
+Helen laughed: "That is a trifle extravagant, isn't it?"
+
+"No.... I asked her to marry me."
+
+Helen's heart stood still, then a bright flush stained her face.
+
+"She refused me," said the boy.
+
+His mother said very quietly: "Of course this is news to us, Jim."
+
+"Yes, I didn't tell you. I couldn't, somehow. But I've told you now."
+
+"Dearest," she said, dropping her hand over his, "don't think me
+unsympathetic if I say that it really is better that she refused
+you."
+
+"I understand, mother."
+
+"I hope you do."
+
+"Oh, yes. But I don't think you do. Because I am still in love with
+her."
+
+"You poor dear!"
+
+"It's rotten luck, isn't it?"
+
+"Time heals--" She checked herself, turned and kissed him.
+
+"After all," she said, "a soldier learns how to take things."
+
+And presently: "I do wish you'd go up to Yama Farms."
+
+"That," he said, "would be the obvious thing to do. Anything to keep
+going and keep your mind ticking away until you're safely wound up
+again.... But I'm not going, dear."
+
+Helen looked at him in silence, not wondering what he might be going
+to do with his week-end instead, because she already guessed.
+
+Before she said anything more his father came in; and a moment later
+dinner was announced.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jim slept soundly for the first night in a long time. His mother
+scarcely closed her eyes at all.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+There had been a row at the Red Flag Club--a matter of differing
+opinions between members--nothing sufficient to attract the police,
+but enough to break several heads, benches and windows. And it was
+evident that some gentleman's damaged nose had bled all over the
+linoleum in the lobby.
+
+Elmer Skidder, arriving at the studio next morning in his brand new
+limousine, heard about the shindy and went into the club to inspect
+the wreckage. Then, mad all through, he started out to find Puma. But
+a Sister Art had got the best of Angelo Puma in a questionable cabaret
+the night before, and he had not yet arrived at the studio of the
+Super-Picture Corporation.
+
+Skidder, thrifty by every instinct, and now smarting under his wrongs
+at the hands--and feet--of the Red Flag Club, went away in his
+gorgeous limousine to find Sondheim, who paid the rental and who lived
+in the Bronx.
+
+It was a long way; every mile and every gallon of gasoline made
+Skidder madder; and when at length he arrived at the brand new,
+jerry-built apartment house inhabited by Max Sondheim, he had
+concluded that the Red Flag Club was an undesirable tenant and that it
+must be summarily kicked out.
+
+Sondheim was still in bed, but a short-haired and pallid young woman,
+with assorted spots on her complexion, bade Skidder enter, and opened
+the chamber door for him.
+
+The bedroom, which smelled of sour fish, was very cold, very dirty,
+and very blue with cigar smoke. The remains of a delicatessen
+breakfast stood on a table near the only window, which was tightly
+shut, and under the sill of which a radiator emitted explosive
+symptoms of steam to come.
+
+Sondheim sprawled under the bed-covers, smoking; two other men sat on
+the edge of the bed--Karl Kastner and Nathan Bromberg. Both were
+smoking porcelain pipes. Three slopping quarts of beer decorated the
+wash stand.
+
+Skidder, who had halted in the doorway as the full aroma of the place
+smote him, now entered at the curt suggestion of Sondheim, but refused
+a chair.
+
+"Say, Sondheim," he began, "I been to the club this morning, and I've
+seen what you've done to the place."
+
+"Well?" demanded Sondheim, in a growling voice, "what haf we done?"
+
+"Oh, nothing;--smashed the furniture f'r instance. That's all. But it
+don't go with me. See?"
+
+Kastner got up and gave him a sinister, near-sighted look: "If ve done
+damach ve pay," he remarked.
+
+"Sure you'll pay!" blustered Skidder. "And that's all right, too. But
+no more for yours truly. I'm through. Here's where your bunch quits
+the hall for keeps. Get me?"
+
+"Please?" inquired Kastner, turning a brick red.
+
+"I say I'm through!" blustered Skidder. "You gotta get other quarters.
+It don't pay us to keep on buying benches and mending windows, even if
+you cough up for 'em. It don't pay us to rent the hall to your club
+and get all this here notoriety, what with your red flags and the
+_po_-lice hanging around and nosin' into everything----"
+
+"Ach wass!" snapped Kastner, "of vat are you speaking? Iss it for you
+to concern yourself mit our club und vat iss it ve do?"
+
+"Say, who d'yeh think you're talkin' to?" retorted Skidder, his eyes
+snapping furiously. "Grab this from me, old scout?--I'm half owner of
+that hall and I'm telling you to get out! Is that plain?"
+
+"So?" Kastner sneered at him and nudged Sondheim, who immediately sat
+up in bed and levelled an unwashed hand at Skidder.
+
+"You think you fire us?" he shouted, his eyes inflamed and his dirty
+fingers crisping to a talon. "You go home and tell Puma what you say
+to us. Then you learn something maybe, what you don't know already!"
+
+"I'll learn _you_ something!" retorted Skidder. "Just wait till I show
+Puma the wreckage----"
+
+"Let him look at it and be damned!" roared Bromberg. "Go home and show
+it to him! And see if he talks about firing us!"
+
+"Say," demanded Skidder, astonished, "do you fellows think you got any
+drag with Angy Puma?"
+
+"Go back and ask him!" growled Bromberg. "And don't try to come around
+here and get fresh again. Listen! You go buy what benches you say we
+broke and send the bill to me, and keep your mouth shut and mind your
+fool business!"
+
+"I'll mind my own and yours too!" screamed Skidder, seized by an
+ungovernable access of fury. "Say, you poor nut!--you sick mink!--you
+stale hunk of cheese!--if you come down my way again I'll kick your
+shirttail for you! Get that?" And he slammed the door and strode out
+in a flaming rage.
+
+But when, still furiously excited, he arrived once more at the
+office,--and when Puma, who had just entered, had listened in sullen
+consternation to his story, he received another amazing and most
+unpleasant shock. For Puma told him flatly that the tenancy of the Red
+Flag Club suited him; that no lease could be broken, except by mutual
+consent of partners; and that he, Skidder, had had no business to go
+to Sondheim with any such threat of eviction unless he had first
+consulted his partner's wishes.
+
+"Well, what--what--" stammered Skidder--"what the hell drag have those
+guys got with you?"
+
+"Why is it you talk foolish?" retorted Puma sharply. "Drag? Did
+Sondheim say----"
+
+"No! _I_ say it. I ask you what have those crazy nuts got on you that
+you stand for all this rumpus?"
+
+Puma's lustrous eyes, battered but still magnificent, fixed themselves
+on Skidder.
+
+"Go out," he said briefly to his stenographer. Then, when the girl had
+gone, and the glass door closed behind her, he turned heavily and
+gazed at Skidder some more. And, after a few moments' silence: "Go
+on," he said. "What did Sondheim say about me?"
+
+Skidder's small, shifty eyes were blinking furiously and his
+essentially suspicious mind was also operating at full speed. When he
+had calculated what to say he took the chance, and said:
+
+"Sondheim gave me to understand that he's got such a hell of a pull
+with you that I can't kick him out of my property. What do you know
+about that, Angelo?"
+
+"Go on," said Puma impatiently, "what else did he say about me?"
+
+"Ain't I telling you?"
+
+"Tell more."
+
+Skidder had no more to tell, so he manufactured more.
+
+"Well," he continued craftily, "I didn't exactly get what that kike
+said." But his grin and his manner gave his words the lie, as he
+intended they should. "Something about your being in dutch--" He
+checked himself as Puma's black eyes lighted with a momentary glare.
+
+"What? He tells you I am in with Germans!"
+
+"Naw;--in dutch!"
+
+Puma's sanguinary skin reddened; his puffy fingers fished for a cigar
+in the pocket of his fancy waistcoat; he found one and lighted it, not
+looking at his partner. Then he picked up the morning paper.
+
+Skidder shrugged; stood up, pretending to yawn; started to open the
+door.
+
+"Elmer?"
+
+"Yeh? What y'want?"
+
+"I want to know exactly what Max Sondheim said to you about me."
+
+"Well, you better go ask Sondheim."
+
+"No. I ask you--my friend--my associate in business----"
+
+"A fine associate!--when I can't kick in when I want to kick out a
+bunch of nuts that's wrecking the hall, just because they got a drag
+with you----"
+
+"Listen. I am frank like there never was a----"
+
+"Sure. Go on!"
+
+"I say it! Yes! I am frank like hell. From my friend and partner I
+conceal nothing----"
+
+"Not even the books," grinned Skidder.
+
+"Elmer. You pain me. I who am all heart! Elmer, I ask it of you if you
+will so kindly tell me what it is that Sondheim has said to you about
+this 'drag.'"
+
+"He said," replied the other viciously, "that he had you cinched. He
+said you'd hand me the ha-ha when I saw you. And you've done it."
+
+"Pardon. I did not say to you a ha-ha, Elmer. I was surprised when you
+have told me how you have gone to Sondheim so roughly, without one
+word to me----"
+
+"You was soused to the gills last night. I didn't know when you'd show
+up at the studio----"
+
+"It was not just to me that you go to Sondheim in this so surprising
+manner, without informing me." He looked at his cigar; the wrapper was
+broken and he licked the place with a fat tongue. "Elmer?"
+
+"That's me," replied the other, who had been slyly watching him. "Spit
+it out, Angy. What's on your mind?"
+
+"I tell you, Elmer!"
+
+Puma's face became suddenly wreathed in guileless smiles: "Me, I am
+frank like there never--but no matter," he added; "listen attentively
+to what I shall say to you secretly, that I also desire to be rid of
+this Red Flag Club."
+
+"Well, then----"
+
+"A moment! I am embarrass. Yes. You ask why? I shall tell you. It is
+this. Formerly I have reside in Mexico. My business has been in Mexico
+City. I have there a little cinema theatre. In 1913 I arrive in New
+York. You ask me why I came? And I am frank like--" his full smile
+burst on Skidder--"like a heaven angel! But it is God's truth I came
+here to make of the cinema a monument to Art."
+
+"And make your little pile too, eh, Angy?"
+
+"As you please. But this I affirm to you, Elmer; of politics I am
+innocent like there never was a cherubim! Yes! And yet your Government
+has question me. Why? you ask so naturally. My God! I know no one in
+New York. I arrive. I repair to a recommended hotel. I make
+acquaintance--unhappily--with people who are under a suspicion of
+German sympathy!"
+
+"What the devil did you do that for?" demanded Skidder.
+
+Puma spread his jewelled fingers helplessly.
+
+"How am I to know? I encounter people. I seek capital for my art. Me,
+I am all heart: I suspect nobody. I say: 'Gentlemen, my art is my
+life. Without it I cease to exist. I desire capital; I desire
+sympathy; I desire intelligent recognition and practical aid.' Yes. In
+time some gentlemen evince confidence. I am offered funds. I produce,
+with joy, my first picture. Ha! The success is extravagant!
+But--alas!"
+
+"What tripped you?"
+
+"Alas," repeated Puma, "your Government arrests some gentlemen who
+have lend to me much funds. Why? Imagine my grief, my mortification!
+They are suspect of German propaganda! Oh, my God!"
+
+"How is it they didn't pinch _you_?" asked Skidder coldly, and
+beginning to feel very uneasy.
+
+"Me? No! They investigate. They discover only Art!"
+
+Skidder squinted at him nervously. If he had heard anything of that
+sort in connection with Puma he never would have flirted with him
+financially.
+
+"Well, then, what's this drag they got with you?--Sondheim and the
+other nuts?"
+
+"I tell you. Letters quite innocent but polite they have in
+possession----"
+
+"Blackmail, by heck!"
+
+"I must be considerate of Sondheim."
+
+"Or he'll squeal on you. Is that it?"
+
+Puma's black eyes were flaring up again; the heavy colour stained his
+face.
+
+"Me, I am----"
+
+"All right. Sondheim's got something on you, then. Has he?"
+
+"It is nothing. Yet, it has embarrass me----"
+
+"That ratty kike! I get you, Angy. You were played. Or maybe you did
+some playing too. Aw! wait!"--as Puma protested--"I'm getting you, by
+gobs. Sure. And you're rich, now, and business is pretty good, and you
+wish Sondheim would let you alone."
+
+"Yes, surely."
+
+"How much hush-cash d'yeh pay him?"
+
+"I?"
+
+"Yaas, you! Come on, now, Angy. What does he stick you up for per
+month?"
+
+Puma's face became empurpled: "He is a scoundrel," he said thickly.
+"Me--I wish to God and Jesus Christ I saw the last of him!" He got up,
+and his step was lithe as a leopard's as he paced the room, ranging
+the four walls as though caged. And, for the first time, then Skidder
+realised that this velvet-eyed, velvet-footed man might possibly be
+rather dangerous--dangerous to antagonise, dangerous to be associated
+with in business.
+
+"Say," he blurted out, "what else did you let me in for when I put my
+money into your business? Think I'm going to be held up by any game
+like that? Think I'm going to stand for any shake-down from that
+gang? Watch me."
+
+Puma stopped and looked at him stealthily: "What is it you would do,
+Elmer?"
+
+But Skidder offered no suggestion. He remained, however, extremely
+uneasy. For it was plain enough that Puma had been involved in
+dealings sufficiently suspicious to warrant Government surveillance.
+
+All Skidder's money and real estate were now invested in Super-Pictures.
+No wonder he was anxious. No wonder Puma, also, seemed worried.
+
+For, whatever he might have done in the past of a shady nature, now he
+had become prosperous and financially respectable and, if let alone,
+would doubtless continue to make a great deal of money for Skidder as
+well as for himself. And Skidder, profoundly troubled, wondered
+whether his partner had ever been guiltily involved in German
+propaganda, and had escaped Government detection only to fall a
+victim, in his dawning prosperity, to blackmailing associates of
+earlier days.
+
+"That mutt Sondheim looks like a bad one to me, and the other
+guy--Kastner," he observed gloomily.
+
+"It is better that we should not offend them."
+
+"Just as you say, brother."
+
+"I say it. Yes. We shall be wise to turn to them a pleasing face."
+
+"Sure. The best thing to do for a while is to stall along," nodded
+Skidder, "--but always be ready for a chance to hand it to them.
+That's safest; wait till we get the goods on them. Then slam it to 'em
+plenty!"
+
+"If they annoy me too much," purred Puma, displaying every dazzling
+tooth, "it may not be so agreeable for them. I am bad man to
+crowd.... Meanwhile----"
+
+"Sure; we'll stall along, Angy!"
+
+They opened the glass door and went out into the studio. And Puma
+began again on his favourite theme, the acquiring of Broadway property
+and the erection of a cinema theatre. And Skidder, with his limited
+imagination of a cross-roads storekeeper, listened cautiously, yet
+always conscious of agreeable thrills whenever the subject was
+mentioned.
+
+And, although he knew that capital was shy and that conditions were
+not favourable, his thoughts always reverted to a man he might be
+willing to go into such a scheme with--the president of the Shadow
+Hill Trust Company, Alonzo Pawling.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+At that very moment, too, it chanced that Mr. Pawling's business had
+brought him to New York--in fact, his business was partly with Palla
+Dumont, and they were now lunching together at the Ritz.
+
+Alonzo Pawling stood well over six feet. He still had all his
+hair--which was dyed black--and also an inky pair of old-fashioned
+side whiskers. For the beauty of his remaining features less could be
+said, because his eyes were a melancholy and faded blue, his nose very
+large and red, and his small, loose mouth seemed inclined to sag, as
+though saturated with moisture.
+
+Many years a widower he had, when convenient opportunity presented
+itself, never failed to offer marriage to Palla Dumont. And when, as
+always, she refused him in her frank, amused fashion, they returned
+without embarrassment to their amiable footing of many years--she as
+child of his old friend and neighbour, Judge Dumont, he as her
+financial adviser, and banker.
+
+As usual, Mr. Pawling had offered Palla his large, knotty hand in
+wedlock that morning. And now that this inevitable preliminary was
+safely over, they were approaching the end of a business luncheon on
+entirely amiable terms with each other.
+
+Financial questions had been argued, investments decided upon, news of
+the town discussed, and Palla was now telling him about Elmer Skidder
+and his new and apparently prosperous venture into moving pictures.
+
+"He came to see me last evening," she said, smiling at the recollection,
+"and he arrived in a handsome limousine with an extra man on the
+front--oh, very gorgeous, Mr. Pawling!--and we had tea and he told me
+how prosperous he had become in the moving picture business."
+
+"I guess," said Mr. Pawling, "that there's a lot of money in moving
+pictures. But nobody ever seems to get any of it except the officials
+of the corporation and their favourite stars."
+
+"It seems to be an exceedingly unattractive business," said Palla,
+recollecting her unpleasant impressions at the Super-Picture studios.
+
+"The right end of it," said Mr. Pawling, "is to own a big theatre."
+
+She smiled: "You wouldn't advise me to make such an investment, would
+you?"
+
+Mr. Pawling's watery eyes rested on her reflectively and he sucked in
+his lower lips as though trying to extract the omnipresent moisture.
+
+"I dunno," he said absently.
+
+"Mr. Skidder told me that he would double his invested capital in a
+year," she said.
+
+"I guess he was bragging."
+
+"Perhaps," she rejoined, laughing, "but I should not care to make such
+an investment."
+
+"Did he ask you?"
+
+"No. But it seemed to me that he hinted at something of that nature.
+And I was not at all interested because I am contented with my little
+investments and my income as it is. I don't really need much money."
+
+Mr. Pawling's pendulous lip, released, sagged wetly and his jet-black
+eyebrows were lifted in a surprised arch.
+
+"You're the first person I ever heard say they had enough money," he
+remarked.
+
+"But I have!" she insisted gaily.
+
+Mr. Pawling's sad horse-face regarded her with faded surprise. He
+passed for a rich man in Shadow Hill.
+
+"Where is Elmer's place of business?" he inquired finally, producing a
+worn note-book and a gold pencil. And he wrote down the address.
+
+There was in all the world only one thing that seriously worried Mr.
+Pawling, and that was this worn note-book. Almost every day of his
+life he concluded to burn it. He lived in a vague and daily fear that
+it might be found on him if he died suddenly. Such things could
+happen--automobile or railroad accidents--any one of numberless
+mischances.
+
+And still he carried it, and had carried it for years--always in a
+sort of terror while the recent Mrs. Pawling was still alive--and in
+dull but perpetual anxiety ever since.
+
+There were in it pages devoted to figures. There were, also, memoranda
+of stock transactions. There were many addresses, too, mostly
+feminine.
+
+Now he replaced it in the breast pocket of his frock-coat, and took
+out a large wallet strapped with a rubber band.
+
+While he was paying the check, Palla drew on her gloves; and, at the
+Madison Avenue door, stood chatting with him a moment longer before
+leaving for the canteen.
+
+Then, smilingly declining his taxi and offering her slender hand in
+adieu, she went westward on foot as usual. And Mr. Pawling's
+directions to the chauffeur were whispered ones as though he did not
+care to have the world at large share in his knowledge of his own
+occult destination.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Palla's duty at the canteen lasted until six o'clock that afternoon,
+and she hurried on her way home because people were dining there at
+seven-thirty.
+
+With the happy recollection that Jim, also, was dining with her, she
+ran lightly up the steps and into the house; examined the flowers
+which stood in jars of water in the pantry, called for vases, arranged
+a centre-piece for the table, and carried other clusters of blossoms
+into the little drawing-room, and others still upstairs.
+
+Then she returned to criticise the table and arrange the name-cards.
+And, this accomplished, she ran upstairs again to her own room, where
+her maid was waiting.
+
+Two or three times in a year--not oftener--Palla yielded to a rare
+inclination which assailed her only when unusually excited and happy.
+That inclination was to whistle.
+
+She whistled, now, while preparing for the bath; whistled like a
+blackbird as she stood before the pier-glass before the maid hooked
+her into a filmy, rosy evening gown--her first touch of colour since
+assuming mourning.
+
+The bell rang, and the waitress brought an elaborate florist's box.
+There were pink orchids in it and Jim's card;--perfection.
+
+How could he have known! She wondered rapturously, realising all the
+while that they'd have gone quite as well with her usual black.
+
+Would he come early? She had forgotten to ask it. Would he? For, in
+that event--and considering his inclination to take her into his
+arms--she decided to leave off the orchids until the more strenuous
+rites of friendship had been accomplished.
+
+She was carrying the orchids and the long pin attached, in her left
+hand, when the sound of the doorbell filled her with abrupt and
+delightful premonitions. She ventured a glance over the banisters,
+then returned hastily to the living room, where he discovered her and
+did exactly what she had feared.
+
+Her left hand, full of orchids, rested on his shoulder; her cool,
+fresh lips rested on his. Then she retreated, inviting inspection of
+the rosy dinner gown; and fastened her orchids while he was admiring
+it.
+
+Her guests began to arrive before either was quite ready, so engrossed
+were they in happy gossip. And Palla looked up in blank surprise that
+almost amounted to vexation when the bell announced that their
+tete-a-tete was ended.
+
+Shotwell had met the majority of Palla's dinner guests. Seated on her
+right, he received from his hostess information concerning some of
+those he did not know.
+
+"That rather talkative boy with red hair is Larry Rideout," she said
+in a low voice. "He edits a weekly called _The Coming Race_. The Post
+Office authorities have refused to pass it through the mails. It's
+rather advanced, you know."
+
+"Who is the girl on his right--the one with the chalky map?"
+
+"Questa Terrett. Don't you think her pallor is fascinating?"
+
+"No. What particular stunt does she perform?"
+
+"Don't be flippant. She writes."
+
+"Ads?"
+
+"Jim! She writes poems. Haven't you seen any of them?"
+
+"I don't think so."
+
+"They're rather modern poems. The lines don't rhyme and there's no
+metrical form," explained Palla.
+
+"Are they any good?"
+
+"They're a little difficult to understand. She leaves out so many
+verbs and nouns----"
+
+"I know. It's a part of her disease----"
+
+"Jim, please be careful. She is taken seriously----"
+
+"Taken seriously ill? There, dear, I won't guy your guests. What an
+absolutely deathly face she has!"
+
+"She is considered beautiful."
+
+"She has the profile of an Egyptian. She's as dead-white as an
+Egyptian leper----"
+
+"Hush!"
+
+"Hush it is, sweetness! Who's the good-looking chap over by Ilse?"
+
+"Stanley Wardner."
+
+"And his star trick?"
+
+"He's a secessionist sculptor."
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"He is one of the ultra-modern men who has seceded from the Society
+of American Sculptors to form, with a few others, a new group."
+
+"Is he any good?"
+
+"Well, Jim, I don't know," she said candidly. "I don't think I am
+quite in sympathy with his work."
+
+"What sort is it?"
+
+"If I understand him, he is what is termed, I believe, a concentrationist.
+For instance, in a nude figure which he is exhibiting in his studio, it's
+all a rough block of marble except, in the middle of the upper part,
+there is a nose."
+
+"A nose!"
+
+"Really, it is beautifully sculptured," insisted Palla.
+
+"But--good heavens!--isn't there any other anatomical feature to that
+block of marble?"
+
+"I explained that he is a concentrationist. His school believes in
+concentrating on a single feature only, and in rendering that feature
+as minutely and perfectly as possible."
+
+Jim said: "He looks as sane as a broker, too. You never can tell, can
+you, sweetness?"
+
+He glanced at several other people whose features were not familiar,
+but Palla's explanations of her friends had slightly discouraged him
+and he made no further inquiries.
+
+Vanya Tchernov was there, dreamy and sweet-mannered; Estridge sat by
+Ilse, looking a trifle careworn, as though hospital work were taking
+it out of him. Marya Lanois was there, too, with her slightly slanting
+green eyes and her tiger-red hair--attracting from him a curious sort
+of stealthy admiration, inexplicable to him because he knew he was so
+entirely in love with Palla.
+
+A woman of forty sat on his right--he promptly forgot her name each
+time he heard it--who ate fastidiously and chose birth-control as the
+subject for conversation. And he dodged it in vain, for her
+conversation had become a monologue, and he sat fiddling with his
+food, very red, while the silky voice, so agreeable in pitch and
+intonation, slid smoothly on.
+
+Afterward Palla explained that she was a celebrated sociologist, but
+Jim remained shy of her.
+
+Other people came in after dinner. Vanya seated himself at the piano
+and played from one of his unpublished scores. Ilse sang two
+Scandinavian songs in her fresh, wholesome, melodious voice--the song
+called _Ygdrasil_, and the _Song of Thokk_. Wardner had brought a
+violin, and he and Vanya accompanied Marya's Asiatic songs, but with
+some difficulty on the sculptor's part, as modern instruments are
+scarcely adapted to the sort of Russian music she chose to sing.
+
+Marya had a way, when singing, which appeared almost insolent. Seated,
+or carelessly erect, her supple figure fell into lines of indolently
+provocative grace; and the warm, golden notes welling from her throat
+seemed to be flung broadcast and indifferently to her listeners, as
+alms are often flung, without interest, toward abstract poverty and
+not to the poor breathing thing at one's elbow.
+
+She sang, in her preoccupied way, one of her savage, pentatonic songs,
+more Mongol than Cossack; then she sang an impudent _burlatskiya_
+lazily defiant of her listeners; then a so-called "dancing song," in
+which there was little restraint in word or air.
+
+The subtly infernal enchantment of girl and music was felt by everybody;
+but several among the illuminati and the fair ultra-modernettes had
+now reached their limit of breadth and tolerance, and were becoming
+bored and self-conscious, when abruptly Marya's figure straightened
+to a lovely severity, her mouth opened sweetly as a cherub's, and,
+looking up like a little, ruddy bird, she sang one of the ancient
+_Kolyadki_, Vanya alone understanding as his long, thin fingers
+wandered instinctively into an improvised accompaniment:
+
+                                   I
+
+                     "Young tears
+                     Your fears disguise;
+                     He is not coming!
+                     Sweet lips
+                     Let slip no sighs;
+                     Cease, heart, your drumming!
+                     He is not coming,
+                                   [A]_Lada!_
+                     He is not coming.
+                     _Lada oy Lada!_
+
+                     "Gaze not in wonder,--
+                     Yonder no rider comes;
+                     Hark how the kettle-drums
+                     Mock his hoofs' thunder;
+                     Hark to their thudding,
+                     Pretty breasts budding,--
+                     Setting the Buddhist bells
+                     Clanking and banging,--
+                     Wheels at the hidden wells
+                     Clinking and clanging!
+                     (_Lada oy Lada!_)
+                     Plough the flower under;
+                     Tear it asunder!
+
+                     "Young eyes
+                     In swift surprise,
+                     What terror veils you?
+                     Clear eyes,
+                     Who gallops here?
+                     What wolf assails you?
+                     What horseman hails you,
+                                     _Lada!_
+                     What pleasure pales you?
+                     _Lada oy Lada!_
+
+                     "Knight who rides boldly,
+                     May Erlik impale you,--
+                     Your mother bewail you,
+                     If you use her coldly!
+                     Health to the wedding!
+                     Joy to the bedding!
+                     Set all the Christian bells
+                     Swinging and ringing--
+                     Monks in their stony cells
+                     Chanting and singing
+                     (_Lada oy Lada!_)
+                     Bud of the rose,
+                     Gently unclose!"
+
+Marya, her gemmed fingers bracketed on her hips, the last sensuous
+note still afloat on her lips, turned her head so that her rounded
+chin rested on her bare shoulder; and looked at Shotwell. He rose,
+applauding with the others, and found a chair for her.
+
+But when she seated herself, she addressed Ilse on the other side of
+him, leaning so near that he felt the warmth of her hair.
+
+"Who was it wrestled with Loki? Was it Hel, goddess of death? Or was
+it Thor who wrestled with that toothless hag, Thokk?"
+
+Ilse explained.
+
+The conversation became general, vaguely accompanied by Vanya's
+drifting improvisations, where he still sat at the piano, his lost
+gaze on Marya.
+
+Bits of the chatter around him came vaguely to Shotwell--the
+birth-control lady's placid inclination toward obstetrics; Wardner on
+concentration, with Palla listening, bending forward, brown eyes wide
+and curious and snowy hands framing her face; Ilse partly turned where
+she was seated, alert, flushed, half smiling at what John Estridge,
+behind her shoulder, was saying to her,--some improvised nonsense, of
+which Jim caught a fragment:
+
+                   "If he who dwells in Midgard
+                   With cunning can not floor her,
+                   What hope that Mistress Westgard
+                   Will melt if I implore her?
+
+                   "And yet I've come to Asgard,
+                   And hope I shall not bore her
+                   If I tell Mistress Westgard
+                   How deeply I adore her----"
+
+Through the hum of conversation and capricious laughter, Vanya's vague
+music drifted like wind-blown thistle-down, and his absent regard
+never left Marya, where she rested among the cushions in low-voiced
+dialogue with Jim.
+
+"I had hoped," she smiled, "that you had perhaps remembered me--enough
+to stop for a word or two some day at tea-time."
+
+He had had no intention of going; but he said that he had meant to and
+would surely do so,--the while she was leisurely recognising the lie
+as it politely uncoiled.
+
+"Why won't you come?" she asked under her breath.
+
+"I shall certainly----"
+
+"No; you won't come." She seemed amused: "Tell me, are you too a
+concentrationist?" And her beryl-green eyes barely flickered toward
+Palla. Then she smiled and laid her hand lightly on her breast: "I, on
+the contrary, am a Diffusionist. It's merely a matter of how God
+grinds the lens. But prisms colour one's dull white life so gaily!"
+
+"And split it up," he said, smiling.
+
+"And disintegrate it," she nodded, "--so exquisitely."
+
+"Into rainbows."
+
+"You do not believe that there is hidden gold there?" And, looking at
+him, she let one hand rest lightly against her hair.
+
+"Yes. I believe it," he said, laughing at her enchanting effrontery.
+"But, Marya, when the rainbow goes a-glimmering, the same old grey
+world is there again. It's always there----"
+
+"Awaiting another rainbow!"
+
+"But storms come first."
+
+"Is another rainbow not worth the storm?"
+
+"Is it?" he demanded.
+
+"Shall we try?" she asked carelessly.
+
+He did not answer. But presently he looked across at Vanya.
+
+"Who is there who would not love him?" said Marya serenely.
+
+"I was wondering."
+
+"No need. All love Vanya. I, also."
+
+"I thought so."
+
+"Think so. For it is quite true.... Will you come to tea alone with me
+some afternoon?"
+
+He looked at her; reddened. Marya turned her head leisurely, to hear
+what Palla was saying to her. At the sound of her voice, Jim turned
+also, and saw Palla bending near his shoulder.
+
+"I'm sorry," she was saying to Marya, "but Questa Terrett desires to
+know Jim----"
+
+"Is it any wonder," said Marya, "that women should desire to know
+him? Alas!--" She laughed and turned to Ilse, who seated herself as
+Jim stood up.
+
+Palla, her finger-tips resting lightly on his arm, said laughingly:
+"Our youthful and tawny enchantress seemed unusually busy with you
+this evening. Has she turned you into anything very disturbing?"
+
+"Would you care?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Enough to come to earth and interfere?"
+
+"Good heavens, has it gone as far as that!" she whispered in gay
+consternation. "And could I really arrive in time, though breathless?"
+
+He laughed: "You don't need to stir from your niche, sweetness. I
+swept your altar once. I'll keep the fire clean."
+
+"You adorable thing--" He felt the faintest pressure of her fingers;
+then he heard himself being presented to Questa Terrett.
+
+The frail and somewhat mortuary beauty of this slim poetess, with her
+full-lipped profile of an Egyptian temple-girl and her pale, still
+eyes, left him guessing--rather guiltily--recollecting his recent but
+meaningless disrespect.
+
+"I don't know," she said, "just why you are here. Soldiers are no
+novelty. Is somebody in love with you?"
+
+It was a toss-up whether he'd wither or laugh, but the demon of gaiety
+won out.
+
+She also smiled.
+
+"I asked you," she added, "because you seem to be quite featureless."
+
+"Oh, I've a few eyes and noses and that sort----"
+
+"I mean psychologically accentless."
+
+"Just plain man?"
+
+"Yes. That is all you are, isn't it?"
+
+"I'm afraid it is," he admitted, quite as much amused as she appeared
+to be.
+
+"I see. Some crazy girl here is enamoured of you. Otherwise, you
+scarcely belong among modern intellectuals, you know."
+
+At that he laughed outright.
+
+She said: "You really are delightful. You're just a plain, fighting
+male, aren't you?"
+
+"Well, I haven't done much fighting----"
+
+"Unimaginative, too! You could have led yourself to believe you had
+done a lot," she pointed out. "And maybe you could have interested
+me."
+
+"I'm sorry. But suppose you try to interest _me_?"
+
+"Don't I? I've tried."
+
+"Do your best," he encouraged her cheerfully. "You never can be sure
+I'm not listening."
+
+At that she laughed: "You nice youth," she said, "if you'd talk that
+way to your sweetheart she'd sit up and listen.... Which I'm afraid
+she doesn't, so far."
+
+He felt himself flushing, but he refused to wince under her amused
+analysis.
+
+"You've simply got to have imagination, you know," she insisted.
+"Otherwise, you don't get anywhere at all. Have you read my smears?"
+
+"Smears?"
+
+"Bacteriologists take a smear of something on a glass slide and slip
+it under a microscope. My poems are like that. The words are the
+bacteria. Few can identify them."
+
+"Are you serious?"
+
+"Entirely."
+
+He maintained his gravity: "Would you be kind enough to take a smear
+and let me look?" he inquired politely.
+
+"Certainly: the experiment is called 'Unpremeditation.'"
+
+She dropped one thin and silken knee over the other and crossed her
+hands on it as she recited her poem.
+
+                           "UNPREMEDITATION."
+
+                     "In the tube.
+                     Several,
+                     With intonation.
+                     Red, red, red.
+                     A square fabric
+                     Once white
+                     With intention.
+                     Soiled, soiled, soiled.
+                     Six hundred hundred million
+                     Swarm like vermin,
+                     Without intention.
+                     Redder. Redder.
+                     Drip, drip, drip.
+                     A goes west,
+                     B goes east,
+                     C goes north,
+                     Pink, pink, pink.
+                     Two white squares.
+                     And a coat-sleeve.
+                     Without intention,
+                     Intonations.
+                     Pinker. Redder.
+                     Six hundred hundred million.
+                     Billions. Trillions.
+                     A week. Two weeks.
+                     Otherwise?
+                     Eternity."
+
+Jim's features had become a trifle glassy. "You do skip a few words,"
+he said, "don't you?"
+
+"Words are animalculae. Some skip, some gyrate, some sub-divide."
+
+He put a brave face on the matter: "If you're not really guying me,"
+he ventured, "would you tell me a little about your poem?"
+
+"Why, yes," she replied amiably. "To put it redundantly, then, I have
+sketched in my poem a man in the subway, with influenza, which infects
+others in his vicinity."
+
+She rose, smiled, and sauntered off, leaving him utterly unable to
+determine whether or not he had been outrageously imposed upon. Palla
+rescued him, and he went with her, a little wild-eyed, downstairs to
+the nearly empty and carpetless drawing-room, where a music box was
+playing and people were already dancing.
+
+Toward midnight, Marya, passing Jim on her way to the front door,
+leaned wide from Vanya's arm:
+
+"Let us at least discuss my rainbow theory," she said, laughing, and
+her face a shade too close to his; and continued on, still clinging to
+the sleeve of Vanya's fur-lined coat.
+
+Ilse was the last to leave, with Estridge waiting behind her to hold
+her wrap.
+
+She came up to Palla, took both her hands in an odd, subdued, wistful
+way.
+
+After a moment she kissed her, and, close to her ear: "Wait,
+darling."
+
+Palla did not understand.
+
+Ilse said: "I mean--wait before you ever take any step to--to prove
+any theory--or belief."
+
+Still Palla did not comprehend.
+
+"With--Jim," said Ilse in a low voice.
+
+"Oh. Why, of course. But--it could never happen."
+
+"Why?"
+
+Palla said honestly: "One reason is because he wouldn't anyway."
+
+"You must not be certain."
+
+"I am. I'm absolutely certain."
+
+Ilse gazed at her, then laughed and pressed her hand. "Are you cold?"
+asked Palla.
+
+"No."
+
+"I thought I felt you shiver, dearest."
+
+Ilse flushed and held out her arms for the sleeves of her fur coat,
+which Estridge was holding.
+
+They went away together, leaving Palla alone with Shotwell, among the
+fading flowers.
+
+  [A] The ancient Slavonic Venus.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+"So," said Puma, "you are quite convinced he has much wealth. Yes?"
+
+"You betcha," replied Elmer Skidder. "That pious guy has got all kinds
+of it. Why, Alonzo D. Pawling can buy you and me like we were two
+subway tickets and then forget which pocket he put us in."
+
+"He also is a sport? Yes?"
+
+"On the quiet. Oh, I got his number some years ago. Ran into him once
+in New York, where you used to knock three times and ring twice before
+they slid the panel on you."
+
+"A bank president?"
+
+"Did you ever know one that didn't?" grinned Skidder, inserting pearl
+studs in his shirt.
+
+"It is very bad--for a shake-down," mused Puma, smoothing his glossy
+top hat with one of Skidder's silk mufflers.
+
+"Aw, you can't scare Alonzo D. Pawling. Say, Angy, what dames have you
+commandeered?"
+
+"I ask Barclay and West. Also, they got another--Vanna Brown."
+
+"Pictures?"
+
+"No, she has a friend."
+
+Skidder continued to attire himself in an over-braided evening dress;
+Puma, seated behind him, gazed absently at his partner's features
+reflected in the looking glass.
+
+"A theatre on Broadway," he mused. "You say he has seemed interested,
+Elmer?"
+
+"He didn't run away screaming."
+
+"How did he behave?"
+
+"Well, it's hard to size up Alonzo D. Pawling. He's a fly guy, Angy.
+What a man says at a little supper for four, with a peach pulling his
+Depews and a good looker sticking gardenias in his buttonhole, ain't
+what he's likely to say next day in your office."
+
+"You have accompany him to Broadway and you have shown him the
+parcel?"
+
+"I sure did."
+
+"You explain how we can not lose out? You mention the option?"
+
+Skidder cast aside his white tie and tried another, constructed on the
+butterfly plan.
+
+"I put the whole thing up to him," he said. "No use stalling with
+Alonzo D. Pawling. I know him too well. So I let out straight from the
+shoulder, and he knows the scheme we've got in mind and he knows we
+want his money in it. That's how it stands to-night."
+
+Puma nodded and softly joined his over-manicured finger-tips:
+
+"We give him a good time," he said. "We give him a little dinner like
+there never was in New York. Yes?"
+
+"You betcha."
+
+"Barclay is a devil. You think she please him?"
+
+"Alonzo D. Pawling is some bird himself," remarked Skidder, picking up
+his hat and turning to Puma, who rose with lithe briskness, put on his
+hat, and began to pull at his white gloves.
+
+They went down to the street, where Puma's car was waiting.
+
+"I stop at the office a moment," he said, as they entered the
+limousine. "You need not get out, Elmer."
+
+At the studio he descended, saying to Skidder that he'd be back in a
+moment.
+
+But it was very evident when he entered his office that he had not
+expected to find Max Sondheim there; and he hesitated on the
+threshold, his white-gloved hand still on the door-knob.
+
+"Come in, Puma; I want to see you," growled Sondheim, retaining his
+seat but pocketing _The Call_, which he had been reading.
+
+"To-morrow," said Puma coolly; "I have no time----"
+
+"No, _now_!" interrupted Sondheim.
+
+They eyed each other for a moment in silence, then Puma shrugged:
+
+"Very well," he said. "But be quick, if you please----"
+
+"Look here," interrupted the other in a menacing voice, "you're
+getting too damned independent, telling me to be quick! I had a date
+with you here at five o'clock. You thought you wouldn't keep it and
+you left at four-thirty. But I stuck around till you 'phoned in that
+you'd stop here to get some money. It's seven o'clock now, and I've
+waited for you. And I guess you've got enough time to hear what I'm
+going to say."
+
+Puma looked at him without any expression at all on his sanguine
+features. "Go on," he said.
+
+"What I got to say to you is this," began Sondheim. "There's a kind of
+a club that uses our hall on off nights. It's run by women."
+
+Puma waited.
+
+"They meet this evening at eight in our hall,--your hall, if you
+choose."
+
+Puma nodded carelessly.
+
+"All right. Put them out."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Put 'em out!" growled Sondheim. "We don't want them there to-night or
+any other night."
+
+"You ask me to evict respectable people who pay me rent?"
+
+"I don't ask you; I _tell_ you."
+
+Puma turned a deep red: "And whose hall do you think it is?" he
+demanded in a silky voice.
+
+"Yours. That's why I tell you to get rid of that bunch and their
+Combat Club."
+
+"Why have you ask me such a----"
+
+"Because they're fighting us and you know it. That's a good enough
+reason."
+
+"I shall not do so," said Puma, moistening his lips with his tongue.
+
+"Oh, I guess you will when you think it over," sneered Sondheim,
+getting up from his chair and stuffing his newspaper into his overcoat
+pocket. He crossed the floor and shot an ugly glance at Puma _en
+passant_. Then he jerked open the door and went out briskly.
+
+Puma walked into the inner waiting room, where a telephone operator
+sat reading a book.
+
+"Where's McCabe?" he asked.
+
+"Here he comes now, Governor."
+
+The office manager sauntered up, eating a slice of apple pie, and Puma
+stepped forward to meet him.
+
+"For what reason have you permit Mr. Sondheim to wait in my office?"
+he demanded.
+
+"He said you told him to go in and wait there."
+
+"He is a liar! Hereafter he shall wait out here. You understand,
+McCabe?"
+
+"Yes, sir. You're always out when he calls, ain't you?"
+
+Puma meditated a few moments: "No. When he calls you shall let me
+know. Then I decide. But he shall not wait in my office."
+
+"Very good, sir." And, as Puma turned to go: "The police was here
+again this evening, sir."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"They heard of the row in the hall last night."
+
+"What did you tell them?"
+
+"Oh, the muss was all swept up--windows fixed and the busted benches
+in the furnace, so I said there had been no row as far as I knew, and
+I let 'em go in and nose around."
+
+"Next time," said Puma, "you shall say to them that there was a very
+bad riot."
+
+"Sir?"
+
+"A big fight," continued Puma. "And if there is only a little damage
+you shall make more. And you shall show it to the police."
+
+"I get you, Governor. I'll stage it right; don't worry."
+
+"Yes, you shall stage it like there never was in all of France any
+ruins like my hall! And afterward," he said, half to himself, "we
+shall see what we shall see."
+
+He went back to his office, took a packet of hundred dollar bills from
+the safe, and walked slowly out to where the limousine awaited him.
+
+"Say, what the hell--" began Skidder impatiently; but Puma leaped
+lightly to his seat and pulled the fur robe over his knees.
+
+"Now," he said, in excellent humour, "we pick up Mr. Pawling at the
+Astor."
+
+"Where are the ladies?"
+
+"They join us, Hotel Rajah. It will be, I trust, an amusing evening."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+About midnight, dinner merged noisily into supper in the private
+dining room reserved by Mr. Puma for himself and guests at the new
+Hotel Rajah.
+
+There had been intermittent dancing during the dinner, but now the
+negro jazz specialists had been dismissed with emoluments, and a
+music-box substituted; and supper promised to become even a more
+lively repetition of the earlier banquet.
+
+Puma was superb--a large, heavy man, he danced as lightly as any
+ballerina; and he and Tessa Barclay did a Paraguayan dance together,
+with a leisurely and agile perfection of execution that elicited
+uproarious demonstrations from the others.
+
+Not a whit winded, Puma resumed his seat at table, laughing as Mr.
+Pawling insisted on shaking hands with him.
+
+"You are far too kind to my poor accomplishments," he said in
+deprecation. "It was not at all difficult, that Paraguayan dance."
+
+"It was art!" insisted Mr. Pawling, his watery eyes brimming with
+emotion. And he pressed the pretty waist of Tessa Barclay.
+
+"Art," rejoined Puma, laying a jewelled hand on his shirt-front, "is
+an ecstatic outburst from within, like the song of the bird. Art is
+simple; art is not difficult. Where effort begins, art ends. Where
+self-expression becomes a labour, art already has perished!"
+
+He thumped his shirt-front with an impassioned and highly-coloured
+fist.
+
+"What is art?" he cried, "if it be not pleasure? And pleasure ceases
+where effort begins. For me, I am all heart, all art, like there never
+was in all the history of the Renaissance. As expresses itself the
+little innocent bird in song, so in my pictures I express myself. It
+is no effort. It is in me. It is born. Behold! Art has given birth to
+Beauty!"
+
+"And the result," added Skidder, "is a _ne plus ultra par excellence_
+which gathers in the popular coin every time. And say, if we had a
+Broadway theatre to run our stuff, and Angelo Puma to soopervise the
+combine--oh boy!--" He smote Mr. Pawling upon his bony back and dug
+him in the ribs with his thumb.
+
+Mr. Pawling's mouth sagged and his melancholy eyes shifted around him
+from Tessa Barclay--who was now attempting to balance a bon-bon on her
+nose and catch it between her lips--to Vanna Brown, teaching Miss West
+to turn cart-wheels on one hand.
+
+Evidently Art had its consolations; and the single track genius who
+lived for art alone got a bonus, too. Also, what General Sherman once
+said about Art seemed to be only too obvious.
+
+A detail, however, worried Mr. Pawling. Financially, he had always
+been afraid of Jews. And the nose of Angelo Puma made him uneasy every
+time he looked at it.
+
+But an inch is a mile on a man's nose; and his own was bigger, yet
+entirely Yankee; so he had about concluded that there was no racial
+occasion for financial alarm.
+
+What he should have known was that no Jew can compete with a
+Connecticut Yankee; but that any half-cast Armenian is master of both.
+Especially when born in Mexico of a Levantine father.
+
+Now, in spite of Angelo Puma's agile gaiety and exotic exuberances,
+his brain remained entirely occupied with two matters. One of these
+concerned the possibility of interesting Mr. Pawling in a plot of
+ground on Broadway, now defaced by several taxpayers.
+
+The other matter which fitfully preoccupied him was his unpleasant and
+unintentional interview with Sondheim.
+
+For it had come to a point, now, that the perpetual bullying of former
+associates was worrying Mr. Puma a great deal in his steadily
+increasing prosperity.
+
+The war was over. Besides, long ago he had prudently broken both his
+pledged word and his dangerous connections in Mexico, and had started
+what he believed to be a safe and legitimate career in New York,
+entirely free from perilous affiliations.
+
+Government had investigated his activities; Government had found
+nothing for which to order his internment as an enemy alien.
+
+It had been a close call. Puma realised that. But he had also realised
+that there was no law in Mexico ten miles outside of Mexico City;--no
+longer any German power there, either;--when he severed all
+connections with those who had sent him into the United States
+camouflaged as a cinema promoter, and under instruction to do all the
+damage he could to everything American.
+
+But he had not counted on renewing his acquaintance with Karl Kastner
+and Max Sondheim in New York. Nor did they reveal themselves to him
+until he had become too prosperous to denounce them and risk
+investigation and internment under the counter-accusations with which
+they coolly threatened him.
+
+So, from the early days of his prosperity in New York, it had been
+necessary for him to come to an agreement with Sondheim and Kastner.
+And the more his prosperity increased the less he dared to resent
+their petty tyranny and blackmail, because, whether or not they might
+suffer under his public accusations, it was very certain that
+internment, if not imprisonment for a term of years, would be the fate
+reserved for himself. And that, of course, meant ruin.
+
+So, although Puma ate and drank and danced with apparent abandon, and
+flashed his dazzling smile over everybody and everything, his mind,
+when not occupied by Alonzo D. Pawling, was bothered by surmises
+concerning Sondheim. And also, at intervals, he thought of Palla
+Dumont and the Combat Club, and he wondered uneasily whether
+Sondheim's agents had attempted to make any trouble at the meeting in
+his hall that evening.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+There had been some trouble. The meeting being a public one, under
+municipal permission, Kastner had sent a number of his Bolshevik
+followers there, instructed to make what mischief they could. They
+were recruited from all sects of the Reds, including the American
+Bolsheviki, known commonly as the I. W. W. Also, among them were
+scattered a few pacifists, hun-sympathisers, conscientious objectors
+and other birds of analogous plumage, quite ready for interruptions
+and debate.
+
+Palla presided, always a trifle frightened to find herself facing any
+audience, but ashamed to avoid the delegated responsibility.
+
+Among others on the platform around her were Ilse and Marya and Questa
+Terrett and the birth-control lady--Miss Thane--neat and placid and
+precise as usual, and wearing long-distance spectacles for a more
+minute inspection of the audience.
+
+Palla opened the proceedings in a voice which was clear, and always
+became steadier under heckling.
+
+Her favourite proposition--the Law of Love and Service--she offered
+with such winning candour that the interruption of derisive laughter,
+prepared by several of Kastner's friends, was postponed; and Terry
+Hogan, I. W. W., said to Jerry Smith, I. W. W.:
+
+"God love her, she's but a baby. Lave her chatter."
+
+However, a conscientious objector got up and asked her whether she
+considered that the American army abroad had conformed to her Law of
+Love and Service, and when she answered emphatically that every
+soldier in the United States army was fulfilling to the highest degree
+his obligations to that law, both pacifists and conscientious
+objectors dissented noisily, and a student from Columbia College got
+up and began to harangue the audience.
+
+Order was finally obtained: Palla added a word or two and retired; and
+Ilse Westgard came forward.
+
+Somebody in the audience called out: "Say, just because you're a
+good-looker it don't mean you got a brain!"
+
+Ilse threw back her golden head and her healthy laughter rang
+uncontrolled.
+
+"Comrade," she said, "we all have to do the best we can with what
+brain we have, don't we?"
+
+"Sure!" came from her grinning heckler, who seemed quite won over by
+her good humour.
+
+So, an armistice established, Ilse plunged vigorously into her theme:
+
+"Let me tell you something which you all know in your hearts: any
+class revolution based on violence and terrorism is doomed to
+failure."
+
+"Don't be too sure of that!" shouted a man.
+
+"I am sure of it. And you will never see any reign of terror in
+America."
+
+"But you may see Bolshevism here--Bolshevist propaganda--Bolshevist
+ideas penetrating. You may see these ideas accepted by Labor. You may
+see strikes--the most senseless and obsolete weapon ever wielded by
+thinking men; you may see panics, tie-ups, stagnation, misery. But you
+never shall see Bolshevism triumphant here, or permanently triumphant
+anywhere.
+
+"Because Bolshevism is autocracy!"
+
+"The hell it is!" yelled an I. W. W.
+
+"Yes," said Ilse cheerfully, "as you have said it is hell. And hell is
+an end, not a means, not a remedy.
+
+"Because it is the negation of all socialism; the death of civilisation.
+And civilisation has an immortal destiny; and that destiny is
+socialism!"
+
+A man interrupted, but she asked him so sweetly for a few moments more
+that he reseated himself.
+
+"Comrades," she said, "I know something about Bolshevism and
+revolution. I was a soldier of Russia. I carried a rifle and full
+pack. I was part of what is history. And I learned to be tolerant in
+the trenches; and I learned to love this unhappy human race of ours.
+And I learned what is Bolshevism.
+
+"It is one of many protests against the exploitation of men by men. It
+is one of the many reactions against intolerable wrong. It is not a
+policy; it is an outburst against injustice; against the stupidity of
+present conditions, where the few monopolise the wealth created by the
+many; and the many remain poor.
+
+"And Bolshevism is the remedy proposed--the violent superimposition
+of a brand new autocracy upon the ruins of the old!
+
+"It does not work. It never can work, because it imposes the will of
+one class upon all other classes. It excludes all parties excepting
+its own from government. It is, therefore, not democratic. It is a
+tyranny, imposing upon capital and labour alike its will.
+
+"And I tell you that Labour has just won the greatest of all wars. Do
+you suppose Labour will endure the autocracy of the Bolsheviki? The
+time is here when a more decent division is going to be made between
+the employer and the labourer.
+
+"I don't care what sort of production it may be, the producer is going
+to receive a much larger share; the employer a much smaller. And the
+producer is going to enjoy a better standard of living, opportunities
+for leisure and self-cultivation; and the three spectres that haunt
+him from childhood to grave--lack of money to make a beginning; fear
+for a family left on its own resources by his death; terror of poverty
+in old age--shall vanish.
+
+"Against these three evil ghosts that haunt his bedside when the long
+day is done, there are going to be guarantees. Because those who won
+for us this righteous war, whether abroad or at home, are going to
+have something to say about it.
+
+"And it will be they, not the Bolsheviki--it will be labourer and
+employer, not incendiary and assassin, who shall determine what is to
+be the policy of this Republic toward those to whom it owes its
+salvation!"
+
+A man stood up waving his arms: "All right! All right! The question is
+whether the sort of government we have is worth saving. You talk very
+flip about the Bolsheviki, but I'll tell you they'll run this country
+yet, and every other too, and run 'em to suit themselves! It's our
+turn; you've had your inning. Now, you'll get a dose of what you hand
+to us if we have to ram it down with a gun barrel!"
+
+There was wild cheering from Kastner's men scattered about the hall;
+cries of "That's the stuff! Take away their dough! Kick 'em out of
+their Fifth Avenue castles and set 'em to digging subways!"
+
+Ilse said calmly: "Thank you very much for proving my contention for
+all these people who have been so kind as to listen to me.
+
+"I said to you that Bolshevism is merely a new and more immoral
+autocracy which wishes to confiscate all property, annihilate all
+culture and set up in the public places a new god--the god of
+Ignorance!
+
+"You have been good enough to corroborate me. And I and my audience
+now know that Bolshevism is on its way to America, and that its agents
+are already here.
+
+"It is in view of such a danger that this Combat Club has been
+organised. And it was time to organise it.
+
+"It is evident, too, that the newspapers agree with us. Let us read
+you what one of them has to say:
+
+  "'We fully realise the atrocity of the Bolshevik propaganda, which
+  is really the doctrine of communism and anarchy. We realise the
+  perilous ferment which endangers civilisation. But in the
+  countries which have held fast to moral standards during the war
+  we believe the factors of safety are sufficiently great, the
+  forces of sanity are far stronger than those of chaos----'"
+
+Here, those whose role it was to interrupt with derisive laughter,
+broke out at a preconcerted signal. But Ilse read on:
+
+  "'In a word, as a mere matter of self-interest and common sense,
+  we can only see the people, as a whole, in any country, as opposed
+  to anarchy in any form. In our own land, even granted that there
+  are a hundred thousand "red" agitators, or say a quarter of a
+  million--and we have no real belief that this is so--what are
+  these in a population of one hundred and five millions? Are the
+  ninety and nine sane, moral, law abiding men and women going to
+  allow themselves to be stampeded into ruin by a handful of
+  criminals and lunatics?
+
+  "'We do not for a moment believe it. These agitators and
+  incendiaries have a sort of maniacal impetus that fills the air
+  with dust and noise and alarms the credulous. Perhaps it may be
+  wise to counteract this with a little quiet promotion of ideas of
+  safety and prosperity, based on order and law. It may be well to
+  calm the nerves of the timorous and it can do no harm to set in
+  motion a counter wave of horror and repulsion against those who
+  are planning to lead the world back to conditions of tribal
+  savagery. Educational work is always beneficent. Let us have much
+  of that but no panic. The power of truth and reason is in calm
+  confidence.'"
+
+And now a bushy-headed man got on his feet and levelled his forefinger
+at Ilse: "Take shame for your-selluf!" he shouted. "I know you! You
+fought mit Korniloff! You took orders from Kerensky, from aristocrats,
+from cadets!"
+
+Ilse said pleasantly. "I fought for Russia, my friend. And when the
+robbers and despoilers of Russia became the stronger, I took a
+vacation."
+
+Some people laughed, but a harsh voice cried: "We know what you did.
+You rescued the friend of the Romanoffs--that Carmelite nun up there
+on the platform behind you, who calls herself Miss Dumont!"
+
+And from the other side of the hall another man bawled out: "You and
+the White Nun have done enough mischief. And you and your club had
+better get out of here while the going is good!"
+
+Estridge, who was standing in the rear of the hall with Shotwell, came
+down along the aisle. Jim followed.
+
+"Who said that?" he demanded, scanning the faces on that side while
+Shotwell looked among the seats beyond.
+
+Nobody said anything, for John Estridge stood over six feet and Jim
+looked physically very fit.
+
+Estridge, standing in the aisle, said in his cool, penetrating voice:
+
+"This club is a forum for discussion. All are free to argue any point.
+Only swine would threaten violence.
+
+"Now go on and argue. Say what you like. But the next man who
+threatens these ladies or this club with violence will have to leave
+the hall."
+
+"Who'll put him out?" piped an unidentified voice.
+
+Then the two young men laughed; and their mirth was not reassuring to
+the violently inclined.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+There were disturbances during the evening, but no violence, and only
+a few threats--those that made them remaining in prudent incognito.
+
+Miss Thane made a serene, precise and perfectly logical address upon
+birth control.
+
+Somebody yelled that the millionaires didn't have to resort to it,
+being already sufficiently sterile to assure the dwindling of their
+class.
+
+A woman rose and said she had always done what she pleased in the
+matter, law or no law, but that if it were true the Bolsheviki in
+America were but a quarter of a million to a hundred million of the
+bourgeoisie, then it was time to breed and breed to the limit.
+
+"And let the kids starve?" cried another woman--a mere girl. "That
+isn't the way. The way to do is to even things with a hundred million
+hand grenades!"
+
+Instantly the place was in an uproar; but Palla came forward and said
+that the meeting was over, and Estridge and Shotwell and two policemen
+kept the aisles fairly clear while the wrangling audience made their
+way to the street.
+
+"Aw, it's all lollipop!" said a man. "What d' yeh expect from a bunch
+of women?"
+
+"The Red Flag Club is better," rejoined another. "Say, bo! There's
+somethin' doin' when Sondheim hands it out!"
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ilse went away with Estridge. Palla came along among the other women,
+and turned aside to offer her hand to Jim.
+
+"Did you expect to take me home?" she asked demurely.
+
+"Didn't you expect me to?" he inquired uneasily.
+
+"I? Why should I?" She slipped her arm into his with a little nestling
+gesture. "And it's a very odd thing, Jim, that they left the chafing
+dish on the table. And that before she went to bed my waitress laid
+covers for two."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+"Are you worried about this Dumont girl?" asked Shotwell Senior
+abruptly.
+
+His wife did not look up from her book. After an interval:
+
+"Yes," she said, "I am."
+
+Her husband watched her over the top of his newspaper.
+
+"I can't believe there's anything in it," he said. "But it's a shame
+that Jim should worry you so."
+
+"He doesn't mean to."
+
+"Probably he doesn't, but what's the difference? You're unhappy and
+he's the reason of it. And it isn't as though he were a cub any
+longer, either. He's old enough to know what he's about. He's no Willy
+Baxter."
+
+"That is what makes me anxious," said Helen Shotwell. "Do you know,
+dear, that he hasn't dined here once this week, yet he seems to go
+nowhere else--nowhere except to her."
+
+"What sort of woman is she?" he demanded, wiping his eyeglasses as
+though preparing to take a long-distance look at Palla.
+
+"I know her only at the Red Cross."
+
+"Well, is she at all common?"
+
+"No.... That is why it is difficult for me to talk to Jim about her.
+There's nothing of that sort to criticise."
+
+"No social objections to the girl?"
+
+"None. She's an unusual girl."
+
+"Attractive?"
+
+"Unfortunately."
+
+"Well, then----"
+
+"Oh, James, I _want_ him to marry Elorn! And if he's going to make
+himself conspicuous over this Dumont girl, I don't think I can bear
+it!"
+
+"What _is_ the objection to the girl, Helen?" he asked, flinging his
+paper onto a table and drawing nearer the fire.
+
+"She isn't at all our kind, James----"
+
+"But you just said----"
+
+"I don't mean socially. And still, as far as that goes, she seems to
+care nothing whatever for position or social duties or obligations."
+
+"That's not so unusual in these days," he remarked. "Lots of nice
+girls are fed up on the social aspects of life."
+
+"Well, for example, she has not made the slightest effort to know
+anybody worth knowing. Janet Speedwell left cards and then asked her
+to dinner, and received an amiable regret for her pains. No girl can
+afford to decline invitations from Janet, even if her excuse is a club
+meeting.
+
+"And two or three other women at the Red Cross have asked her to lunch
+at the Colony Club, and have made advances to her on Leila Vance's
+account, but she hasn't responded. Now, you know a girl isn't going to
+get on by politely ignoring the advances of such women. But she
+doesn't even appear to be aware of their importance."
+
+"Why don't you ask her to something?" suggested her husband.
+
+"I did," she said, a little sharply. "I asked her and Leila Vance to
+dine with us. I intended to ask Elorn, too, and let Jim realise the
+difference if he isn't already too blind to see."
+
+"Did she decline?"
+
+"She did," said Helen curtly.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It happened that she had asked somebody to dine with her that
+evening. And I have a horrid suspicion it was Jim. If it was, she
+could have postponed it. Of course it was a valid excuse, but it
+annoyed me to have her decline. That's what I tell you, James, she has
+a most disturbing habit of declining overtures from everybody--even
+from----"
+
+Helen checked herself, looked at her husband with an odd smile, in
+which there was no mirth; then:
+
+"You probably are not aware of it, dear, but that girl has also
+declined Jim's overtures."
+
+"Jim's what?"
+
+"Invitation."
+
+"Invitation to do what?"
+
+"Marry him."
+
+Shotwell Senior turned very red.
+
+"The devil she did! How do you know?"
+
+"Jim told me."
+
+"That she turned him down?"
+
+"She declined to marry him."
+
+Her husband seemed unable to grasp such a fact. Never had it occurred
+to Shotwell Senior that any living, human girl could decline such an
+invitation from his only son.
+
+After a painful silence: "Well," he said in a perplexed and mortified
+voice, "she certainly seems to be, as you say, a most unusual girl....
+But--if it's settled--why do you continue to worry, Helen?"
+
+"Because Jim is very deeply in love with her.... And I'm sore at
+heart."
+
+"Hard hit, is he?"
+
+"Very unhappy."
+
+Shotwell Senior reddened again: "He'll have to face it," he said....
+"But that girl seems to be a fool!"
+
+"I--wonder."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"A girl may change her mind." She lifted her head and looked with sad
+humour at her husband, whom she also had kept dangling for a while.
+Then:
+
+"James, dear, our son _is_ as fine as we think him. But he's just a
+splendid, wholesome, everyday, unimaginative New York business man.
+And he's fallen in love with his absolute antithesis. Because this
+girl is all ardent imagination, full of extravagant impulses, very
+lovely to look at, but a perfectly illogical fanatic!
+
+"Mrs. Vance has told me all about her. She really belongs in some
+exotic romance, not in New York. She's entirely irresponsible,
+perfectly unstable. There is in her a generous sort of recklessness
+which is quite likely to drive her headlong into any extreme. And what
+sort of mate would such a girl be for a young man whose ambition is to
+make good in the real estate business, marry a nice girl, have a
+pleasant home and agreeable children, and otherwise conform to the
+ordinary conventions of civilisation?"
+
+"I think," remarked her husband grimly, "that she'd keep him
+guessing."
+
+"She would indeed! And that's not all, James. For I've got to tell you
+that the girl entertains some rather weird and dreadful socialistic
+notions. She talks socialism--a mild variety--from public platforms.
+She admits very frankly that she entertains no respect for accepted
+conventions. And while I have no reason to doubt her purity of mind
+and personal chastity, the unpleasant and startling fact remains that
+she proposes that humanity should dispense with the marriage ceremony
+and discard it and any orthodox religion as obsolete superstitions."
+
+Her husband stared at her.
+
+"For heaven's sake," he began, then got frightfully red in the face
+once more. "What that girl needs is a plain spanking!" he said
+bluntly. "I'd like to see her or any other girl try to come into this
+family on any such ridiculous terms!"
+
+"She doesn't seem to want to come in on any terms," said Helen.
+
+"Then what are you worrying about?"
+
+"I am worrying about what might happen if she ever changed her mind."
+
+"But you say she doesn't believe in marriage!"
+
+"She doesn't."
+
+"Well, that boy of ours isn't crazy," insisted Shotwell Senior.
+
+But his mother remained silent in her deep misgiving concerning the
+sanity of the simpler sex, when mentally upset by love. For it seemed
+very difficult to understand what to do--if, indeed, there was
+anything for her to do in the matter.
+
+To express disapproval of Palla to Jim or to the girl herself--to show
+any opposition at all--would, she feared, merely defeat its own
+purpose and alienate her son's confidence.
+
+The situation was certainly a most disturbing one, though not at
+present perilous.
+
+And Helen would not permit herself to believe that it could ever
+really become an impossible situation--that this young girl would
+deliberately slap civilisation in the face; or that her only son would
+add a kick to the silly assault and take the ruinous consequences of
+social ostracism.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The young girl in question was at that moment seated before her piano,
+her charming head uplifted, singing in the silvery voice of an
+immaculate angel, to her own accompaniment, the heavenly Mass of Saint
+Hilde:
+
+                        "Love me,
+                      Adorable Mother!
+                        Mary,
+                      I worship no other.
+                        Save me,
+                      O, graciously save me
+                        I pray!
+                  Let my Darkness be turned into Day
+                  By the Light of Thy Grace
+                      And Thy Face,
+                        I pray!"
+
+She continued the exquisite refrain on the keys for a while, then
+slowly turned to the man beside her.
+
+"The one Mass I still love," she murmured absently, "--memories of
+childhood, I suppose--when the Sisters made me sing the solo--I was
+only ten years old." ... She shrugged her shoulders: "You know, in
+those days, I was a little devil," she said seriously.
+
+He smiled.
+
+"I really was, Jim,--all over everything and wild as a swallow. I led
+the pack; Shadow Hill held us in horror. I remember I fought our
+butcher's boy once--right in the middle of the street----"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"He did something to a cat which I couldn't stand."
+
+"Did you whip him?"
+
+"Oh, Jim, it was horrid. We both were dreadfully battered. And the
+constable caught us both, and I shall never, never forget my mother's
+face!----"
+
+She gazed down at the keys of the piano, touched them pensively.
+
+"The very deuce was in me," she sighed. "Even now, unless I'm occupied
+with all my might, something begins--to simmer in me----"
+
+She turned and looked at him: "--A sort of enchanted madness that
+makes me wild to seize the whole world and set it right!--take it into
+my arms and defend it--die for it--or slay it and end its pain."
+
+"Too much of an armful," he said with great gravity. "The thing to do
+is to select an individual and take _him_ to your heart."
+
+"And slay him?" she inquired gaily.
+
+"Certainly--like the feminine mantis--if you find you don't like him.
+Individual suitors must take their chances of being either eaten or
+adored."
+
+"Jim, you're so funny."
+
+She swung her stool, rested her elbow on the piano, and gazed at him
+interrogatively, the odd, half-smile edging her lips and eyes. And,
+after a little _duetto_ of silence:
+
+"Do you suppose I shall ever come to care for you--imprudently?" she
+asked.
+
+"I wouldn't let you."
+
+"How could you help it? And, as far as that goes, how could I, if it
+happened?"
+
+"If you ever come to care at all," he said, "you'll care enough."
+
+"That is the trouble with you," she retorted, "you don't care
+enough."
+
+A slight flush stained his cheek-bones: "Sometimes," he said, "I
+almost wish I cared less. And that would be what you call enough."
+
+Colour came into her face, too:
+
+"Do you know, Jim, I really don't know how much I do care for you? It
+sounds rather silly, doesn't it?"
+
+"Do you care more than you did at first?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Much more?"
+
+"I told you I don't know how much."
+
+"Not enough to marry me?"
+
+"Must we discuss that again?"
+
+He got up, went out to the hall, pulled a book from his overcoat
+pocket, and returned.
+
+"Would you care to hear what the greatest American says on the
+subject, Palla?"
+
+"On the subject of marriage?"
+
+"No; he takes the marriage for granted. It's what he has to say
+concerning the obligations involved."
+
+"Proceed, dear," she said, laughingly.
+
+He read, eliminating what was not necessary to make his point:
+
+"'A race is worthless and contemptible if its men cease to work hard
+and, at need, to fight hard; and if its women cease to breed freely.
+If the best classes do not reproduce themselves the nation will, of
+course, go down.
+
+"'When the ordinary decent man does not understand that to marry the
+woman he loves, as early as he can, is the most desirable of all
+goals; when the ordinary woman does not understand that all other
+forms of life are but makeshift substitutes for the life of the wife,
+the mother of healthy children; then the State is rotten at heart.
+
+"'The woman who shrinks from motherhood is as low a creature as a man
+of the professional pacifist, or poltroon, type, who shirks his duty
+as a soldier.
+
+"'The only full life for man or woman is led by those men and women
+who together, with hearts both gentle and valiant, face lives of love
+and duty, who see their children rise up to call them blessed, and who
+leave behind them their seed to inherit the earth.
+
+"'No celibate life approaches such a life in usefulness. The mother
+comes ahead of the nun.
+
+"'But if the average woman does not marry and become the mother of
+enough healthy children to permit the increase of the race; and if the
+average man does not marry in times of peace and do his full duty in
+war if need arises, then the race is decadent and should be swept
+aside to make room for a better one.
+
+"'Only that nation has a future whose sons and daughters recognise and
+obey the primary laws of their racial being!'"
+
+He closed the book and laid it on the piano.
+
+"Now," he said, "either we're really a rotten and decadent race, and
+might as well behave like one, or we're sound and sane."
+
+Something unusual in his voice--in the sudden grim whiteness of his
+face--disturbed Palla.
+
+"I want you to marry me," he said. "You care for no other man. And if
+you don't love me enough to do it, you'll learn to afterward."
+
+"Jim," she said gently, and now rather white herself, "that is an
+outrageous thing to say to me. Don't you realise it?"
+
+"I'm sorry. But I love you--I need you so that I'm fit for nothing else.
+I can't keep my mind on my work; I can't think of anybody--anything
+but you.... If you didn't care for me more or less I wouldn't come
+whining to you. I wouldn't come now until I'd entirely won your
+heart--except that--if I did--and if you refused me marriage and
+offered the other thing--I'd be about through with everything! And
+I'd know damned well that the nation wasn't worth the powder to blow
+it to hell if such women as you betray it!"
+
+The girl flushed furiously; but her voice seemed fairly under
+control.
+
+"Hadn't you better go, Jim, before you say anything more?"
+
+"Will you marry me?"
+
+"No."
+
+He stood up very straight, unstirring, for a long time, not looking at
+her.
+
+Then he said "good-bye," in a low voice, and went out leaving her
+quite pale again and rather badly scared.
+
+As the lower door closed, she sprang to the landing and called his
+name in a frightened voice that had no carrying power.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Later she telephoned to his several clubs. At eleven she called each
+club again; and finally telephoned to his house.
+
+At midnight he had not telephoned in reply to the messages she had
+left requesting him to call her.
+
+Her anxiety had changed to a vague bewilderment. Her dismayed
+resentment at what he had said to her was giving place to a strange
+and unaccustomed sense of loneliness.
+
+Suddenly an overwhelming desire to be with Ilse seized her, and she
+would have called a taxi and started immediately, except for the dread
+that Jim might telephone in her absence.
+
+Yet, she didn't know what it was that she wanted of him, except to
+protest at his attitude toward her. Such a protest was due them
+both--an appeal in behalf of the friendship which meant so much to
+her--which, she had abruptly discovered, meant far more to her than
+she supposed.
+
+At midnight she telephoned to Ilse. A sleepy maid replied that Miss
+Westgard had not yet returned.
+
+So Palla called a taxi, pinned on her hat and struggled into her fur
+coat, and, taking her latch-key, started for Ilse's apartment, feeling
+need of her in a blind sort of way--desiring to listen to her friendly
+voice, touch her, hear her clear, sane laughter.
+
+A yawning maid admitted her. Miss Westgard had dined out with Mr.
+Estridge, but had not yet returned.
+
+So Palla, wondering a little, laid aside her coat and went into the
+pretty living room.
+
+There were books and magazines enough, but after a while she gave up
+trying to read and sat staring absently at a photograph of Estridge in
+uniform, which stood on the table at her elbow.
+
+Across it was an inscription, dated only a few days back: "To Ilse
+from Jack, on the road to Asgard."
+
+Then, as she gazed at the man's handsome features, for the first time
+a vague sense of uneasiness invaded her.
+
+Of a gradually growing comradeship between these two she had been
+tranquilly aware. And yet, now, it surprised her to realise that their
+comradeship had drifted into intimacy.
+
+Lying back in her armchair, her thoughts hovered about these two; and
+she went back in her mind to recollect something of the beginning of
+this intimacy;--and remembered various little incidents which, at the
+time, seemed of no portent.
+
+And, reflecting, she recollected now what Ilse had said to her after
+the last party she had given--and which Palla had not understood.
+
+What had Ilse meant by asking her to "wait"? Wait for what?... Where
+was Ilse, now? Why did she remain out so late with John Estridge? It
+was after one o'clock.
+
+Of course they must be dancing somewhere or other. There were plenty
+of dances to go to.
+
+Palla stirred restlessly in her chair. Evidently Ilse had not told her
+maid that she meant to be out late, for the girl seemed to have
+expected her an hour ago.
+
+Palla's increasing restlessness finally drove her to the windows,
+where she pulled aside the shades and stood looking out into the
+silent night.
+
+The night was cold and clear and very still. Rarely a footfarer
+passed; seldom a car. And the stillness of the dark city increased her
+nervousness.
+
+New York has rare phases of uncanny silence, when, for a space, no
+sound disturbs the weird stillness.
+
+The clang of trains, the feathery whirr of motors, the echo of
+footsteps, the immense, indefinable breathing vibration of the iron
+monster, drowsing on its rock between three rivers and the sea, ceases
+utterly. And a vast stillness reigns, mournful, ominous, unutterably
+sad.
+
+Palla looked down into the empty street. The dark chill of it seemed
+to rise and touch her; and she shivered unconsciously and turned back
+into the lighted room.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was two o'clock. Her eyes were heavy, her heart heavier. Why should
+everything suddenly happen to her in that way? Where had Jim gone when
+he left her? And who was it answered the telephone at his house when
+she had called up and asked to speak to him? It was a woman's voice--a
+maid, no doubt--yet, for an instant, she had fancied that the voice
+resembled his mother's.
+
+But it couldn't have been, for Palla had given her name, and
+Mrs. Shotwell would have spoken to her--unless--perhaps his
+mother--disapproved of something--of her calling Jim at such an
+hour.... Or of something ... perhaps of their friendship ... of
+herself, perhaps----
+
+She heard the clock strike and looked across at the mantel.
+
+What was Ilse doing at half-past two in the morning? Where could she
+be?
+
+Palla involuntarily turned her head and looked at the photograph. Of
+course Ilse was safe with a man like John Estridge.... That is to say
+...
+
+Without warning, her face grew hot and the crimson tide mounted to the
+roots of her hair, dyeing throat and temples.
+
+A sort of stunning reaction followed as the tide ebbed; she found
+herself stupidly repeating the word "safe," as though to interpret
+what it meant.
+
+Safe? Yes, Ilse was safe. She knew how to take care of herself ...
+unless....
+
+Again the crimson tide invaded her skin to the temples.... A sudden
+and haunting fear came creeping after it had ebbed once more, leaving
+her gazing fixedly into space through the tumult of her thoughts. And
+always in dull, unmeaning repetition the word "safe" throbbed in her
+ears.
+
+Safe? Safe from what? From the creed they both professed? From their
+common belief? From the consequences of living up to it?
+
+At the thought, Palla sprang to her feet and stood quivering all over,
+both hands pressed to her throat, which was quivering too.
+
+Where was Ilse? What had happened? Had she suddenly come face to face
+with that creed of theirs--that shadowy creed which they believed in,
+perhaps because it seemed so unreal!--because the ordeal by fire
+seemed so vague, so far away in that ghostly bourne which is called
+the future, and which remains always so inconceivably distant to the
+young--star-distant, remote as inter-stellar dust--aloof as death.
+
+It was three o'clock. There were velvet-dark smears under Palla's
+eyes, little colour in her lips. The weight of fatigue lay heavily on
+her young shoulders; on her mind, too, partly stupefied by the
+violence of her emotions.
+
+Once she had risen heavily, had gone into the maid's room and had told
+her to go to bed, adding that she herself would wait for Miss
+Westgard.
+
+That, already, was nearly an hour ago, and the gilt hands of the clock
+were already creeping around the gilded dial toward the half hour.
+
+As it struck on the clear French bell, a key turned in the outside
+door; then the door closed; and Palla rose trembling from her chair as
+Ilse entered, her golden hair in lovely disorder, the evening cloak
+partly flung from her shoulders.
+
+There was a moment's utter silence. Then Ilse stepped swiftly forward
+and took Palla in her arms.
+
+"My darling! What has happened?" she asked. "Why are you here at this
+hour? You look dreadfully ill!----"
+
+Palla's head dropped on her breast.
+
+"What is it?" whispered Ilse. "Darling--darling--you did--you did
+wait--didn't you?"
+
+Palla's voice was scarcely audible: "I don't know what you mean.... I
+was only frightened about you.... I've been so unhappy.... And Jim
+said--good-bye--and I can't--find him----"
+
+"I want you to answer me! Are you in love with him?"
+
+"No.... I don't--think so----"
+
+Ilse drew a deep breath.
+
+"It's all right, then," she said.
+
+Then, suddenly, Palla seemed to understand what Ilse had meant when
+she had said, "Wait!"
+
+And she lifted her head and looked blindly into the sea-blue
+eyes--blindly, desperately, striving to see through those clear
+soul-windows what it might be that was looking out at her.
+
+And, gazing, she knew that she dared not ask Ilse where she had been.
+
+The latter smiled; but her voice was very tender when she spoke.
+
+"We'll telephone your maid in the morning. You must go to bed,
+Palla."
+
+"Alone?"
+
+Ilse turned carelessly and laid her cloak across a chair. There was a
+second chamber beyond her own. She went into it, turned down the bed
+and called Palla, who came slowly after her.
+
+They kissed each other in silence. Then Ilse went back to her own
+room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+"Jim," said his mother, "Miss Dumont called you on the telephone at an
+unusual hour last night. You had gone to your room, and on the chance
+that you were asleep I did not speak to you."
+
+That was all--sufficient explanation to discount any reproach from her
+son incident on his comparing notes with the girl in question. Also
+just enough in her action to convey to the girl a polite hint that the
+Shotwell family was not at home to people who telephoned at that
+unconventional hour.
+
+On his way to business that morning, Jim telephoned to Palla, but,
+learning she was not at home, let the matter rest.
+
+In his sullen and resentful mood he no longer cared--or thought he
+didn't, which resulted in the same thing--the accumulation of
+increasing bitterness during a dull, rainy working day at the office,
+and a dogged determination to keep clear of this woman until effort to
+remain away from her was no longer necessary.
+
+For the thing was utterly hopeless; he'd had enough. And in his
+bruised heart and outraged common sense he was boyishly framing an
+indictment of modern womanhood--lumping it all and cursing it
+out--swearing internally at the entire enfranchised pack which the war
+had set afoot and had licensed to swarm all over everything and raise
+hell with the ancient and established order of things.
+
+The stormy dark came early; and in this frame of mind when he left the
+office he sulkily avoided the club.
+
+He very rarely drank anything; but, not knowing what to do, he drifted
+into the Biltmore bar.
+
+He met a man or two he knew, but declined all suggestions for the
+evening, turned up his overcoat collar, and started through the hotel
+toward the northern exit.
+
+And met Marya Lanois face to face.
+
+She was coming from the tea-room with two or three other people, but
+turned immediately on seeing him and came toward him with hand
+extended.
+
+"Dear me," she said, "you look very wet. And you don't look
+particularly well. Have you arrived all alone for tea?"
+
+"I had my tea in the bar," he said. "How are you, Marya?--but I musn't
+detain you--" he glanced at the distant group of people who seemed to
+be awaiting her.
+
+"You are not detaining me," she said sweetly.
+
+"Your people seem to be waiting----"
+
+"They may go to the deuce. Are you quite alone?"
+
+"I--yes----"
+
+"Shall we have tea together?"
+
+He laughed. "But you've had yours----"
+
+"Well, you know there are other things that one sometimes drinks."
+
+There seemed no way out of it. They went into the tea-room together
+and seated themselves.
+
+"How is Vanya?" he inquired.
+
+"Vanya gives a concert to-night in Baltimore."
+
+"And you didn't go!"
+
+"No. It was rainy. Besides, I hear Vanya play when I desire to hear
+him."
+
+Their order was served.
+
+"So you wouldn't go to Baltimore," said Jim smilingly. "It strikes me,
+Marya, that you can be a coldblooded girl when you wish to be."
+
+"After all, what do you know about me?"
+
+He laughed: "Oh, I don't mean that I've got your number----"
+
+"No. Because I have many numbers. I am a complicated combination," she
+added, smiling; "--yet after all, a combination only. And quite simple
+when one discovers the key to me."
+
+"I think I know what it is," he said.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Mischief."
+
+They laughed. Marya, particularly, was intensely amused. She was
+extremely fetching in her bicorne toque and narrow gown of light
+turquoise, and her golden beaver scarf and muff.
+
+"Mischief," she repeated. "I should say not. There seems to be already
+sufficient mischief loose in the world, with the red tide rising
+everywhere--in Russia, in Germany, Austria, Italy, England--yes, and
+here also the crimson tide of Bolshevism begins to move.... Tell me;
+you are coming to the club to-morrow evening, I hope."
+
+"No."
+
+"Oh. Why?"
+
+"No," he repeated, almost sullenly. "I've had enough of queerness for
+a while----"
+
+"Jim! Do you dare include me?"
+
+He had to laugh at her pretence of fury: "No, Marya, you're just a
+pretty mischief-maker, I suppose----"
+
+"Then what do you mean by 'queerness'? Don't you think it's sensible
+to combat Bolshevism and fight it with argument and debate on its own
+selected camping ground? Don't you think it is high time somebody
+faced this crimson tide--that somebody started to build a dyke against
+this threatened inundation?"
+
+"The best dykes have machine guns behind them, not orators," he said
+bluntly.
+
+"My friend, I have seen that, also. And to what have machine guns led
+us in Petrograd, in Moscow, in Poland, Finland, Courland--" She
+shrugged her pretty shoulders. "No. I have seen enough blood."
+
+He said: "I have seen a little myself."
+
+"Yes, I know. But a soldier is always a soldier, as a hound is always
+a hound. The blood of the quarry is what their instinct follows. Your
+goal is death; we only seek to tame."
+
+"The proper way to check Bolshevism in America is to police the
+country properly, and kick out the outrageous gang of domestic
+Bolsheviki who have exploited us, tricked us, lied to us, taxed us
+unfairly, and in spite of whom we have managed to help our allies win
+this war.
+
+"Then, when this petty, wretched, crooked bunch has been swept out,
+and the nation aired and disinfected, and when the burden of taxation
+is properly distributed, and business dares lift its head again, then
+start your debates and propaganda and try to educate your enemies if
+you like. But keep your machine guns oiled."
+
+"You speak in an uncomplimentary fashion of government," said the
+girl, smiling.
+
+"I am all for government. That does not mean that I am for the
+particular incumbents in office under the present Government. I have
+no use for them. Know that this war was won, not through them but in
+spite of them.
+
+"Yet I place loyalty first of all--loyalty to the true ideals of that
+Government which some of the present incumbents so grotesquely
+misrepresent.
+
+"That means, stand by the ship and the flag she flies, no matter who
+steers or what crew capers about her decks.
+
+"That means, watch out for all pirates;--open fire on anything that
+flies a hostile flag, red or any other colour.
+
+"And that's my creed, Marya!"
+
+"To shoot; not to debate?"
+
+"An inquest is safer."
+
+"We shall never agree," said the girl, laughing. "And I'm rather
+glad."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because disagreements are more amusing than any _entente cordiale_,
+_mon ami_. It is the opposing forces that never bore each other. In
+life, too--I mean among human beings. Once they agree, interest
+lessens."
+
+"Nonsense," he said, smiling.
+
+"Oh, it is quite true. Behold us. We don't agree. But I am interested,"
+she added with pretty audacity; "so please take me to dinner
+somewhere."
+
+"You mean now, as we are?"
+
+"Parbleu! Did you wish to go home and dress?"
+
+"I don't care if you don't," he said.
+
+"Suppose," she suggested, "we dine where there is something to see."
+
+"A Broadway joint?" he asked, amused.
+
+"A joint?" she repeated, smilingly perplexed. "Is that a place where
+we may dine and see a spectacle too and afterward dance?"
+
+"Something of that sort," he admitted, laughing. But under his
+careless gaiety an ugly determination had been hardening; he meant
+to go no more to Palla; he meant to welcome any distraction of the
+moment to help tide him over the long, grey interval that loomed
+ahead--welcome any draught that might mitigate the bitter waters he
+was tasting--and was destined to drain to their revolting dregs.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+They went to the Palace of Mirrors and were lucky enough to secure a
+box.
+
+The food was excellent; the show a gay one.
+
+Between intermissions he took Marya to the floor for a dance or two.
+The place was uncomfortably crowded: uniforms were everywhere, too;
+and Jim nodded to many men he knew, and to a few women.
+
+And, in the vast, brilliant place, there was not a man who saw Marya
+and failed to turn and follow her with his eyes. For Marya had been
+fashioned to trouble man. And that primitively constructed and
+obviously-minded sex never failed to become troubled.
+
+"We'd better enjoy our champagne," remarked Marya. "We'll be a
+wineless nation before long, I suppose."
+
+"It seems rather a pity," he remarked, "that a man shouldn't be free
+to enjoy a glass of claret. But if the unbaked and the half-baked, and
+the unwashed and the half-washed can't be trusted to practise
+moderation, we others ought to abstain, I suppose. Because what is
+best for the majority ought to be the law for all."
+
+"If it were left to me," said the girl, "I'd let the submerged drink
+themselves to death."
+
+"What on earth are you talking about?" he said. "I thought you were a
+socialist!"
+
+"I am. I desire no law except that of individual inclination."
+
+"Why, that's Bolshevism!"
+
+Her laughter rang out unrestrained: "I believe in Bolshevism--for
+myself--but not for anybody else. In other words, I'd like to be
+autocrat of the world. If I were, I'd let everybody alone unless they
+interfered with me."
+
+"And in that event?" he asked, laughing, as the lights all over the
+house faded to a golden glimmer in preparation for the second part of
+the spectacle. He could no longer see her clearly across the little
+table. "What would you do if people interfered with you?" he
+repeated.
+
+Marya smiled. The last ray of light smouldered in her tiger-red hair;
+the warm, fragrant, breathing youth of her grew vaguer, merging with
+the shadows; only the beryl-tinted eyes, which slanted slightly,
+remained distinct.
+
+Her voice came to him through the music: "If I were autocrat, any man
+who dared oppose me would have his choice."
+
+"What choice?"
+
+The music swelled toward a breathless crescendo.
+
+She said: "Oppose me and you shall learn!----"
+
+The house burst into a dazzling flood of moon-tinted light, all
+thronged with slim shapes whirling in an enchanted dance. Then clouds
+seemed to gather; the moon slid behind them, leaving a frosty
+demi-darkness through which, presently, snow began to fall.
+
+The girl leaned toward him, watching the spectacle in silence. Perhaps
+unconsciously her left hand, satin-smooth, slipped over his--as though
+the contact were a symbol of enjoyment shared.
+
+Light broke the next moment, revealing the spectacle on stage and
+floor in all its tinsel magnificence--snow-nymphs, polar-bears, all
+capering madly until an unearthly shriek heralded the coming of a
+favorite clown, who tumbled all the way down the stage steps and
+continued hysterically turning flip-flaps, cart-wheels, and
+somersaults until he landed with a crash at the foot of the steps
+again.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+A large, highly coloured and over-glossy man, passing under their box
+during a dancing intermission, bowed rather extravagantly to Jim. He
+recognised Angelo Puma, with contemptuous amusement at his impudence.
+
+It was evident, too, that Puma was quite ready to linger if
+encouraged--anxious, in fact, to extend his hand.
+
+But his impudence had already ceased to amuse Jim, and he said
+carelessly to Marya, in a voice perfectly audible to Puma:
+
+"There goes a man who, in collusion with a squinting partner of his,
+once beat me out of a commission."
+
+Puma's heavy, burning face turned abruptly from Marya, whom he had
+been looking at; and he continued on across the floor. And Jim forgot
+him.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+They remained until the place closed. Then he took her home.
+
+It was an apartment overlooking the park from Fifty-ninth Street--a
+big studio and apparently many comfortable rooms--a large, still place
+where no servants were in evidence and where thick velvety carpets
+from Ushak and Sultanabad muffled every footfall.
+
+She had insisted on his entering for a moment. He stood looking about
+him in the great studio, where Vanya's concert-grand loomed up, a
+sprawling, shadowy shape under the dim drop-light which once had been
+a mosque-lamp in Samarcand.
+
+The girl flung stole and muff from her, rolled up her gloves and took
+a shot at the piano, then, laughing, unpinned her hat and sent it
+scaling away into the golden dusk somewhere.
+
+"Are you sleepy, Jim?"
+
+A sudden vision of his trouble in the long, long night to face--trouble,
+insomnia, and the bitterness welling ever fresher with the interminable
+thoughts he could not suppress, could not control----
+
+"I'm not sleepy," he said. "But don't you want to turn in?"
+
+She went over to the piano, and, accompanying herself on deadened
+pedal where she stood, sang in a low voice the "_Snow-Tiger_," with
+its uncanny refrain:
+
+                            "Tiger-eyes
+                            Tiger-eyes,
+                            What do you see
+                             Far in the dark
+                             Over the snow?
+                             Far in the dark
+                             Over the snow,
+                Slowly the ghosts of dead men go,--
+                Horses and riders under the moon
+                Trample along to the dead men's rune,
+                            _Slava! Slava!_
+                            Over the snow."
+
+"That's too hilarious a song," said Jim, laughing. "May I suggest a
+little rag to properly subdue us?"
+
+"You don't like _Tiger-eyes_?"
+
+"I've heard more cheerful ditties."
+
+"When I'm excited by pleasure," said the girl, "I sing _Tiger-eyes_."
+
+"Does it subdue you?"
+
+She looked at him. "No."
+
+Still standing, she looked down at the keys, struck the muffled chords
+softly.
+
+                     "Tiger-eyes
+                      Tiger-eyes,
+                      Where do they go,
+                      Far in the dark
+                      Over the snow?
+                      Into the dark,
+                      Over the snow,
+              Only the ghosts of the dead men know
+              Where they have come from, whither they go,
+              Riding at night by the corpse-light glow,
+                      _Slava!_ _Slava!_
+                      Over the snow."
+
+"Well, for the love of Mike----"
+
+Marya's laughter pealed.
+
+"So you don't like _Tiger-eyes_?" she demanded, coming from behind the
+piano.
+
+"I sure don't," he admitted.
+
+"The real Russian name of the song is 'Words! Words!' And that's all
+the song is--all that any song is--all that anything amounts
+to--words! words!--" She dropped onto the long couch,--"Anything
+except--love."
+
+"You may include that, too," he said, lighting a cigarette for her;
+and she blew a ring of smoke at him, saying:
+
+"I may--but I won't. For goodness sake leave me the last one of my
+delusions!"
+
+They both laughed and he said she was welcome to her remaining
+delusion.
+
+"Won't you share it with me?" she said, her smile innocent enough,
+save for the audacity of the red mouth.
+
+"Share your delusion?"
+
+"Yes, that too."
+
+This wouldn't do. He lighted a cigarette for himself and sauntered
+over to the piano.
+
+"I hope Vanya's concert is a success," he said. "He's such a charming
+fellow, Vanya--so considerate, so gentle--" He turned and looked at
+Marya, and his eyes added: "Why the devil don't you marry him and have
+a lot of jolly children?"
+
+There seemed to be in his clear eyes enough for the girl to comprehend
+something of the question they flung at her.
+
+"I don't love Vanya," she said.
+
+"Of course you do!"
+
+"As I might love a child--yes."
+
+After a silence: "It strikes me," he said, "that you're passionately
+in love."
+
+"I am."
+
+"With yourself," he added, smiling.
+
+"With _you_."
+
+This wouldn't do any longer. The place slightly stifled him with its
+stillness, rugs--the odours that came from lacquered shapes, looming
+dimly, flowered and golden in the dusk--the aromatic scent of her
+cigarette----
+
+"Hell!" he muttered under his breath. "This is no place for a white
+man." But aloud he said pleasantly: "My very best wishes for Vanya
+to-night. Tell him so when he returns--" He put on his overcoat and
+picked up hat and stick.
+
+"It's infernally late," he added, "and I've been a beast to keep you
+up. It was awfully nice of you."
+
+She rose from the lounge and walked with him to the door.
+
+"Good night," he said cheerily; but she retained his hand, added her
+other to it, and put up her face.
+
+"Look here," he said, smilingly, "I can't do that, Marya."
+
+"Why can't you?"
+
+Her soft breath was on his face; the mouth too near--too near----
+
+"No, I can't!" he said curtly, but his voice trembled a little.
+
+"Why?" she whispered.
+
+"Because--there's Vanya. No, I won't do it!"
+
+"Is that the reason?"
+
+"It's a reason."
+
+"I don't love Vanya. I do love you."
+
+"Please remember----"
+
+"No! No! I have nothing to remember--unless you give me something----"
+
+"You had better try to remember that Vanya loves you. You and I can't
+do a thing like that to Vanya--"
+
+"Are there no other reasons?"
+
+He reddened to the temples: "No, there are not--now. There is no other
+reason--except myself."
+
+"Yourself?"
+
+"Yes, damn it, myself! That's all that remains now to keep me
+straight. And I've been so. That may be news to you. Perhaps you don't
+believe it."
+
+"Is it so, Jim?" she asked in a voice scarcely audible.
+
+"Yes, it is. And so I shall keep on, and play the game that way--play
+it squarely with Vanya, too----"
+
+He had lost his heavy colour; he stood looking at her with a white,
+strained, grim expression that tightened the jaw muscles; and she felt
+his powerful hand clenching between hers.
+
+"It's no use," he said between his set lips, "I've got to go on--see
+it through in my own fashion--this rotten thing called life. I'm
+sorry, Marya, that I'm not a better sport----"
+
+A wave of colour swept her face and her hands suddenly crushed his
+between them.
+
+"You're wonderful," she said. "I do love you."
+
+But the tense, grey look had come back into his face. Looking at her
+in silence, presently his gaze seemed to become remote, his absent
+eyes fixed on something beyond her.
+
+"I've a rotten time ahead of me," he said, not knowing he had spoken.
+When his eyes reverted to her, his features remained expressionless,
+but his voice was almost tender as he said good night once more.
+
+Her hands fell away; he opened the door and went out without looking
+back.
+
+He found a taxi at the Plaza. He was swearing when he got into it. And
+all the way home he kept repeating to himself: "I'm one of those
+cursed, creeping Josephs; that's what I am,--one of those pepless,
+sanctimonious, creeping Josephs.... And I always loathed that poor
+fish, too!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+Shotwell Junior discovered in due course of time the memoranda of the
+repeated messages which Palla had telephoned to his several clubs,
+asking him to call her up immediately.
+
+It was rather late to do that now, but his pulses began to quicken
+again in the old, hopeless way; and he went to the telephone booth and
+called the number which seemed burnt into his brain forever.
+
+A maid answered; Palla came presently; and he thought her voice seemed
+colourless and unfamiliar.
+
+"Yes, I'm perfectly well," she replied to his inquiry; "where in the
+world did you go that night? I simply couldn't find you anywhere."
+
+"What had you wished to say to me?"
+
+"Nothing--except--that I was afraid you were angry when you left, and
+I didn't wish you to part with me on such terms. Were you annoyed?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You say it very curtly, Jim."
+
+"Is that all you desired to say to me?"
+
+"Yes.... I was a little troubled.... Something else went wrong,
+too;--everything seemed to go wrong that night.... I thought
+perhaps--if I could hear your voice--if you'd say something kind----"
+
+"Had you nothing else to tell me, Palla?"
+
+"No.... What?"
+
+"Then you haven't changed your attitude?"
+
+"Toward you? I don't expect to----"
+
+"You know what I mean!"
+
+"Oh. But, Jim, we can't discuss _that_ over the telephone."
+
+"I suppose not.... Is anything wrong with you, Palla? Your voice
+sounds so tired----"
+
+"Does it? I don't know why. Tell me, please, what did you do that
+unhappy night?"
+
+"I went home."
+
+"Directly?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I telephoned your house about twelve, and was informed you were not
+at home."
+
+"They thought I was asleep. I'm sorry, Palla----"
+
+"I shouldn't have telephoned so late," she interrupted, "I'm afraid
+that it was your mother who answered; and if it was, I received the
+snub I deserved!"
+
+"Nonsense! It wasn't meant that way----"
+
+"I'm afraid it was, Jim. It's quite all right, though. I won't do it
+again.... Am I to see you soon?"
+
+"No, not for a while----"
+
+"Are you so busy?"
+
+"There's no use in my going to you, Palla."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I'm in love with you," he said bluntly, "and I'm trying to
+get over it."
+
+"I thought we were _friends_, too."
+
+After a lengthy silence: "You're right," he said, "we are."
+
+She heard his quick, deep breath like a sigh. "Shall I come
+to-night?"
+
+"I'm expecting some people, Jim--women who desire to establish a
+Combat Club in Chicago, and they have come on here to consult me."
+
+"To-morrow night, then?"
+
+"Please."
+
+"Will you be alone?"
+
+"I expect to be."
+
+Once more he said: "Palla, is anything worrying you? Are you ill? Is
+Ilse all right?"
+
+There was a pause, then Palla's voice, resolutely tranquil.
+"Everything is all right in the world as long as you are kind to me,
+Jim. When you're not, things darken and become queer----"
+
+"Palla!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Listen! This is to serve notice on you. I'm going to make a fight for
+you."
+
+After a silence, he heard her sweet, uncertain laughter.
+
+"Jim?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"I suppose it would shock you if I made a fight for--_you_!"
+
+He took it as a jest and laughed at her perverse humour. But what
+she had meant she herself scarcely realised; and she turned away
+from the telephone, conscious of a vague excitement invading her and
+of a vaguer consternation, too. For behind the humorous audacity
+of her words, she seemed to realise there remained something
+hidden--something she was on the verge of discovering--something
+indefinable, menacing, grave enough to dismay her and drive from her
+lips the last traces of the smile which her audacious jest had
+left there.
+
+The ladies from Chicago were to dine with her; her maid had hooked
+her gown; orchids from Jim had just arrived, and she was still pinning
+them to her waist--still happily thrilled by this lovely symbol of
+their renewed accord, when the bell rang.
+
+It was much too early to expect anybody: she fastened her orchids and
+started to descend the stairs for a last glance at the table, when, to
+her astonishment, she saw Angelo Puma in the hall in the act of
+depositing his card upon the salver extended by the maid.
+
+He looked up and saw her before she could retreat: she made the best
+of it and continued on down, greeting him with inquiring amiability:
+
+"Miss Dumont, a thousand excuses for this so bold intrusion," he
+began, bowing extravagantly at every word. "Only the urgent importance
+of my errand could possibly atone for a presumption like there never
+has been in all----"
+
+"Please step into the drawing room, Mr. Puma, if you have something of
+importance to say."
+
+He followed her on tiptoe, flashing his magnificent eyes about the
+place, still wearing over his evening dress the seal overcoat with its
+gardenia, which was already making him famous on Broadway.
+
+Palla seated herself, wondering a little at the perfumed splendour of
+her landlord. He sat on the extreme edge of an arm chair, his glossy
+hat on his knee.
+
+"Miss Dumont," he said, laying one white-gloved paw across his
+shirt-front, "you shall behold in me a desolate man!"
+
+"I'm sorry." She looked at him in utter perplexity.
+
+"What shall you say to me?" he cried. "What just reproaches shall you
+address to me, Miss Dumont!"
+
+"I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Puma," she said, inclined to laugh,
+"--until you tell me what is your errand."
+
+"Miss Dumont, I am most unhappy and embarrass. Because you have pay me
+in advance for that which I am unable to offer you."
+
+"I don't think I understand."
+
+"Alas! You have pay to me by cheque for six months more rent of my
+hall."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I have given to you a lease for six months more, and with it an
+option for a year of renewal."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Miss Dumont, behold me desolate."
+
+"But why?"
+
+"Because I am force by circumstance over which I have no control to
+cancel this lease and option, and ask you most respectfully to be so
+kind as to secure other quarters for your club."
+
+"But we can't do that!" exclaimed Palla in dismay.
+
+"I am so very sorry----"
+
+"We can't do it," added Palla with decision. "It's utterly impossible,
+Mr. Puma. All our meetings are arranged for months in advance; all the
+details are completed. We could not disarrange the programme adopted.
+From all over the United States people are invited to come on certain
+fixed dates. All arrangements have been made; you have my cheque and I
+have your signed lease. No, we are obliged to hold you to your
+contract, and I'm very sorry if it inconveniences you."
+
+Puma's brilliant eyes became tenderly apprehensive.
+
+"Miss Dumont," he said in a hushed and confidential voice, "believe me
+when I venture to say to you that your club should leave for reasons
+most grave, most serious."
+
+"What reasons?"
+
+"The others--the Red Flag Club. Who knows what such crazy people might
+do in anger? They are very angry already. They complain that your club
+has interfere with them----"
+
+"That is exactly why we're there, Mr. Puma--to interfere with them,
+neutralise their propaganda, try to draw the same people who listen to
+their violent tirades. That is why we're there, and why we refuse to
+leave. Ours is a crusade of education. We chose that hall because we
+desired to make the fight in the very camp of the enemy. And I must
+tell you plainly that we shall not give up our lease, and that we
+shall hold you to it."
+
+The dark blood flooded his heavy features:
+
+"I do not desire to take it to the courts," he said. "I am willing to
+offer compensation."
+
+"We couldn't accept. Don't you understand, Mr. Puma? We simply must
+have that particular hall for the Combat Club."
+
+Puma remained perfectly silent for a few moments. There was still, on
+his thick lips, the suave smile which had been stamped there since his
+appearance in her house.
+
+But in this man's mind and heart there was growing a sort of dull and
+ferocious fear--fear of elements already gathering and combining to
+menace his increasing prosperity.
+
+Sullenly he was aware that this hard-won prosperity was threatened.
+Always its conditions had been unstable at best, but now the
+atmospheric pressure was slowly growing, and his sky of promise was
+not as clear.
+
+Some way, somehow, he must manage to evict these women. Twice Sondheim
+had warned him. And that evening Sondheim had sent him an ultimatum by
+Kastner.
+
+And Puma was perfectly aware that Karl Kastner knew enough about him
+to utterly ruin him in the great Republic which was now giving him a
+fortune and which had never discovered that his own treacherous
+mission here was the accomplishment of her ruin.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Puma stood up, heavily, cradling his glossy hat. But his urbane smile
+became brilliant again and he made Palla an extravagant bow.
+
+"It shall be arrange," he said cheerfully. "I consult my partner--your
+_friend_, Mr. Skidder! Yes! So shall we arrive at entente."
+
+His large womanish eyes swept the room. Suddenly they were arrested by
+a photograph of Shotwell Junior--in a silver frame--the only ornament,
+as yet, in the little drawing room.
+
+And instantly, within Angelo Puma, the venomous instinct was aroused
+to do injury where it might be done safely and without suspicion of
+intent.
+
+"Ah," he exclaimed gaily, "my friend, Mr. Shotwell! It is from him,
+Miss Dumont, you have purchase this so beautiful residence!"
+
+He bent to salute with a fanciful inclination the photograph of the
+man who had spoken so contemptuously of him the evening previous.
+
+"Mr. Shotwell also adores gaiety," he said laughingly. "Last night I
+beheld him at the Palace of Mirrors--and with an attractive young lady
+of your club, Miss Dumont--the charming young Russian lady with whom
+you came once to pay me the rent--" He kissed his hand in an ecstasy
+of recollection. "So beautiful a young lady! So gay were they in their
+box! Ah, youth! youth! Ah, the happiness and folly when laughter
+bubbles in our wine!--the magic wine of youth!"
+
+He took his leave, moving lightly to the door, almost grotesque in his
+elaborate evolutions and adieux.
+
+Palla went slowly upstairs.
+
+The evening paper lay on a table in the living room. She unfolded it
+mechanically; looked at it but saw no print, merely an unsteady haze
+of greyish tint on which she could not seem to concentrate.
+
+Marya and Jim ... together.... That was the night he went away
+angry.... The night he told her he had gone directly home.... But it
+couldn't have been.... He couldn't have lied....
+
+She strove to recollect as she sat there staring at the newspaper....
+What was it that beast had said about it?... Of course--_last_
+night!... Marya and Jim had been together last night.... But where was
+Vanya?... Oh, yes.... Last night Vanya was away ... in Baltimore.
+
+The paper dropped to her lap; she sat looking straight ahead of her.
+
+What had so shocked her then about Jim and Marya being together? True,
+she had not supposed them to be on such terms--had not even thought
+about it....
+
+Yes, she _had_ thought about it, scarcely conscious of her own
+indefinable uneasiness--a memory, perhaps, of that evening when the
+Russian girl had been at little pains to disguise her interest in this
+man. And Palla had noticed it--noticed that Marya was seated too near
+him--noticed that, and the subtle attitude of provocation, and the
+stealthy evolution of that occult sorcery which one woman instantly
+divines in another and finds slightly revolting.
+
+Was it merely that memory which had been evoked when Puma's laughing
+revelation so oddly chilled her?--the suspected and discovered
+predilection of this Russian girl for Jim? Or was it something else,
+something deeper, some sudden and more profound illumination which
+revealed to her that, in the depths of her, she was afraid?
+
+Afraid? Afraid of what?
+
+Her charming young head sank; the brown eyes stared at the floor.
+
+She was beginning to understand what had chilled her, what she had
+unconsciously been afraid of--_her own creed!_--when applied to
+another woman.
+
+And this was the second time that this creed of hers had risen to
+confront her, and the second time she had gazed at it, chilled by
+fear: once, when she had waited for Ilse to return; and now once
+again.
+
+For now she began to comprehend how ruthless that creed could become
+when professed by such a girl as Marya Lanois.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+She was still seated there when Marya came in, her tiger-red hair in
+fascinating disorder from the wind, her skin fairly breathing the warm
+fragrance of exotic youth.
+
+"My Palla! How pale you seem!" she exclaimed, embracing her. "You are
+quite well? Really? Then I am reassured!"
+
+She went to the mirror and tucked in a burnished strand or two of
+hair.
+
+"These Chicago ladies--they have not arrived, I see. Am I then so
+early? For I see that Ilse is not yet here----"
+
+"It is only a quarter to eight," said Palla, smiling; but the brown
+eyes were calmly measuring this lithe and warm and lovely thing with
+green eyes--measuring it intently--taking its measure--taking, for the
+first time in her life, her measure of any woman.
+
+"Was Vanya's concert a great success?" she asked.
+
+"Vanya has not yet returned." She shrugged. "There was nothing in New
+York papers."
+
+"I suppose you were very nervous last night," said Palla.
+
+For a moment Marya continued to arrange her hair by the aid of the
+mantel mirror, then she turned very lithely and let her green gaze
+rest full on Palla's face.
+
+What she might possibly have divined was hidden behind the steady
+brown eyes that met hers may have determined her attitude and words;
+for she laughed with frank carelessness and plunged into it all:
+
+"Fancy, Palla, my encountering Jim Shotwell in the Biltmore, and
+dining with him at that noisy Palace of Mirrors last night! Did he
+tell you?"
+
+"I haven't seen him."
+
+"--Over the telephone, perhaps?"
+
+"No, he did not mention it."
+
+"Well, it was most amusing. It is the unpremeditated that is
+delightful. And can you see us in that dreadful place, as gay as a
+pair of school children? And we must laugh at nothing and find it
+enchanting--and we must dance amid the hoi polloi and clap our hands
+for the encore too!----"
+
+A light peal of laughter floated from her lips at the recollections
+evoked:
+
+"And after! Can you see us, Palla, in Vanya's studio, too wide awake
+to go our ways!--and the song I sang at that unearthly hour--the song
+I sing always when happily excited----"
+
+The bell rang; the first guest had arrived.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+Vanya's concert had been enough of a success to attract the
+attention of genuine music-lovers and an impecunious impresario--an
+irresponsible promoter celebrated for rushing headlong into things
+and being kicked headlong out of them.
+
+All promising virtuosi had cut their wisdom teeth on him; all had
+acquired experience and its accompanying toothache; none had acquired
+wealth until free of this ubiquitous impresario.
+
+His name was Wilding: he seized upon Vanya; and that gentle and
+disconcerted dreamer offered no resistance.
+
+So Wilding began to haunt Vanya's apartment at all hours of the day,
+rushing in with characteristic enthusiasm to discuss the vast campaign
+of nation-wide concerts which in his mind's eye were already
+materialising.
+
+Marya had no faith in him and was becoming very tired of his noise and
+bustle in the stillness and subdued light which meant home to her, and
+which this loud, excitable, untidy man was eternally invading.
+
+Always he was shouting at Vanya: "It's a knock-out! It will go big!
+big! big! We got 'em started in Baltimore!"--a fact, but none of his
+doing! "We'll play Philadelphia next; I'm fixin' it for you. All you
+gotta do is go there and the yelling starts. Well, I guess. Some riot,
+believe _me_!"
+
+Wilding had no money in the beginning. After a while, Vanya had none,
+or very little; but the impresario wore a new fur coat and spats. And
+Broadway winked wearily and said: "He's got another!"--doubtless
+deeming specification mere redundancy.
+
+Yet, somehow, Wilding did manage to book Vanya in Philadelphia--at a
+somewhat distant date, it is true--but it was something with which to
+begin the promised "nation-wide tour" under the auspices of Dawson B.
+Wilding.
+
+Marya had money of her own, but trusted none of it in Wilding's
+schemes. In fact, she had come to detest him thoroughly, and whenever
+he was announced she would rise like some beautiful, disgusted feline,
+which something has disturbed in her dim and favourite corner, and
+move lithely away to another room. And it almost seemed as though her
+little, warm, closely-chiselled ears actually flattened with bored
+annoyance as the din of Wilding's vociferous greeting to Vanya arose
+behind her.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+One day toward Christmas time, she said to Vanya, in her level,
+satin-smooth voice:
+
+"You know, _mon ami_, I am tiring rapidly of this great fool who comes
+shouting and tramping into our home. And when I am annoyed beyond my
+nerve capacity, I am likely to leave."
+
+Vanya said gently that he was sorry that he had entered into financial
+relations with a man who annoyed her, but that it could scarcely be
+helped now.
+
+He was seated at his piano, not playing, but scoring. And he resumed
+his composition after he had spoken, his grave, delicate head bent
+over the ruled sheets, a gold pencil held between his long fingers.
+
+Marya lounged near, watched him. Not for the first time, now, did his
+sweet temper and gentleness vaguely irritate her--string her nerves a
+little tighter until they began to vibrate with an indefinable longing
+to say something to arouse this man--startle him--awaken him to a
+physical tensity and strength.... Such as Shotwell's for example....
+
+"Vanya?"
+
+He looked up absently, the beauty of dreams still clouding his eyes.
+
+And suddenly, to her own astonishment, her endurance came to its end.
+She had never expected to say what she was now going to say to him.
+She had never dreamed of confession--of enlightening him. And now, all
+at once, she knew she was going to do it, and that it was a needless
+and cruel and insane and useless thing to do, for it led her nowhere,
+and it would leave him in helpless pain.
+
+"Vanya," she said, "I am in love with Jim Shotwell."
+
+After a few moments, she turned and slowly crossed the studio. Her hat
+and coat lay on a chair. She put them on and walked out.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The following morning, Palla, arriving to consult Marya on a matter of
+the Club's business, discovered Vanya alone in the studio.
+
+He was lying on the lounge when she entered, and he looked ill, but he
+rose with all his characteristic grace and charm and led her to a
+chair, saluting her hand as he seated her.
+
+"Marya has not yet arrived?" she inquired.
+
+His delicate features became very grave and still.
+
+"I thought," added Palla, "that Marya usually breakfasted at
+eleven----"
+
+Something in his expression checked her; and she fell silent,
+fascinated by the deathly whiteness of his face.
+
+"I am sorry to tell you," he said, in a pleasant and steady voice,
+"that Marya has not returned."
+
+"Why--why, I didn't know she was away----"
+
+"Yesterday she decided. Later she was good enough to telephone from
+the Hotel Rajah, where, for the present, she expects to remain."
+
+"Oh, Vanya!" Palla's involuntary exclamation brought a trace of colour
+into his cheeks.
+
+He said: "It is not her fault. She was loyal and truthful. One may not
+control one's heart.... And if she is in love--well, is she not free
+to love him?"
+
+"Who--is--it?" asked Palla faintly.
+
+"Mr. Shotwell, it appears."
+
+In the dead silence, Vanya passed his hand slowly across his temples;
+let it drop on his knee.
+
+"Freedom above all else," he said, "--freedom to love, freedom to
+cease loving, freedom to love anew.... Well ... it is curious--the
+scheme of things.... Love must remain inexplicable. For there is no
+analysis. I think there never could be any man who cared as I have
+cared, as I do care for her...."
+
+He rose, and to Palla he seemed already a trifle stooped;--it may have
+been his studio coat, which fitted badly.
+
+"But, Vanya dear--" Palla looked at him miserably, conscious of her
+own keen fears as well as of his sorrow. "Don't you think she'll come
+back? Do you suppose it is really so serious--what she thinks
+about--Mr. Shotwell?"
+
+He shook his head: "I don't know.... If it is so, it is so. Freedom is
+of first importance. Our creed is our creed. We must abide by what we
+teach and believe."
+
+"Yes."
+
+He nodded absently, staring palely into space.
+
+Perhaps his lost gaze evoked the warm-skinned, sunny-haired girl who
+had gone out of the semi-light of this still place, leaving the void
+unutterably vast around him. For this had been the lithe thing's
+silken lair--the slim and supple thing with beryl eyes--here where
+thick-piled carpets of the East deadened every human movement--where
+no sound stirred, nor any air--where dull shapes loomed, lacquered and
+indistinct, and an odour of Chinese lacquer and nard haunted the
+tinted dusk.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Like one of those lazy, golden, jewelled sea-creatures of irresponsible
+freedom brought seemed to fill the girl cooler currents arouses a
+restlessness infernal, Marya's first long breath of freedom subtly
+excited her.
+
+She had no definite ideas, no plans. She was merely tired of Vanya.
+
+Perhaps her fresh, wholesome contact with Jim had started it--the
+sense of a clean vitality which had seemed to envelop her like the
+delicious, half-resented chill of a spring-pool plunge. For the
+exhilaration possessed her still; and the sudden stimulation which the
+sense of irresponsible freedom brought seemed to fill the girl with a
+new vigour.
+
+Foot-loose, heart-loose, her green eyes on the open world where it
+stretched away into infinite horizons, she paced her new nest in the
+Hotel Rajah, tingling with subdued excitement, innocent of the
+faintest regret for what had been.
+
+For a week she lived alone, enjoying the sensation of being hidden,
+languidly savouring the warm comfort of isolation.
+
+She had not sent for her belongings. She purchased new personal
+effects, enchanted to be rid of familiar things.
+
+There was no snow. She walked a great deal, moving in unaccustomed
+sections of the city at all hours, skirting in the early winter dusk
+the glitter of Christmas preparations along avenues and squares,
+lunching where she was unlikely to encounter anybody she knew, dining,
+too, at hazard in unwonted places--restaurants she had never heard of,
+tea-rooms, odd corners.
+
+Vanya wrote her. She tossed his letters aside, scarcely read. Ilse and
+Palla wrote her, and telephoned her. She paid them no attention.
+
+The metropolitan jungle fascinated her. She adored her liberty, and
+looked out of beryl-green eyes across the border of license, where
+ghosts of the half-world swarmed in no-man's-land.
+
+Conscious that she had been fashioned to trouble man, the knowledge
+merely left her indefinitely contented, save when she remembered Jim.
+But that he had checked her drift toward him merely excited her; for
+she knew she had been made to trouble such as he; and she had seen his
+face that night....
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ilse, on her way home to dress--for she was going out somewhere with
+Estridge--stopped for tea at Palla's house, and found her a little
+disturbed over an anonymous letter just delivered--a typewritten sheet
+bluntly telling her to take her friends and get out of the hall where
+the Combat Club held its public sessions; and warning her of serious
+trouble if she did not heed this "friendly" advice.
+
+"Pouf!" exclaimed Ilse contemptuously, "I get those, too, and tear
+them up. People who talk never strike. Are you anxious, darling?"
+
+Palla smiled: "Not a bit--only such cowardice saddens me.... And the
+days are grey enough...."
+
+"Why do you say that? I think it is a wonderful winter--a beautiful
+year!"
+
+Palla lifted her brown eyes and let them dwell on the beauty of this
+clear-skinned, golden-haired girl who had discovered beauty in the
+aftermath of the world's great tragedy.
+
+Ilse smiled: "Life is good," she said. "This world is all to be done
+over in the right way. We have it all before us, you and I, Palla, and
+those who love and understand."
+
+"I am wondering," said Palla, "who understands us. I'm not discouraged,
+but--there seems to be so much indifference in the world."
+
+"Of course. That is our battle to overcome it."
+
+"Yes. But, dear, there seems to be so much hatred, too, in the world.
+I thought the war had ended, but everywhere men are still in
+battle--everywhere men are dying of this fierce hatred that seems to
+flame up anew across the world; everywhere men fight and slay to gain
+advantage. None yields, none renounces, none gives. It is as though
+love were dead on earth."
+
+"Love is being reborn," said Ilse cheerfully. "Birth means pain,
+always----"
+
+Without warning, a hot flush flooded her face; she averted it as the
+tea-tray was brought and set on a table before Palla. When her face
+cooled, she leaned back in her chair, cup in hand, a sort of confused
+sweetness in her blue eyes.
+
+Palla's heart was beating heavily as she leaned on the table, her cup
+untasted, her idle fingers crumbing the morsel of biscuit between
+them.
+
+After a moment she said: "So you have concluded that you care for John
+Estridge?"
+
+"Yes, I care," said Ilse absently, the same odd, sweet smile curving
+her cheeks.
+
+"That is--wonderful," said Palla, not looking at her.
+
+Ilse remained silent, her blue gaze aloof.
+
+A maid came and turned up the lamps, and went away again.
+
+Palla said in a low voice: "Are you--afraid?"
+
+"No."
+
+They both remained silent until she rose to go. Palla, walking with
+her to the head of the stairs, holding one of her hands imprisoned,
+said with an effort: "I am frightened, dear.... I can't help it....
+You will be certain, first, won't you?----"
+
+"It is as certain as death," said Ilse in a low, still voice.
+
+Palla shivered; she passed one arm around her; and they stood so for a
+while. Then Ilse's arm tightened, and the old gaiety glinted in her
+sea-blue eyes:
+
+"Is your house in order too, Palla?" she asked. "Turn around, little
+enigma! There; I can look into those brown eyes now. And I see nothing
+in them to answer me my question."
+
+"Do you mean Jim?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"I haven't seen him."
+
+"For how long?"
+
+"Weeks. I don't know how long it has been----"
+
+"Have you quarrelled?"
+
+"Yes. We seem to. This is quite the most serious one yet."
+
+"You are not in love with him."
+
+"Oh, Ilse, I don't know. He simply can't understand me. I feel so
+bruised and tired after a controversy with him. He seems to be so
+merciless to my opinions--so violent----"
+
+"You poor child.... After all, Palla, freedom also means the liberty
+to change one's mind.... If you should care to change yours----"
+
+"I can't change my inmost convictions."
+
+"Those--no."
+
+"I have not changed them. I almost wish I could. But I've got to be
+honest.... And he can't understand me."
+
+Ilse smiled and kissed her: "That is scarcely to be wondered at, as
+you don't seem to know your own mind. Perhaps when you do he, also,
+may understand you. Good-bye! I must run----"
+
+Palla watched her to the foot of the stairs; the door closed; the
+engine of a taxi began to hum.
+
+Her telephone was ringing when she returned to the living room, and
+the quick leap of her heart averted her of the hope revived.
+
+But it was a strange voice on the wire,--a man's voice, clear,
+sinister, tainted with a German accent:
+
+"Iss this Miss Dumont? Yess? Then this I haff to say to you: You shall
+find yourself in serious trouble if you do not move your foolish club
+of vimmen out of the vicinity of which you know. We giff you one more
+chance. So shall you take it or you shall take some consequences!
+_Goot-night!_"
+
+The instrument clicked in her ear as the unknown threatener hung up,
+leaving her seated there, astonished, hurt, bewildered.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The man who "hung up on her" stepped out of a saloon on Eighth Avenue
+and joined two other men on the corner.
+
+The man was Karl Kastner; the other two were Sondheim and Bromberg.
+
+"Get her?" growled the latter, as all three started east.
+
+"Yess. And now we shall see what we shall see. We start the finish now
+already. All foolishness shall be ended. Now we fix Puma."
+
+They continued on across the street, clumping along with their
+overcoat collars turned up, for it had turned bitter cold and the wind
+was rising.
+
+"You don't think it's a plant?" inquired Sondheim, for the third
+time.
+
+Bromberg blew his red nose on a dirty red handkerchief.
+
+"We'll plant Puma if he tries any of that," he said thickly.
+
+Kastner added that he feared investigation more than they did because
+he had more at stake.
+
+"Dot guy he iss rich like a millionaire," he added. "Ve make him pay
+some dammach, too."
+
+"How's he going to fire that bunch of women if they got a lease?"
+demanded Bromberg.
+
+"Who the hell cares how he does it?" grunted Sondheim.
+
+"Sure," added Kastner; "let him dig up. You buy anybody if you haff
+sufficient coin. Effery time! Yess. Also! Let him dig down into his
+pants once. So shall he pay them, these vimmen, to go avay und shut
+up mit their mischief what they make for us already!"
+
+Sondheim was still muttering about "plants" in the depths of his
+soiled overcoat-collar, when they arrived at the hall and presented
+themselves at the door of Puma's outer office.
+
+A girl took their message. After a while she returned and piloted them
+out, and up a wide flight of stairs to a door marked, "No admittance."
+Here she knocked, and Puma's voice bade them enter.
+
+Angelo Puma was standing by a desk when they trooped in, keeping their
+hats on. The room was ventilated and illumined in the daytime only by
+a very dirty transom giving on a shaft. Otherwise, there were no
+windows, no outlet to any outer light and air.
+
+Two gas jets caged in wire--obsolete stage dressing-room effects--lighted
+the room and glimmered on Puma's polished top-hat and the gold knob of
+his walking-stick.
+
+As for Puma himself, he glanced up stealthily from the scenario he was
+reading as he stood by the big desk, but dropped his eyes again, and,
+opening a drawer, laid away the typed manuscript. Then he pulled out
+the revolving desk chair and sat down.
+
+"Well?" he inquired, lighting a cigar.
+
+There was an ominous silence among the three men for another moment.
+Then Puma looked up, puffing his cigar, and Sondheim stepped forward
+from the group and shook his finger in his face.
+
+"What yah got planted around here for us? Hey?" he demanded in a low,
+hoarse voice. "Come on now, Puma! What yeh think yeh got on us?" And
+to Kastner and Bromberg: "Go ahead, boys, look for a dictaphone and
+them kind of things. And if this wop hollers I'll do him."
+
+A ruddy light flickered in Puma's eyes, but the cool smile lay
+smoothly on his lips, and he did not even turn his head to watch them
+as they passed along the walls, sounding, peering, prying, and jerking
+open the door of the cupboard--the only furniture there except the
+desk and the chair on which Puma sat.
+
+"What the hell's the matter with yeh?" snarled Sondheim, suddenly
+stooping to catch Puma's eye, which had wandered as though bored by
+the proceedings.
+
+"Nothing," said Puma, coolly; "what's the matter with you, Max?"
+
+Kastner came around beside him and said in his thin, sinister tone:
+
+"You know it vat I got on you, Angelo?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"So? Also! Vas iss it you do about doze vimmen?"
+
+"They won't go."
+
+In Bromberg's voice sounded an ominous roar: "Don't hand us nothing
+like that! You hear what I'm telling you?"
+
+Puma shrugged: "I hand you what I have to hand you. They have the
+lease. What is there for me to do?"
+
+"Buy 'em off!"
+
+"I try. They will not."
+
+"You offer 'em enough and they'll quit!"
+
+"No. They will not. They say they are here to fight you. They laugh at
+my money. What shall I do?"
+
+"I'll tell you one thing you'll do, and do it damn quick!" roared
+Bromberg. "Hand over that money we need!"
+
+"If you bellow in so loud a manner," said Puma, "they could hear you
+in the studio.... How much do you ask for?"
+
+"Two thousand."
+
+"No."
+
+"What yeh mean by 'No'?"
+
+"What I say to you, that I have not two thousand."
+
+"You lying greaser----"
+
+"I do not lie. I have paid my people and there remains but six hundred
+dollars in my bank."
+
+"When do we get the rest?" asked Sondheim, as Puma tossed the packet
+of bills onto the desk.
+
+"When I make it," replied Puma tranquilly. "You will understand my
+receipts are my capital at present. What else I have is engaged
+already in my new theatre. If you will be patient you shall have what
+I can spare."
+
+Bromberg rested both hairy fists on the desk and glared down at Puma.
+
+"Who's this new guy you got to go in with you? What's the matter with
+our getting a jag of his coin?"
+
+"You mean Mr. Pawling?"
+
+"Yeh. Who the hell is that duck what inks his whiskers?"
+
+"A partner."
+
+"Well, let him shove us ours then."
+
+"You wish to ruin me?" inquired Puma placidly.
+
+"Not while you're milkin'," said Sondheim, showing every yellow fang
+in a grin.
+
+"Then do not frighten Mr. Pawling out. Already you have scared my
+other partner, Mr. Skidder, like there never was any rabbits scared.
+You are foolish. If you are reasonable, I shall make money and you
+shall have your share. If you are not, then there is no money to give
+you."
+
+Sondheim said: "Take a slant at them yellow-backs, Karl." And Kastner
+screwed a powerful jeweller's glass into his eye and began a minute
+examination of the orange-coloured treasury notes, to find out whether
+they were marked bills.
+
+Bromberg said heavily: "See here, Angelo, you gotta quit this damned
+stalling! You gotta get them women out, and do it quick or we'll blow
+your dirty barracks into the North River!"
+
+Sondheim began to wag his soiled forefinger again.
+
+"Yeh quit us cold when things was on the fritz. Now, yeh gotta pay. If
+you wasn't nothing but a wop skunk yeh'd stand in with us. The way
+you're fixed would help us all. But now yeh makin' money and yeh
+scared o' yeh shadow!----"
+
+Bromberg cut in: "And you'll be outside when the band starts playing.
+Look what's doing all over the world! Every country is starting
+something! You watch Berlin and Rosa Luxemburg and her bunch. Keep
+your eye peeled, Angy, and see what we and the I. W. W. start in every
+city of the country!"
+
+Kastner, having satisfied himself that the bills had not been marked,
+and pocketed his jeweller's glass, pushed back his lank blond hair.
+
+"Yess," he said in his icy, incisive voice, "yoost vatch out already!
+Dot crimson tide it iss rising the vorld all ofer! It shall drown
+effery aristocrat, effery bourgeois, effery intellectual. It shall be
+but a red flood ofer all the vorld vere noddings shall live only our
+peoble off the proletariat!"
+
+"And where the hell will you be then, Angelo?" sneered Bromberg. "By
+God, we won't have to ask you for our share of your money then!"
+
+Again Sondheim leaned over him and wagged his nicotine-dyed finger:
+
+"You get the rest of our money! Understand? And you get them women
+out!--or I tell you we'll blow you and your joint to Hoboken! Get
+that?"
+
+"I have understood," said Puma quietly; but his heavy face was a muddy
+red now, and he choked a little when he spoke.
+
+"Give us a date and stick to it," added Bromberg. "Set it yourself.
+And after that we won't bother to do any more jawin'. We'll just
+attend to business--_your_ business, Puma!"
+
+After a long silence, Puma said calmly: "How much you want?"
+
+"Ten thousand," said Sondheim.
+
+"And them women out of this," added Bromberg.
+
+"Or ve get you," ended Kastner in his deadly voice.
+
+Puma lifted his head and looked intently at each one of them in turn.
+And seemed presently to come to some conclusion.
+
+Kastner forestalled him: "You try it some monkey trick and you try it
+no more effer again."
+
+"What's your date for the cash?" insisted Sondheim.
+
+"February first," replied Puma quietly.
+
+Kastner wrote it on the back of an envelope.
+
+"Und dese vimmen?" he inquired.
+
+"I'll get a lawyer----"
+
+"The hell with that stuff!" roared Bromberg. "Get 'em out! Scare 'em
+out! Jesus Christ! how long d'yeh think we're going to stand for being
+hammered by that bunch o' skirts? They got a lot o' people sore on us
+now. The crowd what uster come around is gettin' leery. And who are
+these damned women? One of 'em was a White Nun, when they did the
+business for the Romanoffs. One of 'em fired on the Bolsheviki--that
+big blond girl with yellow hair, I mean! Wasn't she one of those
+damned girl-soldiers? And look what she's up to now--comin' over here
+to talk us off the platform!--the dirty foreigner!"
+
+"Yes," growled Bromberg, "and there's that redheaded wench of
+Vanya's!--some Grand Duke's slut, they say, before she quit him for
+the university to start something else----"
+
+Kastner cut in in his steely voice: "If you do not throw out these
+women, Puma, we fix them and your hall and you--all at one time, my
+friend. Also! Iss it then for February the first, our understanding?
+Or iss it, a little later, the end of all your troubles, Angelo?"
+
+Puma got up, nodded his acceptance of their ultimatum, and opened the
+door for them.
+
+When they trooped out, under the brick arch, they noticed his splendid
+limousine waiting, and as they shuffled sullenly away westward,
+Bromberg, looking back, saw Puma come out and jump lightly into the
+car.
+
+"Swine!" he snarled, facing the bitter wind once more and shuffling
+along beside his silent brethren.
+
+Puma went east, then north to the Hotel Rajah, where, in a private
+room, he was to complete a financial transaction with Alonzo B.
+Pawling.
+
+Skidder, too, came in at the same time, squinting rapidly at his
+partner; and together they moved toward the elevator.
+
+The elevator waited a moment more to accommodate a willowy, red-haired
+girl in furs, whose jade eyes barely rested on Puma's magnificent
+black ones as he stepped aside to make way for her with an extravagant
+bow.
+
+"Some skirt," murmured Skidder in his ear, as the car shot upward.
+
+Marya left the car at the mezzanine floor: Puma's eyes were like coals
+for a moment.
+
+"You know that dame?" inquired Skidder, his eyes fairly snapping.
+
+"No." He did not add that he had seen her at the Combat Club and knew
+her to belong to another man. But his black eyes were almost blazing
+as he stepped from the elevator, for in Marya's insolent glance he had
+caught a vague glimmer of fire--merely a green spark, very faint--if,
+indeed, it had been there at all....
+
+Pawling himself opened the door for them.
+
+"Is it all right? Do we get the parcel?" were his first words.
+
+"It's a knock-out!" cried Skidder, slapping him on the back. "We
+got the land, we got the plans, we got the iron, we got the
+contracts!--Oh, boy!--our dough is in--go look at it and smell it for
+yourself! So get into the jack, old scout, and ante up, because we
+break ground Wednesday and there'll be bills before then, you
+betcha!"
+
+When the cocktails were brought, Puma swallowed his in a hurry, saying
+he'd be back in a moment, and bidding Skidder enlighten Mr. Pawling
+during the interim.
+
+He summoned the elevator, got out at the mezzanine, and walked lightly
+into the deserted and cloister-like perspective, his shiny hat in his
+hand.
+
+And saw Marya standing by the marble ramp, looking down at the bustle
+below.
+
+He stopped not far away. He had made no sound on the velvet carpet.
+But presently she turned her head and the green eyes met his black
+ones.
+
+Neither winced. The sheer bulk of the beast and the florid magnificence
+of its colour seemed to fascinate her.
+
+She had seen him before, and scarcely noted him. She remembered. But
+the world was duller, then, and the outlook grey. And then, too, her
+still, green eyes had not yet wandered beyond far horizons, nor had
+her heart been cut adrift to follow her fancy when the tides stirred
+it from its mooring--carrying it away, away through deeps or shallows
+as the currents swerved.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+The pale parody on that sacred date which once had symbolised the
+birth of Christ had come and gone; the ghastly year was nearing its
+own death--the bloodiest year, for all its final triumph, that the
+world had ever witnessed--_l'annee horrible_!
+
+Nor was the end yet, of all this death and dying: for the Crimson
+Tide, washing through Russia, eastward, seethed and eddied among the
+wrecks of empires, lapping Poland's bones, splashing over the charred
+threshold of the huns, creeping into the Balkans, crawling toward
+Greece and Italy, menacing Scandinavia, and arousing the stern
+watchers along the French frontier--the ultimate eastward barrier of
+human liberty.
+
+And unless, despite the fools who demur, that barrier be based upon
+the Rhine, that barrier will fall one day.
+
+Even in England, where the captive navies of the anti-Christ now
+sulked at anchor under England's consecrated guns, some talked glibly
+of rule by Soviet. All Ireland bristled now, baring its teeth at
+government; vast armies, disbanding, were becoming dully restless; and
+armed men, disarming, began to wonder what now might be their destiny
+and what the destiny of the world they fought for.
+
+And everywhere, among all peoples, swarmed the stealthy agents of the
+Red Apocalypse, whispering discontent, hinting treasons, stirring the
+unhappy to sullen anger, inciting the simple-minded to insanity, the
+ignorant to revolution. For four years it had been a battle between
+Light and Night; and now there threatened to be joined in battle the
+uttermost forces of Evolution and Chaos--the spiritual Armageddon at
+last, where Life and Light and Order must fight a final fight with
+Degeneracy, Darkness and Death.
+
+And always, everywhere, that hell-born Crimson Tide seemed to be
+rising. All newspapers were full of it, sounding the universal alarm.
+And Civilisation merely stared at the scarlet flood--gawked stupidly
+and unstirring--while the far clamour of massacre throughout Russia
+grew suddenly to a crashing discord in Berlin, shaking the whole world
+with brazen dissonance.
+
+Like the first ominous puff before the tempest, the deadly breath of
+the Black Death--called "influenza," but known of old among the
+verminous myriads of the East--swept over the earth from East to West.
+Millions died; millions were yet to perish of it; yet the dazed world,
+still half blind with blood and smoke, sat helpless and unstirring,
+barring no gates to this pestilence that stalked the stricken earth at
+noon-day.
+
+New York, partly paralysed by sacrifice and the blood-sucking antics
+of half-crazed congressmen, gorged by six years feeding after decades
+of starvation, welcomed the incoming soldiers in a bewildered sort of
+way, making either an idiot's din of dissonance or gaping in stupid
+silence as the huge troop-ships swept up the bay.
+
+The battle fleet arrived--the home squadron and the "6th battle
+squadron"--and lay towering along the Hudson, while officers and
+jackies swarmed the streets--streets now thronged by wounded,
+too--pallid cripples in olive drab, limping along slowly beneath
+lowering skies, with their citations and crosses and ribbons and
+wound chevrons in glinting gold under the relighted lustres of the
+metropolis.
+
+So the false mockery of Christmas came to the city--a forced festival,
+unutterably sad, for all that the end of the war was subject of thanks
+in every church and synagogue. And so the mystic feast ended, scarcely
+heeded amid the slow, half-crippled groping for financial readjustment
+in the teeth of a snarling and vindictive Congress, mean in its envy,
+meaner in revenge--a domestic brand of sectional Bolsheviki as dirty
+and degenerate as any anarchist in all Russia.
+
+The President had sailed away--(_Slava! Slava! Nechevo!_)--and the
+newspapers were preparing to tell their disillusioned public all about
+it, if permitted.
+
+And so dawned the New Year over the spreading crimson flood, flecking
+the mounting tide with brighter scarlet as it crept ever westward,
+ever wider, across a wounded world.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Palla had not seen Jim for a very long time now. Christmas passed,
+bringing neither gift nor message, although she had sent him a little
+remembrance--_The Divine Pantheon_, by an unfrocked Anglican
+clergyman, one Loxon Fettars, recently under detention pending
+investigation concerning an alleged multiplicity of wives.
+
+The New Year brought no greeting from him, either; nobody she knew had
+seen him, and her pride had revolted at writing him after she had
+telephoned and left a message at his club--her usual concession after
+a stormy parting.
+
+And there was another matter that was causing her a constantly
+increasing unrest--she had not seen Marya for many a day.
+
+Quiet grief for what now appeared to be a friendship ended--at
+other times a tingle of bitterness that he had let it end so
+relentlessly--and sometimes, at night, the secret dread--eternally
+buried yet perennially resurrected--the still, hidden, ever-living
+fear of Marya; these the girl knew, now, as part of life.
+
+And went on, steadily, with her life's business, as though moving
+toward a dark horizon where clouds towered gradually higher,
+reflecting the glimmer of unseen lightning.
+
+Somehow, lately, a vague sensation of impending trouble had invaded
+her; and she never entirely shook it off, even in her lighter moods,
+when there was gay company around her; or in the warm flush of
+optimistic propaganda work; or in the increasingly exciting sessions
+of the Combat Club, now interrupted nightly by fierce outbreaks from
+emissaries of the Red Flag Club, who were there to make mischief.
+
+Also, there had been an innovation established among her company of
+moderate socialists; a corps of missionary speakers, who volunteered
+on certain nights to speak from the classic soap-box on street
+corners, urging the propaganda of their panacea, the Law of Love and
+Service.
+
+Twice already, despite her natural timidity and dread of public
+speaking, Palla had faced idle, half-curious, half sneering crowds
+just east or west of Broadway; had struggled through with what she had
+come to say; had gently replied to heckling, blushed under insult,
+stood trembling by her guns to the end.
+
+Ilse was more convincing, more popular with her gay insouciance and
+infectious laughter, and her unexpected and enchanting flashes of
+militancy, which always interested the crowd.
+
+And always, after these soap-box efforts, both Palla and Ilse were
+insulted over the telephone by unknown men. Their mail, also,
+invariably contained abusive or threatening letters, and sometimes
+vile ones; and Estridge purchased pistols for them both and exacted
+pledges that they carry them at night.
+
+On the evening selected for Palla's third essay in street oratory, she
+slipped her pistol into her muff and set out alone, not waiting for
+Ilse, who, with John Estridge, was to have met her after dinner at her
+house, and, as usual, accompany her to the place selected.
+
+But they knew where she was to speak, and she did not doubt they would
+turn up sooner or later at the rendezvous.
+
+All that day the dull, foreboding feeling had been assailing her at
+intervals, and she had been unable to free herself entirely from the
+vague depression.
+
+The day had been grey; when she left the house a drizzle had begun to
+wet the flagstones, and every lamp-post was now hooded with ghostly
+iridescence.
+
+She walked because she had need of exercise, not even deigning to
+unfurl her umbrella against the mist which spun silvery ovals over
+every electric globe along Fifth Avenue, and now shrouded every
+building above the fourth story in a cottony ocean of fog.
+
+When finally she turned westward, the dark obscurity of the
+cross-street seemed to stretch away into infinite night and she
+hurried a little, scarcely realising why.
+
+There did not seem to be a soul in sight--she noticed that--yet
+suddenly, halfway down the street, she discovered a man walking at her
+elbow, his rubber-shod feet making no sound on the wet walk.
+
+Palla had never before been annoyed by such attentions in New York,
+yet she supposed it must be the reason for the man's insolence.
+
+She hastened her steps; he moved as swiftly.
+
+"Look here," he said, "I know who you are, and where you're going. And
+we've stood just about enough from you and your friends."
+
+In the quick revulsion from annoyance and disgust to a very lively
+flash of fright, Palla involuntarily slackened her pace and widened
+the distance between her and this unknown.
+
+"You better right-about-face and go home!" he said quietly. "You talk
+too damn much with your face. And we're going to stop you. See?"
+
+At that her flash of fear turned to anger:
+
+"Try it," she said hotly; and hurried on, her hand clutching the
+pistol in her wet muff, her eyes fixed on the unknown man.
+
+"I've a mind to dust you good and plenty right here," he said. "Quit
+your running, now, and beat it back again--" His vise-like grip was on
+her left arm, almost jerking her off her feet; and the next moment she
+struck him with her loaded pistol full in the face.
+
+As he veered away, she saw the seam open from his cheek bone to his
+chin--saw the white face suddenly painted with wet scarlet.
+
+The sight of the blood made her sick, but she kept her pistol
+levelled, backing away westward all the while.
+
+There was an iron railing near; he went over and leaned against it as
+though stupefied.
+
+And all the while she continued to retreat until, behind her, his dim
+shape merged into the foggy dark.
+
+Then Palla turned and ran. And she was still breathing fast and
+unevenly when she came to that perfect blossom of vulgarity and
+apotheosis of all American sham--Broadway--where in the raw glare from
+a million lights the senseless crowds swept north and south.
+
+And here, where Jew-manager and gentile ruled the histrionic destiny
+of the United States--here where art, letters, service, industry,
+business had each developed its own species of human prostitute--two
+muddy-brained torrents of humanity poured in opposite directions,
+crowding, shoving, shuffling along in the endless, hopeless Hunt for
+Happiness.
+
+She had made, in the beginning of her street-corner career,
+arrangements with a neighbouring boot-black to furnish one soap-box on
+demand at a quarter of a dollar rent for every evening.
+
+She extracted the quarter from her purse and paid the boy; carried the
+soap-box herself to the curb; and, with that invariable access of
+fright which attacked her at such moments, mounted it to face the
+first few people who halted out of curiosity to see what else she
+meant to do.
+
+Columns of passing umbrellas hid her so that not many people noticed
+her; but gradually that perennial audience of shabby opportunists
+which always gathers anywhere from nowhere, ringed her soap-box. And
+Palla began to speak in the drizzling rain.
+
+For some time there were no interruptions, no jeers, no doubtful
+pleasantries. But when it became more plain to the increasing crowd
+that this smartly though simply gowned young woman had come to
+Broadway in the rain for the purpose of protesting against all forms
+of violence, including the right of the working people to strike, ugly
+remarks became audible, and now and then a menacing word was flung at
+her, or some clenched hand insulted her and amid a restless murmur
+growing rougher all the time.
+
+Once, to prove her point out of the mouth of the proletariat itself,
+she quoted from Rosa Luxemburg; and a well-dressed man shouldered his
+way toward her and in a low voice gave her the lie.
+
+The painful colour dyed her face, but she went on calmly, explaining
+the different degrees and extremes of socialism, revealing how the
+abused term had been used as camouflage by the party committed to the
+utter annihilation of everything worth living for.
+
+And again, to prove her point, she quoted:
+
+"Socialism does not mean the convening of Parliaments and the
+enactment of laws; it means the overthrow of the ruling classes with
+all the brutality at the disposal of the proletariat."
+
+The same well-dressed man interrupted again:
+
+"Say, who pays you to come here and hand out that Wall Street stuff?"
+
+"Nobody pays me," she replied patiently.
+
+"All right, then, if that's true why don't you tell us something about
+the interests and the profiteers and all them dirty games the
+capitalists is rigging up? Tell us about the guy who wants us to pay
+eight cents to ride on his damned cars! Tell us about the geezers who
+soak us for food and coal and clothes and rent!
+
+"You stand there chirping to us about Love and Service and how we
+oughta give. _Give!_ Jesus!--we ain't got anything left to give. They
+ain't anything to give our wives or our children,--no, nor there ain't
+enough left to feed our own faces or pay for a patch on our pants!
+_Give?_ Hell! The interests _took_ it. And you stand there twittering
+about Love and Service! We oughta serve 'em a brick on the neck and
+love 'em with a black-jack!"
+
+"How far would that get you?" asked Palla gently.
+
+"As far as their pants-pockets anyway!"
+
+"And when you empty those, who is to employ and pay you?"
+
+"Don't worry," he sneered, "we'll do the employing after that."
+
+"And will your employees do to you some day what you did to your
+employers with a black-jack?"
+
+The crowd laughed, but her heckler shook his fist at her and yelled:
+
+"Ain't I telling you that we'll be sitting in these damn gold-plated
+houses and payin' wages to these here fat millionaires for blackin'
+our shoes?"
+
+"You mean that when Bolshevism rules there are to be rich and poor
+just the same as at present?"
+
+Again the crowd laughed.
+
+"All right!" bawled the man, waving both arms above his head,
+"--yes, I do mean it! It will be our turn then. Why not? What do we
+want to split fifty-fifty with them soft, fat millionaires for?
+Nix on that stuff! It will be hog-killing time, and you can bet your
+thousand-dollar wrist watch, Miss, that there'll be some killin' in
+little old New York!"
+
+He had backed out of the circle and disappeared in the crowd before
+Palla could attempt further reasoning with him. So she merely shook
+her head in gentle disapproval and dissent:
+
+"What is the use," she said, "of exchanging one form of tyranny for
+another? Why destroy the autocracy of the capitalist and erect on its
+ruins the autocracy of the worker?
+
+"How can class distinctions be eradicated by fanning class-hatred? In
+a battle against all dictators, why proclaim dictatorship--even of the
+proletariat?
+
+"All oppression is hateful, whether exercised by God or man--whether
+the oppressor be that murderous, stupid, treacherous, tyrannical
+bully in the Old Testament, miscalled God, or whether the oppressor be
+the proletariat which screamed for the blood of Jesus Christ and got
+it!
+
+"Free heart, free mind, free soul!--anything less means servitude, not
+service--hatred, not love!"
+
+A man in the outskirts of the crowd shouted: "Say, you're some
+rag-chewer, little girl! Go to it!"
+
+She laughed, then glanced at her wrist watch.
+
+There were a few more words she might say before the time she allowed
+herself had expired, and she found courage to go on, striving to
+explain to the shifting knot of people that the battle which now
+threatened civilisation was the terrible and final fight between Order
+and Disorder and that, under inexorable laws which could never change,
+order meant life and survival; disorder chaos and death for all living
+things.
+
+A few cheered her as she bade them good-night, picked up her soap-box
+and carried it back to her boot-black friend, who inhabited a shack
+built against the family-entrance side of a saloon.
+
+She was surprised that Ilse and John Estridge had not appeared--could
+scarcely understand it, as she made her way toward a taxicab.
+
+For, in view of the startling occurrence earlier in the evening, and
+the non-appearance of Ilse and Estridge, Palla had decided to return
+in a taxi.
+
+The incident--the boldness of the unknown man and vicious brutality of
+his attitude, and also a sickening recollection of her own action and
+his bloody face--had really shocked her, even more than she was aware
+of at the time.
+
+She felt tired and strained, and a trifle faint now, where she lay
+back, swaying there on her seat, her pistol clutched inside her muff,
+as the ramshackle vehicle lurched its noisy way eastward. And always
+that dull sense of something sinister impending--that indefinable
+apprehension--remained with her. And she gazed darkly out on the dark
+streets, possessed by a melancholy which she did not attempt to
+analyse.
+
+Yet, partly it came from the ruptured comradeship which always
+haunted her mind, partly because of Ilse and the uncertainty of what
+might happen to her--may have happened already for all Palla
+knew--and partly because--although she did not realise it--in the
+profound deeps of her girl's being she was vaguely conscious of
+something latent which seemed to have lain hidden there for a long,
+long time--something inert, inexorable, indestructible, which, if
+it ever stirred from its intense stillness, must be reckoned with
+in years to come.
+
+She made no effort to comprehend what this thing might be--if, indeed,
+it really existed--no pains to analyse it or to meditate over the
+vague indications of its presence.
+
+She seemed merely to be aware of something indefinable concealed in
+the uttermost depths of her.
+
+It was Doubt, unborn.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The taxi drew up before her house. Rain was falling heavily, as she
+ran up the steps--a cold rain through which a few wet snowflakes
+slanted.
+
+Her maid heard the rattle of her night-key and came to relieve her of
+her wet things, and to say that Miss Westgard had telephoned and had
+left a number to be called as soon as Miss Dumont returned.
+
+The slip of paper bore John Estridge's telephone number and Palla
+seated herself at her desk and called it.
+
+Almost immediately she heard Ilse's voice on the wire.
+
+"What is the matter, dear?" inquired Palla with the slightest shiver
+of that premonition which had haunted her all day.
+
+But Ilse's voice was cheerful: "We were so sorry not to go with you
+this evening, darling, but Jack is feeling so queer that he's turned
+in and I've sent for a physician."
+
+"Shall I come around?" asked Palla.
+
+"Oh, no," replied Ilse calmly, "but I've an idea Jack may need a
+nurse--perhaps two."
+
+"What is it?" faltered Palla.
+
+"I don't know. But he is running a high temperature and he says that
+it feels as though something were wrong with his appendix.
+
+"You see Jack is almost a physician himself, so if it really is acute
+appendicitis we must know as soon as possible."
+
+"Is there _anything_ I could do?" pleaded Palla. "Darling, I do so
+want to be of use if----"
+
+"I'll let you know, dear. There isn't anything so far."
+
+"Are you going to stay there to-night?"
+
+"Of course," replied Ilse calmly. "Tell me, Palla, how did the
+soap-box arguments go?"
+
+"Not very well. I was heckled. I'm such a wretched public speaker,
+Ilse;--I can never remember what rejoinders to make until it's too
+late."
+
+She did not mention her encounter with the unknown man; Ilse had
+enough to occupy her.
+
+They chatted a few moments longer, then Ilse promised to call her if
+necessary, and said good-night.
+
+A little after midnight Palla's telephone rang beside her bed and she
+started upright with a pang of fear and groped for the instrument.
+
+"Jack is seriously ill," came the level voice of Ilse. "We have taken
+him to the Memorial Hospital in one of their ambulances."
+
+"W--what is it?" asked Palla.
+
+"They say it is pneumonia."
+
+"Oh, Ilse!----"
+
+"I'm not afraid. Jack is in magnificent physical condition. He is too
+splendid not to win the fight.... And I shall be with him.... I shall
+not let him lose."
+
+"Tell me what I can do, darling!"
+
+"Nothing--except love us both."
+
+"I do--I do indeed----"
+
+"Both, Palla!"
+
+"Y--yes."
+
+"_Do you understand?_"
+
+"Oh, I--I think I do. And I do love you--love you both--devotedly----"
+
+"You must, _now_.... I am going home to get some things. Then I shall
+go to the hospital. You can call me there until he is convalescent."
+
+"Will they let you stay there?"
+
+"I have volunteered for general work. They are terribly short-handed
+and they are glad to have me."
+
+"I'll come to-morrow," said Palla.
+
+"No. Wait.... Good-night, my darling."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+As a mischievous caricaturist, in the beginning, draws a fairly good
+portrait of his victim and then gradually habituates his public to a
+series of progressively exaggerated extravagances, so progressed the
+programme of the Bolsheviki in America, revealing little by little
+their final conception of liberty and equality in the bloody and
+distorted monster which they had now evolved, and which they publicly
+owned as their ideal emblem.
+
+In the Red Flag Club, Sondheim shouted that a Red Republic was
+impossible because it admitted on an equality the rich and well-to-do.
+
+Karl Kastner, more cynical, coolly preached the autocracy of the
+worker; told his listeners frankly that there would always be masters
+and servants in the world, and asked them which they preferred to be.
+
+With the new year came sporadic symptoms of unrest;--strikes,
+unwarranted confiscations by Government, increasingly bad service
+in public utilities controlled by Government, loose talk in a
+contemptible Congress, looser gabble among those who witlessly lent
+themselves to German or Bolshevik propaganda--or both--by repeating
+stories of alleged differences between America and England, America
+and France, America and Italy.
+
+The hen-brained--a small minority--misbehaved as usual whenever the
+opportunity came to do the wrong thing; the meanest and most
+contemptible partisanship since the shameful era of the carpet bagger
+prevailed in a section of the Republic where the traditions of great
+men and great deeds had led the nation to expect nobler things.
+
+For the same old hydra seemed to be still alive on earth, lifting, by
+turns, its separate heads of envy, intolerance, bigotry and greed.
+Ignorance, robed with authority, legally robbed those comfortably
+off.
+
+The bleat of the pacifist was heard in the land. Those who had once
+chanted in sanctimonious chorus, "He kept us out of war," now sang
+sentimental hymns invoking mercy and forgiveness for the crucifiers of
+children and the rapers of women, who licked their lips furtively and
+leered at the imbecile choir. Representatives of a great electorate
+vaunted their patriotism and proudly repeated: "We forced him into
+war!" Whereas they themselves had been kicked headlong into it by a
+press and public at the end of its martyred patience.
+
+There appeared to be, so far, no business revival. Prosperity was
+penalised, taxed to the verge of blackmail, constantly suspected and
+admonished; and the Congressional Bolsheviki were gradually breaking
+the neck of legitimate enterprise everywhere throughout the Republic.
+
+And everywhere over the world the crimson tide crept almost
+imperceptibly a little higher every day.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Toward the middle of January the fever which had burnt John Estridge
+for a week fell a degree or two.
+
+Palla, who had called twice a day at the Memorial Hospital, was seated
+that morning in a little room near the disinfecting plant, talking to
+Ilse, who had just laid aside her mask.
+
+"You look rather ill yourself," said Ilse in her cheery, even voice.
+"Is anything worrying you, darling?"
+
+"Yes.... You are."
+
+"I!" exclaimed the girl, really astonished. "Why?"
+
+"Sometimes," murmured Palla, "my anxiety makes me almost sick."
+
+"Anxiety about _me_!----"
+
+"You know why," whispered Palla.
+
+A bright flush stained Ilse's face: she said calmly:
+
+"But our creed is broad enough to include all things beautiful and
+good."
+
+Palla shrank as though she had been struck, and sat staring out of the
+narrow window.
+
+Ilse lifted a basket of soiled linen and carried it away. When,
+presently, she returned to take away another basket, she inquired
+whether Palla had made up her quarrel with Jim Shotwell, and Palla
+shook her head.
+
+"Do you really suppose Marya has made mischief between you?" asked
+Ilse curiously.
+
+"Oh, I don't know, Ilse," said the girl listlessly. "I don't know what
+it is that seems to be so wrong with the world--with everybody--with
+me----"
+
+She rose nervously, bade Ilse adieu, and went out without turning her
+head--perhaps because her brown eyes had suddenly blurred with tears.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Half way to Red Cross headquarters she passed the Hotel Rajah. And why
+she did it she had no very clear idea, but she turned abruptly and
+entered the gorgeous lobby, went to the desk, and sent up her name to
+Marya Lanois.
+
+It appeared, presently, that Miss Lanois was at home and would receive
+her in her apartment.
+
+The accolade was perfunctory: Palla's first glance informed her that
+Marya had grown a trifle more svelte since they had met--more
+brilliant in her distinctive coloration. There was a tawny beauty
+about the girl that almost blazed from her hair and delicately
+sanguine skin and lips.
+
+They seated themselves, and Marya lighted the cigarette which Palla
+had refused; and they fell into the animated, gossiping conversation
+characteristic of such reunions.
+
+"Vanya?" repeated Marya, smiling, "no, I have not seen him. That is
+quite finished, you see. But I hope he is well. Do you happen to
+know?"
+
+"He seems--changed. But he is working hard, which is always best for
+the unhappy. And he and his somewhat vociferous friend, Mr. Wilding,
+are very busy preparing for their Philadelphia concert."
+
+"Wilding," repeated Marya, as though swallowing something distasteful.
+"He was the last straw! But tell me, Palla, what are you doing these
+jolly days of the new year?"
+
+"Nothing.... Red Cross, canteen, club--and recently I go twice a day
+to the Memorial Hospital."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"John Estridge is ill there."
+
+"What is the matter with him?"
+
+"Pneumonia."
+
+"Oh. I am so sorry for Ilse!----" Her eyes rested intently on Palla's
+for a moment; then she smiled subtly, as though sharing with Palla
+some occult understanding.
+
+Palla's face whitened a little: "I want to ask you a question,
+Marya.... You know our belief--concerning life in general.... Tell
+me--since your separation from Vanya, do you still believe in that
+creed?"
+
+"Do I still believe in my own personal liberty to do as I choose? Of
+course."
+
+"From the moral side?"
+
+"Moral!" mocked Marya, "--What are morals? Artificial conventions
+accidentally established! Haphazard folkways of ancient peoples whose
+very origin has been forgotten! What is moral in India is immoral in
+England: what is right in China is wrong in America. It's purely a
+matter of local folkways--racial customs--as to whether one is or is
+not immoral.
+
+"Ethics apply to the Greek _Ethos_; morals to the Latin _Mores_--_moeurs_
+in French, _sitte_ in German, _custom_ in English;--and all mean
+practically the same thing--metaphysical hair-splitters to the
+contrary--which is simply this: all beliefs are local, and local
+customs or morals are the result. Therefore, they don't worry me."
+
+Palla sat with her troubled eyes on the careless, garrulous,
+half-smiling Russian girl, and trying to follow with an immature mind
+the half-baked philosophy offered for her consumption.
+
+She said hesitatingly, almost shyly: "I've wondered a little, Marya,
+how it ever happened that such an institution as marriage became
+practically universal----"
+
+"Marriage isn't an institution," exclaimed Marya smilingly. "The
+family, which existed long before marriage, is the institution,
+because it has a definite structure which marriage hasn't.
+
+"Marriage always has been merely a locally varying mode of sex
+association. No laws can control it. Local rules merely try to
+regulate the various manners of entering into a marital state, the
+obligations and personal rights of the sexes involved. What really
+controls two people who have entered into such a relation is local
+opinion----"
+
+She snapped her fingers and tossed aside her cigarette: "You and I
+happen to be, locally, in the minority with our opinions, that's
+all."
+
+Palla rose and walked slowly to the door. "Have you seen Jim
+recently?" she managed to say carelessly.
+
+Marya waited for her to turn before replying: "Haven't _you_ seen
+him?" she asked with the leisurely malice of certainty.
+
+"No, not for a long while," replied Palla, facing with a painful flush
+this miserable crisis to which her candour had finally committed her.
+"We had a little difference.... Have you seen him lately?"
+
+Marya's sympathy flickered swift as a dagger:
+
+"What a shame for him to behave so childishly!" she cried. "I shall
+scold him soundly. He's like an infant--that boy--the way he sulks if
+you deny him anything--" She checked herself, laughed in a confused
+way which confessed and defied.
+
+Palla's fixed smile was still stamped on her rigid lips as she made
+her adieux. Then she went out with death in her heart.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+At the Red Cross his mother exchanged a few words with her at
+intervals, as usual, during the seance.
+
+The conversation drifted toward the subject of religious orders in
+Russia, and Mrs. Shotwell asked her how it was that she came to begin
+a novitiate in a country where Catholic orders had, she understood,
+been forbidden permission to establish themselves in the realm of the
+Greek church.
+
+Palla explained in her sweet, colourless voice that the Czar had
+permitted certain religious orders to establish themselves--very few,
+however,--the number of nuns of all orders not exceeding five hundred.
+Also she explained that they were forbidden to make converts from the
+orthodox religion, which was why the Empress had sternly refused the
+pleading of the little Grand Duchess.
+
+"I do not think," added Palla, "that the Bolsheviki have left any
+Catholic nuns in Russia, unless perhaps they have spared the Sisters
+of Mercy. But I hear that non-cloistered orders like the Dominicans,
+and cloistered orders such as the Carmelites and Ursulines have been
+driven away.... I don't know whether this is true."
+
+Mrs. Shotwell, her eyes on her flying needle, said casually: "Have you
+never felt the desire to reconsider--to return to your novitiate?"
+
+The girl, bending low over her work, drew a deep, still breath.
+
+"Yes," she said, "it has occurred to me."
+
+"Does it still appeal to you at times?"
+
+The girl lifted her honest eyes: "In life there are moments when any
+refuge appeals."
+
+"Refuge from what?" asked Helen quietly.
+
+Palla did not evade the question: "From the unkindness of life," she
+said. "But I have concluded that such a motive for cloistered life is
+a cowardly one."
+
+"Was that your motive when you took the white veil?"
+
+"No, not then.... It seemed to be an overwhelming need for service
+and adoration.... It's strange how faiths change though need
+remains."
+
+"You still feel that need?"
+
+"Of course," said the girl simply.
+
+"I see. Your clubs and other service give you what you require to
+satisfy you and make you happy and contented."
+
+As Palla made no reply, Helen glanced at her askance; and caught a
+fleeting glimpse of tragedy in this girl's still face--the face of a
+cloistered nun burnt white--purged utterly of all save the mystic
+passion of the spirit.
+
+The face altered immediately, and colour came into it; and her slender
+hands were steady as she turned her bandage and cut off the thread.
+
+What thoughts concerning this girl were in her mind, Helen could
+neither entirely comprehend nor analyse. At moments a hot hatred for
+the girl passed over her like flame--anger because of what she was
+doing to her only son.
+
+For Jim had changed; and it was love for this woman that had changed
+him--which had made of him the silent, listless man whose grey face
+haunted his mother's dreams.
+
+That he, dissipating all her hopes of him, had fallen in love with
+Palla Dumont was enough unhappiness, it seemed; but that this girl
+should have found it possible to refuse him--that seemed to Helen a
+monstrous thing.
+
+And even were Jim able to forget the girl and free himself from this
+exasperating unhappiness which almost maddened his mother, still she
+must always afterward remember with bitterness the girl who had
+rejected her only son.
+
+Not since Palla had telephoned on that unfortunate night had she or
+Helen ever mentioned Jim. The mother, expecting his obsession to wear
+itself out, had been only too glad to approve the rupture.
+
+But recently, at moments, her courage had weakened when, evening after
+evening, she had watched her son where he sat so silent, listless, his
+eyes dull and remote and the book forgotten on his knees.
+
+A steady resentment for all this change in her son possessed Helen,
+varied by flashes of impulse to seize Palla and shake her into
+comprehension of her responsibility--of her astounding stupidity,
+perhaps.
+
+Not that she wanted her for a daughter-in-law. She wanted Elorn. But
+now she was beginning to understand that it never would be Elorn
+Sharrow. And--save when the change in Jim worried her too deeply--she
+remained obstinately determined that he should not bring this girl
+into the Shotwell family.
+
+And the amazing paradox was revealed in the fact that Palla fascinated
+her; that she believed her to be as fine as she was perverse; as
+honest as she was beautiful; as spiritually chaste as she knew her to
+be mentally and bodily untainted by anything ignoble.
+
+This, and because Palla was the woman to whom her son's unhappiness
+was wholly due, combined to exercise an uncanny fascination on Helen,
+so that she experienced a constant and haunting desire to be near the
+girl, where she could see her and hear her voice.
+
+At moments, even, she experienced a vague desire to intervene--do
+something to mitigate Jim's misery--yet realising all the while she
+did not desire Palla to relent.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+As for Palla, she was becoming too deeply worried over the darkening
+aspects of life to care what Helen thought, even if she had divined
+the occult trend of her mind toward herself.
+
+One thing after another seemed to crowd more threateningly upon
+her;--Jim's absence, Marya's attitude, and the certainty, now, that
+she saw Jim;--and then the grave illness of John Estridge and her
+apprehensions regarding Ilse; and the increasing difficulties of club
+problems; and the brutality and hatred which were becoming daily more
+noticeable in the opposition which she and Ilse were encountering.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+After a tiresome day, Palla left a new Hostess House which she had
+aided to establish, and took a Fifth Avenue bus, too weary to walk
+home.
+
+The day had been clear and sunny, and she wondered dully why it had
+left with her the impression of grey skies.
+
+Dusk came before she arrived at her house. She went into her unlighted
+living room, and threw herself on the lounge, lying with eyes closed
+and the back of one gloved hand across her temples.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+When a servant came to turn up the lamp, Palla had bitten her lip till
+the blood flecked her white glove. She sat up, declined to have tea,
+and, after the maid had departed, she remained seated, her teeth busy
+with her under lip again, her eyes fixed on space.
+
+After a long while her eyes swerved to note the clock and what its
+gilt hands indicated.
+
+And she seemed to arrive at a conclusion, for she went to her bedroom,
+drew a bath, and rang for her maid.
+
+"I want my rose evening gown," she said. "It needs a stitch or two
+where I tore it dancing."
+
+At six, not being dressed yet, she put on a belted chamber robe and
+trotted into the living room, as confidently as though she had no
+doubts concerning what she was about to do.
+
+It seemed to take a long while for the operator to make the
+connection, and Palla's hand trembled a little where it held the
+receiver tightly against her ear. When, presently, a servant
+answered:
+
+"Please say to him that a client wishes to speak to him regarding an
+investment."
+
+Finally she heard his voice saying: "This is Mr. James Shotwell
+Junior; who is it wishes to speak to me?"
+
+"A client," she faltered, "--who desires to--to participate with
+you in some plan for the purpose of--of improving our mutual
+relationship."
+
+"Palla." She could scarcely hear his voice.
+
+"I--I'm so unhappy, Jim. Could you come to-night?"
+
+He made no answer.
+
+"I suppose you haven't heard that Jack Estridge is very ill?" she
+added.
+
+"No. What is the trouble?"
+
+"Pneumonia. He's a little better to-night."
+
+She heard him utter: "That's terrible. That's a bad business." Then to
+her: "Where is he?"
+
+She told him. He said he'd call at the hospital. But he said nothing
+about seeing her.
+
+"I wondered," came her wistful voice, "whether, perhaps, you would
+dine here alone with me this evening."
+
+"Why do you ask me?"
+
+"Because--I--our last quarrel was so bitter--and I feel the hurt of it
+yet. It hurts even physically, Jim."
+
+"I did not mean to do such a thing to you."
+
+"No, I know you didn't. But that numb sort of pain is always there. I
+can't seem to get rid of it, no matter what I do."
+
+"Are you very busy still?"
+
+"Yes.... I saw--Marya--to-day."
+
+"Is that unusual?" he asked indifferently.
+
+"Yes. I haven't seen her since--since she and Vanya separated."
+
+"Oh! Have they separated?" he asked with such unfeigned surprise that
+the girl's heart leaped wildly.
+
+"Didn't you know it? Didn't Marya tell you?" she asked shivering with
+happiness.
+
+"I haven't seen her since I saw you," he replied.
+
+Palla's right hand flew to her breast and rested there while she
+strove to control her voice. Then:
+
+"Please, Jim, let us forgive and break bread again together. I--" she
+drew a deep, unsteady breath--"I can't tell you how our separation has
+made me feel. I don't quite know what it's done to me, either. Perhaps
+I can understand if I see you--if I could only see you again----"
+
+There ensued a silence so protracted that a shaft of fear struck
+through her. Then his voice, pleasantly collected:
+
+"I'll be around in a few minutes."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+She was scared speechless when the bell rang--when she heard his
+unhurried step on the stair.
+
+Before he was announced by the maid, however, she had understood one
+problem in the scheme of things--realised it as she rose from the
+lounge and held out her slender hand.
+
+He took it and kept it. The maid retired.
+
+"Well, Palla," he said.
+
+"Well," she said, rather breathlessly, "--I know now."
+
+His voice and face seemed amiable and lifeless; his eyes, too,
+remained dull and incurious; but he said: "I don't think I understand.
+What is it you know?"
+
+"Shall I tell you?"
+
+"If you wish."
+
+His pleasant, listless manner chilled her; she hesitated, then turned
+away, withdrawing her hand.
+
+When she had seated herself on the sofa he dropped down beside her in
+his old place. She lighted a cigarette for him.
+
+"Tell me about poor old Jack," he said in a low voice.
+
+Their dinner was a pleasant but subdued affair. Afterward she played
+for him--interrupted once by a telephone call from Ilse, who said that
+John's temperature had risen a degree and the only thing to do was to
+watch him every second. But she refused Palla's offer to join her at
+the hospital, saying that she and the night nurse were sufficient; and
+the girl went slowly back to the piano.
+
+But, somehow, even that seemed too far away from her lover--or the man
+who once had been her avowed lover. And after idling-with the keys for
+a few minutes she came back to the lounge where he was seated.
+
+He looked up from his revery: "This is most comfortable, Palla," he
+said with a slight smile.
+
+"Do you like it?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"You need not go away at all--if it pleases you." Her voice was so
+indistinct that for a moment he did not comprehend what she had said.
+Then he turned and looked at her. Both were pale enough now.
+
+"That is what--what I was going to tell you," she said. "Is it too
+late?"
+
+"Too late!"
+
+"To say that I am--in love with you."
+
+He flushed heavily and looked at her in a dazed way.
+
+"What do you mean?" he said.
+
+"I mean--if you want me--I am--am not afraid any more----"
+
+They had both risen instinctively, as though to face something vital.
+She said:
+
+"Don't ask me to submit to any degrading ceremony.... I love you
+enough."
+
+He said slowly: "Do you realise what you say? You are crazy! You and
+your socialist friends pretend to be fighting anarchy. You preach
+against Bolshevism! You warn the world that the Crimson Tide is
+rising. And every word you utter swells it! _You_ are the anarchists
+yourselves! You are the Bolsheviki of the world! You come bringing
+disorder where there is order; you substitute unproven theory for
+proven practice!
+
+"Like the hun, you come to impose your will on a world already content
+with its own God and its own belief! And that is autocracy; and
+autocracy is what you say you oppose!
+
+"I tell you and your friends that it was not wolves that were
+pupped in the sand of the shaggy Prussian forests when the first
+Hohenzollern was dropped. It was swine! Swine were farrowed;--not
+even _sanglier_, but decadent domestic swine;--when Wilhelm and his
+degenerate litter came out to root up Europe! And _they_ were the
+first real Bolsheviki!"
+
+He turned and began to stride to and fro; his pale, sunken face deeply
+shadowed, his hands clenching and unclenching.
+
+"What in God's name," he said fiercely, "are women like you doing to
+us! What do you suppose happens to such a man as I when the girl he
+loves tells him she cares only to be his mistress! What hope is there
+left in him?--what sense, what understanding, what faith?
+
+"You don't have to tell me that the Crimson Tide is rising. I saw it
+in the Argonne. I wish to God I were back there and the hun was still
+resisting. I wish I had never lived to come back here and see what
+demoralisation is threatening my own country from that cursed germ of
+wilful degeneracy born in the Prussian twilight, fed in Russian
+desolation, infecting the whole world----"
+
+His voice died in his throat; he walked swiftly past her, turned at
+the threshold:
+
+"I've known three of you," he said, "--you and Ilse and Marya. I've
+seen a lot of your associates and acquaintances who profess your
+views. And I've seen enough."
+
+He hesitated; then when he could control his voice again:
+
+"It's bad enough when a woman refuses marriage to a man she does not
+love. That man is going to be unhappy. But have you any idea what
+happens to him when the girl he loves, and who says she cares for him,
+refuses marriage?
+
+"It was terrible even when you cared for me only a little. But--but
+now--do you know what I think of your creed? I hate it as you hated
+the beasts who slew your friend! Damn your creed! To hell with it!"
+
+She covered her face with both hands: there was a noise like thunder
+in her brain.
+
+She heard the door close sharply in the hall below.
+
+This was the end.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+She felt a trifle weak. In her ears there lingered a dull, confused
+sensation, like the echo of things still falling. Something had gone
+very wrong with the scheme of nature. Even beneath her feet, now, the
+floor seemed unsteady, unreliable.
+
+A half-darkness dimmed her eyes; she laid one slim hand on the sofa-back
+and seated herself, fighting instinctively for consciousness.
+
+She sat there for a long while. The swimming faintness passed away. An
+intense stillness seemed to invade her, and the room, and the street
+outside. And for vast distances beyond. Half hours and hours rang
+clearly through the silence from the mantel-clock. So still was the
+place that a sheaf of petals falling from a fading rose on the piano
+seemed to fill the room with ghostly rustling.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+This, then, was the finish. Love had ended. Youth itself was ending,
+too, here in the dead silence of this lamplit room.
+
+There remained nothing more. Except that ever darkening horizon where,
+at the earth's ends, those grave shapes of cloud closed out the vista
+of remote skies.
+
+There seemed to be no shelter anywhere in the vast nakedness of the
+scheme of things--no shadow under which to crouch--no refuge.
+
+Dim visions of cloistered forms, moving in a blessed twilight, grew
+and assumed familiar shape amid the dumb desolation reigning in her
+brain. The spectral temptation passed, repassed; processional,
+recessional glided by, timed by her heart's low rhythm.
+
+But, little by little, she came to understand that there was no refuge
+even there; no mystic glow in the dark corridors of her own heart; no
+source of light save from the candles glimmering on the high altar; no
+aureole above the crucifix.
+
+Always, everywhere, there seemed to be no shelter, no roof above the
+scheme of things.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+She heard the telephone. As she slowly rose from the sofa she noted
+the hour as it sounded;--four o'clock in the morning.
+
+A man's voice was speaking--an unhurried, precise, low-pitched,
+monotonous voice:
+
+"This--is--the--Memorial Hospital. Doctor--Willis--speaking. Mr.--John--
+Estridge--died--at--ten minutes--to--four. Miss Westgard--wishes--to--
+go--to--your--residence--and--remain--over--night--if--convenient....
+Thank you. Miss--Westgard--will--go--to--you--immediately. Good-night."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Palla rose from her chair in the unfurnished drawing-room, went out
+into the hall, admitted Ilse, then locked and chained the two front
+doors.
+
+When she turned around, trembling and speechless, they kissed. But it
+was only Palla's mouth that trembled; and when they mounted the stairs
+it was Ilse's arm that supported Palla.
+
+Except that her eyes were heavy and seemed smeared with deep violet
+under the lower lids, Ilse did not appear very much changed.
+
+She took off her furs, hat, and gloves and sat down beside Palla. Her
+voice was quite clear and steady; there appeared to be no sign of
+shock or of grief, save for a passing tremor of her tired eyes now and
+then.
+
+She said: "We talked a little together, Jack and I, after I telephoned
+to you.
+
+"That was the last. His hand began to burn in mine steadily, like
+something on fire. And when, presently, I found he was not asleep, I
+motioned to the night nurse.
+
+"The change seemed to come suddenly; she went to find one of the
+internes; I sat with my hand on his pulse.... There were three
+physicians there.... Jack was not conscious after midnight."
+
+Palla's lips and throat were dry and aching and her voice almost
+inaudible:
+
+"Darling," she whispered, "--darling--if I could give him back to you
+and take his place!----"
+
+Ilse smiled, but her heavy eyelids quivered:
+
+"The scheme of things is so miserably patched together.... Except for
+the indestructible divinity within each one of us, it all would be so
+hopeless.... I had never been able to imagine Jack and Death
+together--" She looked up at the clock. "He was alive only an hour
+ago.... Isn't it strange--"
+
+"Oh, Ilse, Ilse! I wish this God who deals out such wickedness and
+misery had struck me down instead!"
+
+Neither seemed to notice the agnostic paradox in this bitter cry wrung
+from a young girl's grief.
+
+Ilse closed her eyes as though to rest them, and sat so, her steady
+hand on Palla's. And, so resting, said in her unfaltering voice:
+
+"Jack, of course, lives.... But it seems a long time to wait to see
+him."
+
+"Jack lives," whispered Palla.
+
+"Of course.... Only--it seems so long a time to wait.... I wanted to
+show him--how kind love has been to us--how still more wonderful love
+could have been to us ... for I could have borne him many children....
+And now I shall bear but one."
+
+After a silence, Palla lifted her eyes. In them the shadow of terror
+still lingered; there was not an atom of colour in her face.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ilse slept that night, though Palla scarcely closed her eyes. Dreadful
+details of the coming day rose up to haunt her--all the ghastly
+routine necessary before the dead lie finally undisturbed by the stir
+and movement of many footsteps--the coming and going of the living.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Because what they called pneumonia was the Black Death of the ancient
+East, they had warned Ilse to remain aloof from that inert thing that
+had been her lover. So she did not look upon his face again.
+
+There were relatives of sorts at the chapel. None spoke to her. The
+sunshine on the flower-covered casket was almost spring like.
+
+And in the cemetery, too, there was no snow; and, under the dead
+grass, everywhere new herbage tinted the earth with delicate green.
+
+Ilse returned from the cemetery with Palla. Her black veil and
+garments made of her gold hair and blond skin a vivid beauty that
+grief had not subdued.
+
+That deathless courage which was part of her seemed to sustain the
+clear glow of her body's vigour as it upheld her dauntless spirit.
+
+"Did you see Jim in the chapel?" she asked quietly.
+
+Palla nodded. She had seen Marya, also. After a little while Ilse said
+gravely:
+
+"I think it no treachery to creed when one submits to the equally
+vital belief of another. I think our creed includes submission,
+because that also is part of love."
+
+Palla lifted her face in flushed surprise:
+
+"Is there any compromising with truth?" she asked.
+
+"I think love is the greatest truth. What difference does it make how
+we love?"
+
+"Does not our example count? You had the courage of your belief. Do
+you counsel me to subscribe to what I do not believe by acquiescing in
+it?"
+
+Ilse closed her sea-blue eyes as though fatigued. She said dreamily:
+
+"I think that to believe in love and mating and the bearing of
+children is the only important belief in the world. But under what
+local laws you go about doing these things seems to be of minor
+importance,--a matter, I should say, of personal inclination."
+
+Ilse wished to go home. That is, to her own apartment, where now were
+enshrined all her memories of this dead man who had given to her
+womanhood that ultimate crown which in her eyes seemed perfect.
+
+She said serenely to Palla: "Mine is not the loneliness that craves
+company with the living. I have a long time to wait; that is all. And
+after a while I shall not wait alone.
+
+"So you must not grieve for me, darling. You see I know that Jack
+lives. It's just the long, long wait that calls for courage. But I
+think it is a little easier to wait alone until--until there are two
+to wait--for him----"
+
+"Will you call me when you want me, Ilse?"
+
+"Always, darling. Don't grieve. Few women know happiness. I have known
+it. I know it now. It shall not even die with me."
+
+She smiled faintly and turned to enter her doorway; and Palla
+continued on alone toward that dwelling which she called home.
+
+The mourning which she had worn for her aunt, and which she had worn
+for John Estridge that morning, she now put off, although vaguely
+inclined for it. But she shrank from the explanations in which it was
+certain she must become involved when on duty at the Red Cross and the
+canteen that afternoon.
+
+Undressed, she sent her maid for a cup of tea, feeling too tired for
+luncheon. Afterward she lay down on her bed, meaning merely to close
+her eyes for a moment.
+
+It was after four in the afternoon when she sat up with a start--too
+late for the Red Cross; but she could do something at the canteen.
+
+She went about dressing as though bruised. It seemed to take an
+interminable time. Her maid called a taxi; but the short winter
+daylight had nearly gone when she arrived at the canteen.
+
+She remained there on kitchen duty until seven, then untied her white
+tablier, washed, pinned on her hat, and went out into the light-shot
+darkness of the streets and turned her steps once more toward home.
+
+There is, among the weirder newspapers of the metropolis, a sheet
+affectionately known as "pink-and-punk," the circulation of which
+seems to depend upon its distribution of fake "extras."
+
+As Palla turned into her street, shabby men with hoarse voices were
+calling an extra and selling the newspaper in question.
+
+She bought one, glanced at the headlines, then, folding it, unlocked
+her door.
+
+Dinner was announced almost immediately, but she could not touch it.
+
+She sank down on the sofa, still wearing her furs and hat. After a
+little while she opened her newspaper.
+
+It seemed that a Bolsheviki plot had been discovered to murder the
+premiers and rulers of the allied nations, and to begin simultaneously
+in every capital and principal city of Europe and America a reign of
+murder and destruction.
+
+In fact, according to the account printed in startling type, the
+Terrorists had already begun their destructive programme in
+Philadelphia. Half a dozen buildings--private dwellings and one small
+hotel--had been more or less damaged by bombs. A New York man named
+Wilding, fairly well known as an impresario, had been killed outright;
+and a Russian pianist, Vanya Tchernov, who had just arrived in
+Philadelphia to complete arrangements for a concert to be given by him
+under Mr. Wilding's management, had been fatally injured by the
+collapse of the hotel office which, at that moment, he was leaving in
+company with Mr. Wilding.
+
+A numbness settled over Palla's brain. She did not seem to be able
+to comprehend that this affair concerned Vanya--that this newspaper
+was telling her that Vanya had been fatally hurt somewhere in
+Philadelphia.
+
+Hours later, while she was lying on the lounge with her face buried in
+the cushions, and still wearing her hat and furs, somebody came into
+the room. And when she turned over she saw it was Ilse.
+
+Palla sat up stupidly, the marks of tears still glistening under her
+eyes. Ilse picked up the newspaper from the couch, laid it aside, and
+seated herself.
+
+"So you know about Vanya?" she said calmly.
+
+Palla nodded.
+
+"You don't know all. Marya called me on the telephone a few minutes
+ago to tell me."
+
+"Vanya is dead," whispered Palla.
+
+"Yes. They found an unmailed letter directed to Marya in his pockets.
+That's why they notified her."
+
+After an interval: "So Vanya is dead," repeated Palla under her
+breath.
+
+Ilse sat plaiting the black edges of her handkerchief.
+
+"It's such a--a senseless interruption--death----" she murmured. "It
+seems so wanton, so meaningless in the scheme of things ... to make
+two people wait so long--so long!--to resume where they had been
+interrupted----"
+
+Palla asked coldly whether Marya had seemed greatly shocked.
+
+"I don't know, Palla. She called me up and told me. I asked her if
+there was anything I could do; and she answered rather strangely that
+what remained for her to do she would do alone. I don't know what she
+meant."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Whether Marya herself knew exactly what she meant seemed not to be
+entirely clear to her. For, when Mr. Puma, dressed in a travelling
+suit and carrying a satchel, arrived at her apartment in the Hotel
+Rajah, and entered the reception room with his soundless, springy
+step, she came out of her bedroom partly dressed, and still hooking
+her waist.
+
+"What are you doing here?" she demanded contemptuously, looking him
+over from, head to foot. "Did you really suppose I meant to go to
+Mexico with you?"
+
+His heavy features crimsoned: "What pleasantry is this, my Marya?----"
+he began; but the green blaze in her slanting eyes silenced him.
+
+"The difference," she said, "between us is this. You run from those
+who threaten you. I kill them."
+
+"Of--of what nonsense are you speaking!" he stammered. "All is
+arranged that we shall go at eleven----"
+
+"No," she said wearily, "one sometimes plays with stray animals for a
+few moments--and that is all. And that is all I ever saw in you,
+Angelo--a stray beast to amuse and entertain me between two yawns and
+a cup of tea." She shrugged, still twisted lithely in her struggle to
+hook her waist. "You may go," she added, not even looking at him, "or,
+if you are not too cowardly, you may come with me to the Red Flag
+Club."
+
+"In God's name what do you mean----"
+
+"Mean? I mean to take my pistol to the Red Flag Club and kill some
+Bolsheviki. That is what I mean, my Angelo--my ruddy Eurasian pig!"
+
+She slipped in the last hook, turned and enveloped him again with an
+insolent, slanting glance: "_Allons!_ Do you come to the Red Flag?"
+
+"Marya----"
+
+"Yes or no! _Allez!_"
+
+"My God, are--are you then demented?" he faltered.
+
+"My God, I'm not," she mimicked him, "but I can't answer for what I
+might do to you if you hang around this apartment any longer."
+
+She came slowly toward him, her hands bracketed on her hips, her
+strange eyes narrowing.
+
+"Listen to me," she said. "I have loved many times. But never _you_!
+One doesn't love your kind. One experiments, possibly, if idle.
+
+"A man died to-day whom I loved; but was too stupid to love enough.
+Perhaps he knows now how stupid I am.... Unless they blew his soul to
+pieces, also. _Allez!_ Good-night. I tell you I have business to
+attend to, and you stand there rolling your woman's eyes at me!----"
+
+"Damn you!" he said between his teeth. "What is the matter with
+you----"
+
+He had caught her arm; she wrenched it free, tearing the sleeve to her
+naked shoulder.
+
+Then she went to her desk and took a pistol from an upper drawer.
+
+"If you don't go," she said, "I shall have to shoot you and leave you
+here kicking on the carpet."
+
+"In God's name, Marya!" he cried hoarsely, "who is it you shall kill
+at the hall?"
+
+"I shall kill Sondheim and Bromberg and Kastner, I hope. What of it?"
+
+"But--if I go to-night--the others will say _I_ did it! I can't run
+away if you do such thing! I can not go into Mexico but they shall
+arrest me before I am at the border----"
+
+"Eurasian pig, I shall admit the killing!" she said with a green gleam
+in her eyes that perhaps was laughter.
+
+"Yes, my Marya," he explained in agony, the sweat pouring from his
+temples, "but if they think me your accomplice they shall arrest me.
+Me--I can not wait--I shall be ruined if I am arrest! You do not
+comprehend. I have not said it to you how it is that I am compel to
+travel with some money which--which is not--my own."
+
+Marya looked at him for a long while. Suddenly she flung the pistol
+into a corner, threw back her head while peal on peal of laughter rang
+out in the room.
+
+"A thief," she said, fairly holding her slender sides between gemmed
+fingers: "--Just a Levantine thief, after all! Not a thing to shoot.
+Not a man. No! But a giant cockroach from the tropics. Ugh! Too large
+to place one's foot upon!----"
+
+She came leisurely forward, halted, inspected him with laughing
+insolence:
+
+"And the others--Kastner, Sondheim--and the other vermin? You were
+quite right. Why should I kill them--merely because to-day a real man
+died? What if they are the same species of vermin that slew Vanya
+Tchernov? They are not men to pay for it. My pistol could not make a
+dead man out of a live louse! No, you are quite correct. You know your
+own kind. It would be no compliment to Vanya if I should give these
+vermin the death that real men die!"
+
+Puma stood close to the door, furtively passing a thick tongue over
+his dry, blanched lips.
+
+"Then you will not interfere?" he asked softly.
+
+She shrugged her shoulders: one was bare with the torn sleeve
+dangling. "No," she said wearily. "Run home, painted pig. After all,
+the world is mostly swine.... I, too, it seems----" She half raised
+her arms, but the gesture failed, and she stood thinking again and
+staring at the curtained window. She did not hear him leave.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+
+In the strange, springlike weather which prevailed during the last
+days of January, Vanya was buried under skies as fleecy blue as
+April's, and Marya Lanois went back to the studio apartment where she
+and Vanya had lived together. And here, alone, in the first month of
+the new year, she picked up again the ravelled threads of life,
+undecided whether to untangle them or to cut them short and move on
+once more to further misadventure; or to Vanya; or somewhere--or
+perhaps nowhere. So, pending some decision, she left her pistol
+loaded.
+
+Afternoon sunshine poured into the studio between antique silken
+curtains, now drawn wide to the outer day for the first time since
+these two young people had established for themselves a habitation.
+
+And what, heretofore, even the lighted mosque-lamps had scarcely half
+revealed, now lay exposed to outer air and daylight, gilded by the
+sun--cabinets and chests of ancient lacquer; deep-toned carpets in
+which slumbered jewelled fires of Asia; carved gods from the East,
+crusted with soft gold; and tapestries of silk shot with amethyst and
+saffron, centred by dragons and guarded by the burning pearl.
+
+Over all these, and the great mosque lantern drooping from above, the
+false-spring sunshine fell; and through every open window flowed soft,
+deceptive winds, fluttering the leaves of music on the piano,
+stirring the clustered sheafs of growing jonquils and narcissus, so
+that they swayed in their Chinese bowls.
+
+Marya, in black, arranged her tiger-ruddy hair before an ancient
+grotesquerie set with a reflecting glass in which, on some days, one
+could see the form of the Lord Buddha, though none could ever tell
+from whence the image came.
+
+Where Vanya had left his music opened on the piano rack, the sacred
+pages now stirred slightly as the soft wind blew; and scented bells of
+Frisia swayed and bowed around a bowl where gold-fish glowed.
+
+Marya, at the piano, reading at sight from his inked manuscript, came
+presently to the end of what was scored there--merely the first sketch
+for a little spring song.
+
+Some day she would finish it as part of a new debt--new obligations
+she had now assumed in the slowly increasing light of new beliefs.
+
+As she laid Vanya's last manuscript aside, under it she discovered one
+of her own--a cynical, ribald, pencilled parody which she remembered
+she had scribbled there in an access of malicious perversity.
+
+As though curious to sound the obscurer depths of what she had been
+when this jeering cynicism expressed her mood, she began to read from
+her score and words, playing and intoning:
+
+                            "CROQUE-MITAINE.
+
+              "Parfait qu'on attend La Maree Rouge,
+               La chose est positive.
+               On n'sait pas quand el' bouge,
+               Mais on sait qu'el' arrive.
+                  La Maree Rouge arrivera
+                  Et tout le monde en crevera!
+
+              "Croque'morts, sacristains et abbes,
+               Dans leurs sacre's boutiques
+               Se cachent aupres des machabe's
+               En repetant des cantiques.
+               Pape, cardinal, et sacre soeur
+               Miaulent avec tout leurs cliques,
+               Lorsque les Bolsheviks reprenn 'nt en choeur;
+                  Mort aux saligaudes chic!
+
+              "La Maree Rouge montera
+               Et la bourgeoisie en crevera!"
+
+The vicious irony of the atrocious parody--words and music--died out
+in the sunny silence: for a few moments the girl sat staring at the
+scored page; then she leaned forward, and, taking the manuscript in
+both hands, tore it into pieces.
+
+She was still occupied in destroying the unclean thing when a servant
+appeared, and in subdued voice announced Palla and Ilse.
+
+They came in as Marya swept the tattered scraps of paper into an
+incense-bowl, dropped a lighted match upon them, and set the ancient
+bronze vessel on the sill of the open window.
+
+"Some of my vileness I am burning," she said, coming forward and
+kissing Ilse on both cheeks.
+
+Then, looking Palla steadily in the eyes, she bent forward and touched
+her lips with her own.
+
+"Nechevo," she said; "the thing that dwelt within me for a time has
+continued on its way to hell, I hope."
+
+She took the pale girl by both hands: "Do you understand?"
+
+And Palla kissed her.
+
+When they were seated: "What religious order would be likely to accept
+me?" she asked serenely. And answered her own question: "None would
+tolerate me--no order with its rigid systems of inquiry and its
+merciless investigations.... And yet--I wonder.... Perhaps, as a
+lay-sister in some missionary order--where few care to serve--where
+life resembles death as one twin the other.... I don't know: I wonder,
+Palla."
+
+Palla asked her in a low voice if she had seen the afternoon paper.
+Marya did not reply at once; but presently over her face a hot
+rose-glow spread and deepened. Then, after a silence:
+
+"The paper mentioned me as Vanya's wife. Is that what you mean? Yes; I
+told them that.... It made no difference, for they would have
+discovered it anyway. And I scarcely know why I made Vanya lie about
+it to you all;--why I wished people to think otherwise.... Because I
+have been married to Vanya since the beginning.... And I can not
+explain why I have not told you."
+
+She touched a rosebud in the vase that stood beside her, broke the
+stem absently, and sat examining it in silence. And, after a few
+moments:
+
+"As a child I was too imaginative.... We do not change--we women.
+Married, unmarried, too wise, or too innocent, we remain what we were
+when our mothers bore us.... Whatever we do, we never change within:
+we remain, in our souls, what we first were. And unaltered we die....
+In morgue or prison or Potter's Field, where lies a dead female thing
+in a tattered skirt, there, hidden somewhere under rag and skin and
+bone, lies a dead girl-child."
+
+She laid the unopened rosebud on Palla's knees; her preoccupied gaze
+wandered around that silent, sunlit place.
+
+"I could have taken my pistol," she said softly, "and I could have
+killed a few among those whose doctrines at last slew Vanya.... Or I
+could have killed myself."
+
+She turned and her remote gaze came back to fix itself on Palla.
+
+"But, somehow, I think that Vanya would grieve.... And he has grieved
+enough. Do you think so, Palla?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Ilse said thoughtfully: "There is always enough death on earth. And to
+live honestly, and love undauntedly, and serve humanity with a clean
+heart is the most certain way to help the slaying of that thing which
+murdered Vanya."
+
+Palla gazed at Marya, profoundly preoccupied by the astounding
+revelation that she had been Vanya's legal wife; and in her brown eyes
+the stunned wonder of it still remained, nor could she seem to think
+of anything except of that amazing fact.
+
+When they stood up to take leave of Marya, the rosebud dropped from
+Palla's lap, and Marya picked it up and offered it again.
+
+"It should open," she said, her strange smile glimmering. "Cold water
+and a little salt, my Palla--that is all rosebuds need--that is all we
+women need--a little water to cool and freshen us; a little salt for
+all the doubtful worldly knowledge we imbibe."
+
+She took Palla's hands and bent her lips to them, then lifted her
+tawny head:
+
+"What do words matter? _Slava, slava_, under the moon! Words are
+but symbols of needs--your need and Ilse's and mine--and Jack's
+and Vanya's--and the master-word differs as differ our several
+needs. And if I say Christ and Buddha and I are one, let me so
+believe, if that be my need. Or if, from some high minarette, I
+lift my voice proclaiming the unity of God!--or if I confess the
+Trinity!--or if, for me, the god-fire smoulders only within my own
+accepted soul--what does it matter? Slava, slava--the word and the
+need spell Love--whatever the deed, Palla--my Palla!--whatever the
+deed, and despite it."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+As they came, together, to Palla's house and entered the empty
+drawing-room, Ilse said:
+
+"In mysticism there seems to be no reasoning--nothing definite save
+only an occult and overwhelming restlessness.... Marya may take the
+veil ... or nurse lepers ... or she may become a famous courtesan....
+I do not mean it cruelly. But, in the mystic, the spiritual, the
+intellectual and the physical seem to be interchangeable, and become
+gradually indistinguishable."
+
+"That is a frightful analysis," murmured Palla. A little shiver passed
+over her and she laid the rosebud against her lips.
+
+Ilse said: "Marya is right: love is the world's overwhelming need. The
+way to love is to serve; and if we serve we must renounce something."
+
+They locked arms and began to pace the empty room.
+
+"What should I renounce?" asked Palla faintly.
+
+Ilse smiled that wise, wholesome smile of hers:
+
+"Suppose you renounce your own omniscience, darling," she suggested.
+
+"I do not think myself omniscient," retorted the girl, colouring.
+
+"No? Well, darling, from where then do you derive your authority to
+cancel the credentials of the Most High?"
+
+"What!"
+
+"On what authority except your own omniscience do you so confidently
+preach the non-existence of omnipotence?"
+
+Palla turned her flushed face in sensitive astonishment under the
+gentle mockery.
+
+Ilse said: "Love has many names; and so has God. And all are good. If,
+to you, God means that little flame within you, then that is good. And
+so, to others, according to their needs.... And it is the same with
+love.... So, if for the man you love, love can be written only as a
+phrase--if the word love be only one element in a trinity of which the
+other two are Law and Wedlock--does it really matter, darling?"
+
+"You mean I--I am to renounce my--creed?"
+
+Ilse shook her head: "Who cares? The years develop and change
+everything--even creeds. Do you think your lover would care whether,
+at twenty-odd, you worship the flaming godhead itself, or whether
+you guard in spirit that lost spark from it which has become
+entangled with your soul?--whether you really do believe the man-made
+law that licenses your mating; or whether you reject it as a silly
+superstition? To a business man, convention is merely a safe
+procedure which, ignored, causes disaster--he knows that whenever
+he ignores it--as when he drives a car bearing no license; and the
+police stop him."
+
+"I never expected to hear this from you, Ilse."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"You are unmarried."
+
+"No, Palla."
+
+The girl stared at her: "Did you _marry_ Jack?" she gasped.
+
+"Yes. In the hospital."
+
+"Oh, Ilse!----"
+
+"He asked me."
+
+"But--" her mouth quivered and she bent her head and placed her hand
+on Ilse's arm for guidance, because the starting tears were
+blinding her now. And at last she found her voice: "I meant I am so
+thankful--darling--it's been a--a nightmare----"
+
+"It would have been one to me if I had refused him. Except that Jack
+wished it, I did not care.... But I have lately learned--some
+things."
+
+"You--you consented because he wished it?"
+
+"Of course. Is not that our law?"
+
+"Do you so construe the Law of Love and Service? Does it permit us to
+seek protection under false pretences; to say yes when we mean no; to
+kneel before a God we do not believe in; to accept immunity under a
+law we do not believe in?"
+
+"If all this concerned only one's self, then, no! Or, if the man
+believed as we do, no! But even then--" she shook her head slowly,
+"unless _all_ agree, it is unfair."
+
+"Unfair?"
+
+"Yes, it is unfair if you have a baby. Isn't it, darling? Isn't it
+unfair and tyrannical?"
+
+"You mean that a child should not arbitrarily be placed by its parents
+at what it might later consider a disadvantage?"
+
+"Of course I mean just that. Do you know, Palla, what Jack once said
+of us? He said--rather brutally, I thought--that you and I were
+immaturely un-moral and pitiably unbaked; and that the best thing for
+both of us was to marry and have a few children before we tried to do
+any more independent thinking."
+
+Palla's reply was: "He was such a dear!" But what she said did not
+seem absurd to either of them.
+
+Ilse added: "You know yourself, darling, what a relief it was to you
+to learn that I had married Jack. I think you even said something
+like, 'Thank God,' when you were choking back the tears."
+
+Palla flushed brightly: "I meant--" but her voice ended in a sob.
+Then, all of a sudden, she broke down--went all to pieces there in the
+dim and empty little drawing-room--down on her knees, clinging to
+Ilse's skirts....
+
+She wished to go to her room alone; and so Ilse, watching her climb
+the stairs as though they led to some dread calvary, opened the front
+door and went her lonely way, drawing the mourning veil around her
+face and throat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+
+Leila Vance, lunching with Elorn Sharrow at the Ritz, spoke of
+Estridge:
+
+"There seem to be so many of these well-born men who marry women we
+never heard of."
+
+"Perhaps we ought to have heard of them," suggested Elorn, smilingly.
+"The trouble may lie with us."
+
+"It does, dear. But it's something we can't help, unless we change
+radically. Because we don't stand the chance we once did. We never
+have been as attractive to men as the other sort. But once men thought
+they couldn't marry the other sort. Now they think they can. And they
+do if they have to."
+
+"What other sort?" asked Elorn, not entirely understanding.
+
+"The sort of girl who ignores the customs which make us what we are.
+We don't stand a chance with professional women any more. We don't
+compare in interest to girls who are arbiters of their own destinies.
+
+"Take the stage as an illustration. Once the popularity of women who
+made it their profession was due partly to glamour, partly because
+that art drew to it and concentrated the very best-looking among us.
+But it's something else now that attracts men; it's the attraction of
+women who are doing something--clever, experienced, interesting, girls
+who know how to take care of themselves and who are not afraid to give
+to men a frank and gay companionship outside those conventional
+limits which circumscribe us."
+
+Elorn nodded.
+
+"It's quite true," said Leila. "The independent professional girl
+to-day, whatever art or business engages her, is the paramount
+attraction to men.
+
+"A few do sneak back to us after a jolly caper in the open--a few
+timid ones, or snobs of sorts--thrifty, perhaps, or otherwise
+material, or cautious. But that's about all we get as husbands in
+these devilish days of general feminine _bouleversement_. And it's a
+sad and instructive fact, Elorn. But there seems to be nothing to do
+about it."
+
+Elorn said musingly: "The main thing seems to be that men admire a
+girl's effort to get somewhere--when she happens to be good-looking."
+
+"It's a cynical fact, dear; they certainly do. And now that they
+realise they have to marry these girls if they want them--why, they
+do."
+
+Elorn dissected her ice. "You know Stanley Wardner," she remarked.
+
+"Mortimer Wardner's son?"
+
+Elorn nodded. "He became a queer kind of sculptor. I think it is
+called a Concentrationist. Well, he's concentrated for life, now."
+
+"Whom did he marry?" asked Leila, laughing.
+
+"A girl named Questa Terrett. You never heard of her, did you?"
+
+"No. And I can imagine the moans and groans of the Mortimer
+Wardners."
+
+"I have heard so. She lives--_they_ live now, together, in Abdingdon
+Square, where she possesses a studio and nearly a dozen West Highland
+terriers."
+
+"What else does she do?" inquired Leila, still laughing.
+
+"She writes cleverly when she needs an income; otherwise, she produces
+obscure poems with malice aforethought, and laughs in her sleeve, they
+say, when the precious-minded rave."
+
+Leila reverted to Estridge:
+
+"I had no idea he was married," she said. "Palla Dumont introduced his
+widow to me the other day--a most superb and beautiful creature. But,
+oh dear I--can you fancy her having once served as a girl-soldier in
+the Russian Battalion of Death!"
+
+The slightest shadow crossed Elorn's face.
+
+"By the way," added Leila, following quite innocently her trend of
+thought, "Helen Shotwell tells me that her son is going back to the
+army if he can secure a commission."
+
+"Yes, I believe so," said Elorn serenely.
+
+Leila went on: "I fancy there'll be a lot of them. A taste of service
+seems to spoil most young men for a piping career of peace."
+
+"He cares nothing for his business."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Real estate. He is with my father, you know."
+
+"Of course. I remember--" She suddenly seemed to recollect something
+else, also--not, perhaps, quite certain of it, but instinctively
+playing safe. So she refrained from saying anything about this young
+man's recent devotion to her friend, Palla Dumont, although that was
+the subject which she had intended to introduce.
+
+And, smiling to herself, she thought it a close call, because she had
+meant to ask Elorn whether she knew why the Shotwell boy had so
+entirely deserted her little friend Palla.
+
+The Shotwell boy himself happened to be involved at that very moment,
+in matters concerning a friend of Mrs. Vance's little friend Palla--in
+fact, he had been trying, for the last half hour, to find this friend
+of Palla's on the telephone. The friend in question was Alonzo D.
+Pawling. And he was being vigorously paged at the Hotel Rajah.
+
+As for Jim, he remained seated in the private office of Angelo Puma,
+whither he had been summoned in professional capacity by one Skidder,
+the same being Elmer, and partner of the Puma aforesaid.
+
+The door was locked; the room in disorder. Safe, letter-files,
+cupboards, desks had been torn open and their contents littered the
+place.
+
+Skidder, in an agony of perspiring fright, kept running about the room
+like a distracted squirrel. Jim watched him, darkly preoccupied with
+other things, including the whereabouts of Mr. Pawling.
+
+"You say," he said to Skidder, "that Mr. Pawling will confirm what you
+have told me?"
+
+"John D. Pawling knows damn well I own this plant!"
+
+Jim shook his head: "I'm sorry, but that isn't sufficient. I can only
+repeat to you that there is no point in calling me in at present. You
+have no legal right to offer this property for sale. It belongs,
+apparently, to the creditors of your firm. What you require first of
+all is a lawyer----"
+
+"I don't want a lawyer and I don't want publicity before I get
+something out of this dirty mess that scoundrel left behind!" cried
+Skidder, snapping his eyes like mad and swinging his arms. "I got to
+get something, haven't I? Isn't this property mine? Can't I sell it?"
+
+"Apparently not, under the terms of your agreement with Puma,"
+replied Jim, wearily. "However, I'm willing to hear what Mr. Pawling
+has to say."
+
+"You mean to tell me, Puma fixed it so I'm stuck with all his debts?
+You mean to say my own personal property is subject to seizure to
+satisfy----"
+
+"I certainly do mean just that, Mr. Skidder. But I'm not a lawyer----"
+
+"I tell you I want to get something for myself before I let loose any
+lawyers on the premises! I'll make it all right with you----"
+
+"It's out of the question. We wouldn't touch the property----"
+
+"I'll take a quarter of its value in spot cash! I'll give you ten
+thousand to put it through to-day!"
+
+"Why can't you understand that what you suggest would amount to
+collusion?"
+
+"What I propose is to get a slice of what's mine!" yelled Skidder,
+fairly dancing with fury. "D'yeh think I'm going to let that crooked
+wop, Puma, do this to me just like that! D'yeh think he's going to get
+away with all my money and all Pawling's money and leave me planted on
+my neck while about a million other guys come and sell me out and fill
+their pants pockets with what's mine?"
+
+Jim said: "If Mr. Pawling is the very rich man you say he is, he's not
+going to let the defalcation of this fellow, Puma, destroy such a
+paying property."
+
+"Damn it, I don't want him to buy it in for himself and freeze me out!
+I can't stop him, either; Puma's got all my money except what's in
+this parcel. And you betcha life I hang onto this, creditors or no
+creditors, and Pawling to the contrary! He knows damn well it belongs
+to me. Try him again at the Rajah----"
+
+"They're paging him. I left the number. But I tell you the proper
+thing for you to do is to go to a lawyer, and then to the police,"
+repeated Jim. "There's nothing else to do. This fellow, Puma, may have
+run for the Mexican border, or he may still be in the United States.
+Without a passport he couldn't very easily get on any trans-Atlantic
+boat or any South American boat either. The proper procedure is to
+notify the police----"
+
+"Nix on the police!" shouted Skidder. "That'll start the land-slide,
+and the whole shooting-match will go. I want _this_ property. If the
+papers show it's subject to the firm's liabilities, then that dirty
+skunk altered the thing. It's forgery.
+
+"I never was fool enough to lump this parcel in with our assets. Not
+me. It's forgery; that's what it is, and this parcel belongs to me,
+privately----"
+
+"See an attorney," repeated Jim patiently. "You can't keep a thing
+like this out of the papers, Mr. Skidder. Why, here's a man, Angelo
+Puma, who pounces on every convertible asset of his firm, stuffs a
+valise full of real money, and beats it for parts unknown.
+
+"That's a matter for the police. You can't hope to hide it for more
+than a day or two longer. Your firm is bankrupt through the rascality
+of a partner. He's gone with all the money he could scrape together.
+He converted everything into cash; he lied, swindled, stole, and
+skipped. And what he didn't take must remain to satisfy the firm's
+creditors. You can't conceal conditions, slyly pocket what Puma has
+left and then call in an attorney. That's criminal. You have your
+contracts to fulfil; you have a studio full of people whose salaries
+are nearly due; you have running expenses; you have notes to meet; you
+have obligations to face when a dozen or so contractors for your new
+theatre come to you on Saturday----"
+
+"You mean that's all up to me?" shrieked Skidder, squinting horribly
+at a framed photograph of Puma. And suddenly he ran at it and hurled
+it to the floor and began to kick it about with strange, provincial
+maledictions:
+
+"Dern yeh, yeh poor blimgasted thing! I'll skin yeh, yeh dumb-faced,
+ring-boned, two-edged son-of-a-skunk!----"
+
+The telephone's clamour silenced him. Jim answered:
+
+"Who? Oh, long-distance. All right." And he waited. Then, again: "Who
+wants him?... Yes, he's here in the office, now.... Yes, he'll come to
+the 'phone."
+
+And to Skidder: "Shadow Hill wants to speak to you."
+
+"I won't go. By God, if this thing is out!--Who the hell is it wants
+to speak to me? Wait! Maybe it's Alonzo D. Pawling!----"
+
+"Shall I inquire?" And he asked for further information over the wire.
+Then, presently, and turning again to Skidder:
+
+"You'd better come to the wire. It seems to be the Chief of Police who
+wants you."
+
+Skidder's unhealthy skin became ghastly. He came over and took the
+instrument:
+
+"What d'ye want, Chief? Sure it's me, Elmer.... Hey? Who? Alonzo D.
+Pawling? My God, is he dead? Took _pizen_! W-what for! He's a rich
+man, ain't he?... Speculated?... You say he took the bank's funds?
+Trust funds? What!" he screeched--"put 'em into _my_ company! He's a
+liar! ... I don't care what letters he left!... Well, all right
+then. Sure, I'll get a lawyer----"
+
+"Tell him to hold that wire!" cut in Jim; and took the receiver from
+Skidder's shaking fingers.
+
+"Is the Shadow Hill Trust Company insolvent?" he asked. "You say that
+the bank closed its doors this morning? Have you any idea of its
+condition? Looted? Is it entirely cleaned out? Is there no chance for
+depositors? I wish to inquire about the trust funds, bonds and other
+investments belonging to a friend of mine, Miss Dumont.... Yes, I'll
+wait."
+
+He turned a troubled and sombre gaze toward Skidder, who sat there
+pasty-faced, with sagging jaw, staring back at him. And presently:
+
+"Yes.... Yes, this is Mr. Shotwell, a friend of Miss Dumont....
+Yes.... Yes.... Yes.... I see.... Yes, I shall try to communicate with
+her immediately.... Yes, I suppose the news will be published in the
+evening papers.... Certainly.... Yes, I have no doubt that she will go
+at once to Shadow Hill.... Thank you.... Yes, it does seem rather
+hopeless.... I'll try to find her and break it to her.... Thank you.
+Good-bye."
+
+He hung up the receiver, took his hat and coat, his eyes fixed
+absently on Skidder.
+
+"You'd better beat it to your attorney," he remarked, and went out.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+He could not find Palla. She was not at the Red Cross, not at the
+canteen, not at the new Hostess House.
+
+He telephoned Ilse for information, but she was not at home.
+
+Twice he called at Palla's house, leaving a message the last time
+that she should telephone him at the club on her arrival.
+
+He went to the club and waited there, trying to read. At a quarter to
+six o'clock no message from her had come.
+
+Again he telephoned Ilse; she had not returned. He even telephoned to
+Marya, loath to disturb her; but she, also, was not at home.
+
+The chances that he could break the news to Palla before she read it
+in the evening paper were becoming negligible. He had done his best to
+forestall them. But at six the evening papers arrived at the club. And
+in every one of them was an account of the defalcation and suicide of
+the Honorable Alonzo D. Pawling, president of the Shadow Hill Trust
+Company. But nothing yet concerning the defalcation and disappearance
+of Angelo Puma.
+
+Jim had no inclination to eat, but he tried to at seven-thirty, still
+waiting and hoping for a message from Palla.
+
+He tried her house again about half past eight. This time the maid
+answered that Miss Dumont had telephoned from down town that she would
+dine out and go afterward to the Combat Club. And that if Mr. Shotwell
+desired to see her he should call at her house after ten o'clock.
+
+So Jim hastened to the cloak-room, got his hat and coat, found the
+starter, secured a taxi, bought an evening paper and stuffed it into
+his pocket, and started out to find Palla at the Combat Club. For it
+seemed evident to him that she had not yet read the evening paper; and
+he hoped he might yet encounter her in time to prepare her for news
+which, according to the newspapers, appeared even blacker than he had
+supposed it might be.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+
+As he left the taxi in front of the dirty brick archway and flight of
+steps leading to the hall, where he expected to find Palla, he noticed
+a small crowd of wrangling foreigners gathered there--men and
+women--and a policeman posted near, calm and indifferent, juggling his
+club at the end of its leather thong.
+
+Jim paused to inquire if there had been any trouble there that
+evening.
+
+"Well," said the policeman, "there's two talking-clubs that chew
+the rag in that joint. It's the Reds' night, but wan o' the ladies
+of the other club showed up--Miss Dumont--and the Reds yonder was all
+for chasing her out. So we run in a couple of 'em--that feller
+Sondheim and another called Bromberg. They're wanted, anyhow, in
+Philadelphia."
+
+"Is there a meeting inside?"
+
+"Sure. The young lady went in to settle it peaceful like; and she's
+inside now jawin' at them Reds to beat a pink tea."
+
+"Do you apprehend any violence?" asked Jim uneasily.
+
+The policeman juggled his club and eyed him. "I--guess--not," he
+drawled. And, to the jabbering, wrangling crowd on pavement and steps:
+"--Hey, you! Go in or stay out, one or the other, now! Step lively;
+you're blockin' the sidewalk."
+
+A number of people mounted the steps and went in with Jim. As the
+doors to the hall opened, a flare of smoky light struck him, and he
+pushed his way into the hall, where a restless, murmuring audience,
+some seated, others standing, was watching a number of men and women
+on the rostrum.
+
+There seemed to be more wrangling going on there--knots of people
+disputing and apparently quite oblivious of the audience.
+
+And almost immediately he caught sight of Palla on the platform. But
+even before he could take a step forward in the crowded aisle, he saw
+her force her way out of an excited group of people and come to the
+edge of the platform, lifting a slim hand for silence.
+
+"Put her out!" shouted some man's voice. A dozen other voices bawled
+out incoherencies; Palla waited; and after a moment or two there were
+no further interruptions.
+
+"Please let me say what I have to say," she said in that shy and
+gentle way she had when facing hostile listeners.
+
+"Speak louder!" yelled a young man. "Come on, silk-stockings!--spit it
+out and go home to mother!"
+
+"I wish I could," she said.
+
+Her rejoinder was so odd and unexpected that stillness settled over
+the place.
+
+"But all I can do," she added, in an even, colourless voice, "is to go
+home. And I shall do that after I have said what I have to say."
+
+At that moment there was a commotion in the rear of the hall. A dozen
+policemen filed into the place, pushing their way right and left and
+ranging themselves along the wall. Their officer came into the aisle:
+
+"If there's any disorder in this place to-night, I'll run in the whole
+bunch o' ye!" he said calmly.
+
+"All right. Hit out, little girl!" cried the young man who had
+interrupted before. "We gotta lot of business to fix up after you've
+gone to bed, so get busy!"
+
+"I, also, have some business to fix up," she said in the same sweet,
+emotionless voice, "--business of setting myself right by admitting
+that I have been wrong.
+
+"Because, on this spot where I am standing, I have spoken against
+the old order of things. I have said that there is no law excepting
+only the law of Love and Service. I have said that there is no God
+other than the deathless germ of deity within each one of us. I have
+said that the conventions and beliefs and usages and customs of
+civilisation were old, outworn, and tyrannical; and that there was
+no need to regard them or to obey the arbitrary laws based on them.
+
+"In other words, I have preached disorder while attempting to combat
+it: I have preached revolution while counselling peace; I have
+preached bigotry where I have demanded toleration.
+
+"For there is no worse bigot than the free-thinker who demands that
+the world subscribe to his creed; no tyrant like the under-dog when he
+becomes the upper one; no autocracy to compare with mob rule!
+
+"You can not obtain freedom for all by imposing that creed upon
+anybody by the violence of revolutionary ukase!
+
+"You can not wreck any edifice until all who enjoy ownership in it
+agree to its demolition. You can not build for all unless each
+voluntarily comes forward to aid with stone and mortar.
+
+"Anarchy leaves the majority roofless. What is the use of saying, 'Let
+them perish'? What is the use of trying to rebuild the world that way?
+You can't do it, even if you set fire to the world and start your
+endless war of human murder.
+
+"If you were the majority you would not need to do it. But you are the
+minority, and there are too many against you.
+
+"Only by infinite pains and patience can you alter the social
+structure to better it. Cautious and wary replacement is the only
+method, not exploding a mine beneath the keystone.
+
+"The world has won out from barbarism so far. It must continue to
+emerge by degrees. And if beliefs and laws and customs be obsolete,
+only by general agreement may they be modified without danger to all.
+Not the violent revolt of one or a dozen or a thousand can alter what
+has, so far, nourished and sustained civilisation.
+
+"That is the Prussian belief. Bolshevism was sired by Karl Marx and
+was hatched out in the shaggy gloom of the Prussian wilderness.
+
+"It does not belong anywhere else; it does not belong on the plains of
+Russia or in her forests or on her mountains. It is a Prussian
+thing--a misbegotten monster born of a vile and decadent race,--a
+horrible parasite, like that one which carries typhus, infects as it
+spreads from the degraded race that hatched it, crawling from country
+to country and leaving behind it dead minds, dead hearts, dead souls,
+and rotting flesh.
+
+"For order and disorder can not both reign paramount on this planet!
+The one shall slay the other. And Bolshevism is disorder--a violent
+and tyrannical and autocratic attempt to utterly destroy the vast
+majority for the benefit of the microscopic minority.
+
+"You can not do it, you Terrorists! Prussia tried terrorism on the
+world. Where is she to-day? You can not teach by frightfulness. You
+can not scare beliefs out of anybody.
+
+"Method, order, education--there is no other chance for any
+propagandist to-day.
+
+"I have stood here night after night proclaiming that my personal
+conception of right and wrong, of truth and falsehood, of law and
+morals was the only intelligent one, and that I should ignore and
+disregard any other opinion.
+
+"What I preached was Bolshevism! And I was such a fool I didn't know
+it. But that's what I preached. For it is an incitement to disorder to
+proclaim one's self above obedience to what has been established as a
+law to govern all.
+
+"It is an insidious counsel to violence, revolution, Bolshevism and
+utter anarchy to say to people that they should disregard any law
+formed by all for the common weal.
+
+"If the marriage law seems unnecessary, unjust, then only by common
+consent can it be altered; and until it is altered, any who disregard
+it strike at civilisation!
+
+"If the laws governing capital and labour seem cruel, stupid,
+tyrannical, only by general consent can they be altered safely.
+
+"You of the Bolsheviki can not come among us dripping with human
+blood, showing us your fangs, and expect from us anything except a
+fusillade.
+
+"And your propaganda, also, is not human. It is Prussian. Do you
+suppose, you foreign-born, that you can come here among this free
+people and begin your operations by cursing our laws and institutions
+and telling us we are not free?
+
+"Because we tolerate you, do you suppose we don't know that in most of
+the larger cities there are now organised Soviets, similar to those
+in Russia, that anarchists are now conducting schools, and that the
+radical propaganda which has taken on new life since the signing of
+the armistice is gaining headway in those parts of the country where
+there are large foreign-born populations?
+
+"Do you suppose we don't know Prussianism when we see it, after these
+last four years?
+
+"Do you suppose we have not read the _Staats-Zeitung_ editorial of
+December 8, which in part was as follows:
+
+"'Hundreds of thousands of our boys are standing now over there in the
+old homeland, which for nineteen months was enemy country and is that
+still, but which, as President Wilson promised, will soon be a land of
+peace again, rich in diligent work, rich in true and good people....
+As the whole happy life of this blessed region presents a picture to
+the spectator, it is to be wondered whether his (the American
+soldier's) memory will awaken on what he read of this country
+(Germany) at home long ago, whether he will feel a slight blush of
+shame in his cheeks and anger for those who, not from their own
+knowledge but from doubtful sources, branded a whole great people,
+70,000,000, as barbarians, huns, murderers of children and church
+robbers. And whether he (the American soldier) will at the same time
+make a pledge in his heart to combat those lies and rumours when he is
+back home again, and to tell the truth about those (the Germans)
+living behind those mountains.'"
+
+Palla's face flushed and she came close to the edge of the platform:
+
+"I have been warned that if I came here to-night I'd have trouble. The
+anonymous writers who send me letters talk about bombs.
+
+"Do you imagine because you murdered Vanya Tchernov in Philadelphia
+the other day that you can frighten anybody dumb?
+
+"I tell you you don't know what you're doing. You're dazed and scared
+and bewildered by finding yourselves suddenly in the open world after
+all those lurking years in hiding. As a forest wolf, his eyes dazzled
+by the sun, runs blindly across a field of new mown hay, dodging where
+there is nothing to dodge, leaping over shadows, so you, emerging from
+darkness, start out across the fertile world, the sun of civilisation
+blinding you so that you run as though stupefied and frightened,
+shying at straws, dodging zephyrs, leaping a pool of dew as though it
+were the Volga.
+
+"What are you afraid of? You have nothing to fear except yourselves
+out here in the sunny open!
+
+"Behold your enemies--yourselves!--selfish, defiant, full of false
+council, of envy, of cowardice, of treachery.
+
+"For there would be no sorrow, no injustice in the world if
+we--each one of us--were true to our better selves! You know it! You
+can not come out of darkness and range the open world like wolves!
+Civilisation will kill you!
+
+"But you can come out of your long twilight bearing yourselves like
+men--and find, by God's grace, that you _are_ men!--that you are
+fashioned like other men to stand upright in the light without
+blinking and slinking and dodging into cover.
+
+"For the haymakers will not climb and stone you; the herds will not
+stampede; no watch-dogs of civilisation will attack you if you come
+out into the fields looking like men, behaving like men, asking to
+share the world's burdens like men, and like men giving brain and
+brawn to make more pleasant and secure the only spot in the solar
+system dedicated by the Most High to the development of mankind!"
+
+There was a dead silence in the place.
+
+Palla slowly lifted her head and raised her right hand.
+
+"I desire," she said in a low, grave voice, "to acknowledge here my
+belief in law, in order, and in a divine, creative, and responsible
+wisdom. And in ultimate continuation."
+
+She turned away as a demonstration began, and Jim saw her putting on
+her coat. There was some scattering applause, but considerable
+disorder where men in the audience began to harangue each other and
+shake dirty fingers under one another's noses. Two personal encounters
+and one hair-pulling were checked by bored policemen: a girl got up
+and began to shout that she was a striking garment worker and that she
+had neither money, time, nor inclination to wait until some amateur
+silk-stocking felt like raising her wages.
+
+On the platform Karl Kastner had come forward, and his icy, incisive,
+menacing voice cut the growing tumult.
+
+"You haff heard with patience thiss so silly prattle of a rich young
+girl--" he began. "Now it is a poor man who speaks to you out of a
+heart full of bitterness against this law and order which you haff
+heard so highly praised.
+
+"For this much-praised law and order it hass to-night assassinated
+free speech; it has arrested our comrades, Nathan Bromberg and Max
+Sondheim; it hass fill our hall with policemen. And I wonder if
+there iss, perhaps, a little too much law and order in the world,
+und iff _vielleicht_, there may be too many policemen as vell as
+capitalist-little-girls in thiss hall.
+
+"Und, sometimes, too, I am wondering why iss it ve do not kill a
+few----"
+
+"That'll do!" interrupted the sergeant of police, striding down the
+aisle. "Come on, now, Karl; you done it that time."
+
+An angry roar arose all around him; he nodded to his men:
+
+"Run in any cut-ups," he said briefly; climbed up to the rostrum, and
+laid his hand on Kastner's arm.
+
+At the same moment a stunning explosion shook the place and plunged it
+into darkness. Out of the smoke-choked blackness burst an uproar of
+shrieks and screams; plaster and glass fell everywhere; police
+whistles sounded; a frantic, struggling mass of humanity fought for
+escape.
+
+As Jim reeled out into the lobby, he saw Palla leaning against the
+wall, with blood on her face.
+
+Before the first of the trampling horde emerged he had caught her by
+the arm and had led her down the steps to the street.
+
+"They've blown up the--the place," she stammered, wiping her face with
+her gloved hand in a dazed sort of way.
+
+"Are you badly hurt?" he asked unsteadily.
+
+"No, I don't think so----"
+
+He had led her as far as the avenue, now echoing with the clang of
+fire engines and the police patrol. And out of the darkness, from
+everywhere, swarmed the crowd that only a great city can conjure
+instantly and from nowhere.
+
+Blood ran down her face from a cut over her temple. A tiny triangular
+bit of glass still glittered in the wound; and he removed it and gave
+her his handkerchief.
+
+"Was Ilse there, too?" he asked.
+
+"No. Nobody went to-night except myself.... Why were you there, Jim?"
+
+"Why in God's name did _you_ go there all alone among those Reds!"
+
+She shook her head wearily:
+
+"I had to.... What a horrible thing to happen!... I am so tired, Jim.
+Could you get me home?"
+
+He found a taxi nearer Broadway and directed the driver to stop at a
+drug-store. Here he insisted that the tiny cut on Palla's temple be
+properly attended to. But it proved a simple matter; there was no
+glass in it, and the bleeding ceased before they reached her house.
+
+At the door he took leave of her, deeming it no time to subject her to
+any further shock that night; but she retained her hold on his arm.
+
+"I want you to come in, Jim."
+
+"You said you were tired; and you've had a terrible shock----"
+
+"That is why I need you," she said in a low voice. Then, looking up at
+him with a pale smile: "I want you--just once more."
+
+They went in together. Her maid, hearing the opening door, appeared
+and took her away; and Jim turned into the living-room. A lighted lamp
+on the piano illuminated his own framed photograph--that was the first
+thing he noticed--the portrait of himself in uniform, flanked on
+either side by little vases full of blue forget-me-nots.
+
+He started to lift one to his face, but reaction had set in and his
+hands were shaking. And he turned away and stood staring into the
+empty fireplace, passionately possessed once more by the eternal
+witchery of this young girl, and under the spell again of the
+enchanted place wherein she dwelt.
+
+The very air breathed her magic; every familiar object seemed to be
+stealthily conspiring in the subdued light to reaccomplish his
+subjection.
+
+Her maid appeared to say that Miss Dumont would be ready in a few
+minutes. She came, presently, in a clinging chamber-gown--a pale
+golden affair with misty touches of lace.
+
+He arranged cushions for her: she lighted a cigarette for him; and he
+sank down beside her in the old place.
+
+Both were still a little shaken. He said that he believed the
+explosion had come from the outside, and that the principal damage had
+been done next door, in Mr. Puma's office.
+
+She nodded assent, listlessly, evidently preoccupied with something
+else.
+
+After a few moments she looked up at him.
+
+"This is the second day of February," she said. "Within the last month
+Jack Estridge died, and Vanya died.... To-day another man died--a man
+I have known from childhood.... His name was Pawling. And his death
+has ruined me."
+
+"When--when did you learn that?" he asked, astounded.
+
+"This morning. My housekeeper in Shadow Hill telephoned me that Mr.
+Pawling had killed himself, that the bank was closed, and that
+probably there was nothing left for those who had funds deposited
+there."
+
+"You knew that this morning?" he asked, amazed.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you--you still had courage to go to your Red Cross, to your
+canteen and Hostess House--to that horrible Red Flag Club--and face
+those beasts and make the--the perfectly magnificent speech you
+made!----"
+
+"Did--did _you_ hear it!" she faltered.
+
+"Every word."
+
+For a few moments she sat motionless and very white in her knowledge
+that this man had heard her confess her own conversion.
+
+Her brain whirled: she was striving to think steadily trying to find
+the right way to reassure him--to forestall any impulsive chivalry
+born of imaginary obligation.
+
+"Jim," she said in a colorless voice, "there are so many worse things
+than losing money. I think Mr. Pawling's suicide shocked me much more
+than the knowledge that I should be obliged to earn my own living like
+millions of other women.
+
+"Of course it scared me for a few minutes. I couldn't help that. But
+after I got over the first unpleasant--feeling, I concluded to go
+about my business in life until it came time for me to adjust myself
+to the scheme of things."
+
+She smiled without effort: "Besides, it's not really so bad. I have a
+house in Shadow Hill to which I can retreat when I sell this one; and
+with a tiny income from the sale of this house, and with what I can
+earn, I ought to be able to support myself very nicely."
+
+"So you--expect to sell?"
+
+"Yes, I must. Even if I sell my house and land in Connecticut I cannot
+afford this house any longer."
+
+"I see."
+
+She smiled, keeping her head and her courage high without apparent
+effort:
+
+"It's another job for you," she said lightly. "Will you be kind enough
+to put this house on your list?"
+
+"If you wish."
+
+"Thank you, Jim, I do indeed. And the sooner you can sell it for me
+the better."
+
+He said: "And the sooner you marry me the better, Palla."
+
+At that she flushed crimson and made a quick gesture as though to
+check him; but he went on: "I heard what you said to those filthy
+swine to-night. It was the pluckiest, most splendid thing I ever heard
+and saw. And I have seen battles. Some. But I never before saw a woman
+take her life in her hands and go all alone into a cage of the same
+dangerous, rabid beasts that had slain a friend of hers within the
+week, and find courage to face them and tell them they _were_
+beasts!--and more than that!--find courage to confess her own
+mistakes--humble herself--acknowledge what she had abjured--bear
+witness to the God whom once she believed abandoned her!"
+
+She strove to open her lips in protest--lifted her disconcerted eyes
+to his--shrank away a little as his hand fell over hers.
+
+"I've never faltered," he said. "It damned near killed me.... But I'd
+have gone on loving you, Palla, all my life. There never could have
+been anybody except you. There was never anybody before you. Usually
+there has been in a man's life. There never was in mine. There never
+will be."
+
+His firm hand closed on hers.
+
+"I'm such an ordinary, every day sort of fellow," he said wistfully,
+"that, after I began to realise how wonderful you are, I've been
+terribly afraid I wasn't up to you.
+
+"Even if I have cursed out your theories and creeds, it almost seemed
+impertinent for me to do it, because you really have so many talents
+and accomplishments, so much knowledge, so infinite a capacity for
+things of the mind, which are rather out of my mental sphere. And I've
+wondered sometimes, even if you ever consented to marry me, whether
+such a girl as you are could jog along with a business man who likes
+the arts but doesn't understand them very well and who likes some of
+his fellow men but not all of them and whose instinct is to punch
+law-breakers in the nose and not weep over them and lead them to the
+nearest bar and say, 'Go to it, erring brother!'"
+
+"Jim!"
+
+For all the while he had been drawing her nearer as he was speaking.
+And she was in his arms now, laughing a little, crying a little, her
+flushed face hidden on his shoulder.
+
+He drew a deep breath and, holding her imprisoned, looked down at
+her.
+
+"Will you marry me, Palla?"
+
+"Oh, Jim, do you want me now?"
+
+"Now, darling, but not this minute, because a clergyman must come
+first."
+
+It was cruel of him, as well as vigorously indelicate. Her hot blush
+should have shamed him; her conversion should have sheltered her.
+
+But the man had had a hard time, and the bitterness was but just
+going.
+
+"Will you marry me, Palla?"
+
+After a long while her stifled whisper came: "You are brutal. Do you
+think I would do anything else--now?"
+
+"No. And you never would have either."
+
+Lying there close in his arms, she wondered. And, still wondering, she
+lifted her head and looked up into his eyes--watching them as they
+neared her own--still trying to see them as his lips touched hers.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+He was the sort of man who got hungry when left too long unfed. It was
+one o'clock. They had gone out to the refrigerator together, his arm
+around her supple waist, her charming head against his shoulder--both
+hungry but sentimental.
+
+"And don't you really think," she said for the hundredth time, "that
+we ought to sell this house?"
+
+"Not a bit of it, darling. We'll run it if we have to live on cereal
+and do our own laundry."
+
+"You mean I'll have to do that?"
+
+"I'll help after business hours."
+
+"You wonderful boy!"
+
+There seemed to be some delectable things in the ice chest.
+
+They sat side by side on the kitchen table, blissfully nourishing each
+other. Birds do it. Love-smitten youth does it.
+
+"To think," he said, "that you had the nerve to face those beasts and
+tell them what you thought of them!"
+
+"Darling!" she remonstrated, placing an olive between his lips.
+
+"You should have the Croix de Guerre," he said indistinctly.
+
+"All I aspire to is a very plain gold ring," she said, smiling at him
+sideways.
+
+And she slipped her hand into his.
+
+"_Are_ you going back into the army, Jim?" she asked.
+
+"Who said that?" he demanded.
+
+"I--I heard it repeated."
+
+"Not now," he said. "Unless--" His eyes narrowed and he sat swinging
+his legs with an absent air and puckered brows.
+
+And after a while the same aloof look came into her brown eyes, and
+she swung her slim feet absently.
+
+Perhaps their remote gaze was fixed on visions of a nearing future,
+brilliant with happiness, gay with children's voices; perhaps they saw
+farther than that, where the light grew sombre and where a shadowed
+sky lowered above a blood-red flood, rising imperceptibly, yet ever
+rising--a stealthy, crawling crimson tide spreading westward across
+the world.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
+Copyright Fiction
+
+Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The. By Frank L. Packard.
+
+Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+After House, The. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
+
+Ailsa Paige. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Alton of Somasco. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Amateur Gentleman, The. By Jeffery Farnol.
+
+Anna, the Adventuress. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Anne's House of Dreams. By L. M. Montgomery.
+
+Around Old Chester. By Margaret Deland.
+
+Athalie. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+At the Mercy of Tiberius. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Auction Block, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Aunt Jane of Kentucky. By Eliza C. Hall.
+
+Awakening of Helena Richie. By Margaret Deland.
+
+
+Bab: a Sub-Deb. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
+
+Barrier, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Barbarians. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Bargain True, The. By Nalbro Bartley.
+
+Bar 20. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Bar 20 Days. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Bars of Iron, The. By Ethel M. Dell.
+
+Beasts of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
+
+Beloved Traitor, The. By Frank L. Packard.
+
+Beltane the Smith. By Jeffery Farnol.
+
+Betrayal, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Beyond the Frontier. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Big Timber. By Bertrand W. Sinclair.
+
+Black Is White. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Blind Man's Eyes, The. By Wm. MacHarg and Edwin Balmer.
+
+Bob, Son of Battle. By Alfred Ollivant.
+
+Boston Blackie. By Jack Boyle.
+
+Boy with Wings, The. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Brandon of the Engineers. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Broad Highway, The. By Jeffery Farnol.
+
+Brown Study, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Bruce of the Circle A. By Harold Titus.
+
+Buck Peters, Ranchman. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Business of Life, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
+Copyright Fiction
+
+Cabbages and Kings. By O. Henry.
+
+Cabin Fever. By B. M. Bower.
+
+Calling of Dan Matthews, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Cape Cod Stories. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Cap'n Abe, Storekeeper. By James A. Cooper.
+
+Cap'n Dan's Daughter. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Cap'n Eri. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Cap'n Jonah's Fortune. By James A. Cooper.
+
+Cap'n Warren's Wards. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Chain of Evidence, A. By Carolyn Wells.
+
+Chief Legatee, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Cinderella Jane. By Marjorie B. Cooke.
+
+Cinema Murder, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+City of Masks, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Cleek of Scotland Yard. By T. W. Hanshew.
+
+Cleek, The Man of Forty Faces. By Thomas W. Hanshew.
+
+Cleek's Government Cases. By Thomas W. Hanshew.
+
+Clipped Wings. By Rupert Hughes.
+
+Clue, The. By Carolyn Wells.
+
+Clutch of Circumstance, The. By Marjorie Benton Cooke.
+
+Coast of Adventure, The. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Coming of Cassidy, The. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Coming of the Law, The. By Chas. A. Seltzer.
+
+Conquest of Canaan, The. By Booth Tarkington.
+
+Conspirators, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Court of Inquiry, A. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Cow Puncher, The. By Robert J. C. Stead.
+
+Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure. By Rex Beach.
+
+Cross Currents. By Author of "Pollyanna."
+
+Cry in the Wilderness, A. By Mary E. Waller.
+
+
+Danger, And Other Stories. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Dark Hollow, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Dark Star, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Daughter Pays, The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
+
+Day of Days, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+Depot Master, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Desired Woman, The. By Will N. Harben.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
+Copyright Fiction
+
+Destroying Angel, The. By Louis Jos. Vance.
+
+Devil's Own, The. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Double Traitor, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+
+Empty Pockets. By Rupert Hughes.
+
+Eyes of the Blind, The. By Arthur Somers Roche.
+
+Eye of Dread, The. By Payne Erskine.
+
+Eyes of the World, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Extricating Obadiah. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+
+Felix O'Day. By F. Hopkinson Smith.
+
+54-40 or Fight. By Emerson Hough.
+
+Fighting Chance, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Fighting Shepherdess, The. By Caroline Lockhart.
+
+Financier, The. By Theodore Dreiser.
+
+Flame, The. By Olive Wadsley.
+
+Flamsted Quarries. By Mary E. Wallar.
+
+Forfeit, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Four Million, The. By O. Henry.
+
+Fruitful Vine, The. By Robert Hichens.
+
+Further Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The. By Frank L. Packard.
+
+
+Girl of the Blue Ridge, A. By Payne Erskine.
+
+Girl from Keller's, The. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Girl Philippa, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Girls at His Billet, The. By Berta Ruck.
+
+God's Country and the Woman. By James Oliver Curwood.
+
+Going Some. By Rex Beach.
+
+Golden Slipper, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Golden Woman, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Greater Love Hath No Man. By Frank L. Packard.
+
+Greyfriars Bobby. By Eleanor Atkinson.
+
+Gun Brand, The. By James B. Hendryx.
+
+
+Halcyone. By Elinor Glyn.
+
+Hand of Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer.
+
+Havoc. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Heart of the Desert, The. By Honore Willsie.
+
+Heart of the Hills, The. By John Fox, Jr.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
+Copyright Fiction
+
+Heart of the Sunset. By Rex Beach.
+
+Heart of Thunder Mountain, The. By Edfrid A. Bingham.
+
+Her Weight in Gold. By Geo. B. McCutcheon.
+
+Hidden Children, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Hidden Spring, The. By Clarence B. Kelland.
+
+Hillman, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Hills of Refuge, The. By Will N. Harben.
+
+His Official Fiancee. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Honor of the Big Snows. By James Oliver Curwood.
+
+Hopalong Cassidy. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Hound from the North, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+House of the Whispering Pines, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker. By S. Weir Mitchell, M.D.
+
+
+I Conquered. By Harold Titus.
+
+Illustrious Prince, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+In Another Girl's Shoes. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Indifference of Juliet, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Infelice. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Initials Only. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Inner Law, The. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Innocent. By Marie Corelli.
+
+Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer.
+
+In the Brooding Wild. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Intriguers, The. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Iron Trail, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Iron Woman, The. By Margaret Deland.
+
+I Spy. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
+
+
+Japonette. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Jean of the Lazy A. By B. M. Bower.
+
+Jeanne of the Marshes. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Jennie Gerhardt. By Theodore Dreiser.
+
+Judgment House, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+
+Keeper of the Door, The. By Ethel M. Dell.
+
+Keith of the Border. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Kent Knowles: Ouahaug. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Kingdom of the Blind, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
+
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+
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+Copyright Fiction
+
+King Spruce. By Holman Day.
+
+King's Widow, The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
+
+Knave of Diamonds, The. By Ethel M. Dell.
+
+
+Ladder of Swords. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+Lady Betty Across the Water. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.
+
+Land-Girl's Love Story, A. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Landloper, The. By Holman Day.
+
+Land of Long Ago, The. By Eliza Calvert Hall.
+
+Land of Strong Men, The. By A. M. Chisholm.
+
+Last Trail, The. By Zane Grey.
+
+Laugh and Live. By Douglas Fairbanks.
+
+Laughing Bill Hyde. By Rex Beach.
+
+Laughing Girl, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Law Breakers, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Lifted Veil, The. By Basil King.
+
+Lighted Way, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Lin McLean. By Owen Wister.
+
+Lonesome Land. By B. M. Bower.
+
+Lone Wolf, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+Long Ever Ago. By Rupert Hughes.
+
+Lonely Stronghold, The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
+
+Long Live the King. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
+
+Long Roll, The. By Mary Johnston.
+
+Lord Tony's Wife. By Baroness Orczy.
+
+Lost Ambassador. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Lost Prince, The. By Frances Hodgson Burnett.
+
+Lydia of the Pines. By Honore Willsie.
+
+
+Maid of the Forest, The. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Maid of the Whispering Hills, The. By Vingie E. Roe.
+
+Maids of Paradise, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Major, The. By Ralph Connor.
+
+Maker of History, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Malefactor, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Man from Bar 20, The. By Clarence E. Mulford.
+
+Man in Grey, The. By Baroness Orczy.
+
+Man Trail, The. By Henry Oyen.
+
+Man Who Couldn't Sleep, The. By Arthur Stringer.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
+Copyright Fiction
+
+Man with the Club Foot, The. By Valentine Williams.
+
+Mary-'Gusta. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Mary Moreland. By Marie Van Vorst.
+
+Mary Regan. By Leroy Scott.
+
+Master Mummer, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Men Who Wrought, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Mischief Maker, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Missioner, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Miss Million's Maid. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Molly McDonald. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Money Master, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+Money Moon, The. By Jeffery Farnol.
+
+Mountain Girl, The. By Payne Erskine.
+
+Moving Finger, The. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
+
+Mr. Bingle. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Mr. Pratt. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Mr. Pratt's Patients. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Mrs. Belfame. By Gertrude Atherton.
+
+Mrs. Red Pepper. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+My Lady Caprice. By Jeffrey Farnol.
+
+My Lady of the North. By Randall Parrish.
+
+My Lady of the South. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Mystery of the Hasty Arrow, The. By Anna K. Green.
+
+
+Nameless Man, The. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
+
+Ne'er-Do-Well, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Nest Builders, The. By Beatrice Forbes-Robertson Hale.
+
+Net, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+New Clarion. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Night Operator, The. By Frank L. Packard.
+
+Night Riders, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Nobody. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+
+Okewood of the Secret Service. By the Author of "The Man with the Club
+Foot."
+
+One Way Trail, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Open, Sesame. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
+
+Otherwise Phyllis. By Meredith Nicholson.
+
+Outlaw, The. By Jackson Gregory.
+
+
+
+
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+
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+
+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
+Copyright Fiction
+
+Paradise Auction. By Nalbro Bartley.
+
+Pardners. By Rex Beach.
+
+Parrot & Co. By Harold MacGrath.
+
+Partners of the Night. By Leroy Scott.
+
+Partners of the Tide. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Passionate Friends, The. By H. G. Wells.
+
+Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail, The. By Ralph Connor.
+
+Paul Anthony, Christian. By Hiram W. Hays.
+
+Pawns Count, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+People's Man, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Perch of the Devil. By Gertrude Atherton.
+
+Peter Ruff and the Double Four. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Pidgin Island. By Harold MacGrath.
+
+Place of Honeymoon, The. By Harold MacGrath.
+
+Pool of Flame, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
+
+Postmaster, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Prairie Wife, The. By Arthur Stringer.
+
+Price of the Prairie, The. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
+
+Prince of Sinners, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Promise, The. By J. B. Hendryx.
+
+Proof of the Pudding, The. By Meredith Nicholson.
+
+
+Rainbow's End, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Ranch at the Wolverine, The. By B. M. Bower.
+
+Ranching for Sylvia. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Ransom. By Arthur Somers Roche.
+
+Reason Why, The. By Elinor Glyn.
+
+Reclaimers, The. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
+
+Red Mist, The. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Red Pepper Burns. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Red Pepper's Patients. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary, The. By Anne Warner.
+
+Restless Sex, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer.
+
+Return of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
+
+Riddle of Night, The. By Thomas W. Hanshew.
+
+Rim of the Desert, The. By Ada Woodruff Anderson.
+
+Rise of Roscoe Paine, The. By J. C. Lincoln.
+
+Rising Tide, The. By Margaret Deland.
+
+
+
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+Copyright Fiction
+
+Rocks of Valpre, The. By Ethel M. Dell.
+
+Rogue by Compulsion, A. By Victor Bridges.
+
+Room Number 3. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+Rose in the Ring, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Rose of Old Harpeth, The. By Maria Thompson Daviess.
+
+Round the Corner in Gay Street. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+
+Second Choice. By Will N. Harben.
+
+Second Violin, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Secret History. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.
+
+Secret of the Reef, The. By Harold Bindloss.
+
+Seven Darlings, The. By Gouverneur Morris.
+
+Shavings. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Shepherd of the Hills, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Sherry. By George Barr McCutcheon.
+
+Side of the Angels, The. By Basil King.
+
+Silver Horde, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Sin That Was His, The. By Frank L. Packard.
+
+Sixty-first Second, The. By Owen Johnson.
+
+Soldier of the Legion, A. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.
+
+Son of His Father, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Son of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
+
+Source, The. By Clarence Buddington Kelland.
+
+Speckled Bird, A. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Spirit in Prison, A. By Robert Hichens.
+
+Spirit of the Border, The. (New Edition.) By Zane Grey.
+
+Spoilers, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Steele of the Royal Mounted. By James Oliver Curwood.
+
+Still Jim. By Honore Willsie.
+
+Story of Foss River Ranch, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Story of Marco, The. By Eleanor H. Porter.
+
+Strange Case of Cavendish, The. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Strawberry Acres. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Sudden Jim. By Clarence B. Kelland.
+
+
+Tales of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Tarzan of the Apes. By Edgar R. Burroughs.
+
+Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
+Copyright Fiction
+
+Tempting of Tavernake, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Tess of the D'Urbervilles. By Thos. Hardy.
+
+Thankful's Inheritance. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+That Affair Next Door. By Anna Katharine Green.
+
+That Printer of Udell's. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Their Yesterdays. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Thirteenth Commandment, The. By Rupert Hughes.
+
+Three of Hearts, The. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Three Strings, The. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
+
+Threshold, The. By Marjorie Benton Cooke.
+
+Throwback, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
+
+Tish. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
+
+To M. L. G.; or, He Who Passed. Anon.
+
+Trail of the Axe, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Trail to Yesterday, The. By Chas. A. Seltzer.
+
+Treasure of Heaven, The. By Marie Corelli.
+
+Triumph, The. By Will N. Harben.
+
+T. Tembarom. By Frances Hodgson Burnett.
+
+Turn of the Tide. By Author of "Pollyanna."
+
+Twenty-fourth of June, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Twins of Suffering Creek, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Two-Gun Man, The. By Chas. A. Seltzer.
+
+
+Uncle William. By Jeannette Lee.
+
+Under Handicap. By Jackson Gregory.
+
+Under the Country Sky. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Unforgiving Offender, The. By John Reed Scott.
+
+Unknown Mr. Kent, The. By Roy Norton.
+
+Unpardonable Sin, The. By Major Rupert Hughes.
+
+Up From Slavery. By Booker T. Washington.
+
+
+Valiants of Virginia, The. By Hallie Ermine Rives.
+
+Valley of Fear, The. By Sir A. Conan Doyle.
+
+Vanished Messenger, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+Vanguards of the Plains. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
+
+Vashti. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
+
+Virtuous Wives. By Owen Johnson.
+
+Visioning, The. By Susan Glaspell.
+
+
+
+
+POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELS
+
+AT MODERATE PRICES
+
+Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company's Popular
+Copyright Fiction
+
+Waif-o'-the-Sea. By Cyrus Townsend Brady.
+
+Wall of Men, A. By Margaret H. McCarter.
+
+Watchers of the Plans, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Way Home, The. By Basil King.
+
+Way of an Eagle, The. By E. M. Dell.
+
+Way of the Strong, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
+
+Way of These Women, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+We Can't Have Everything. By Major Rupert Hughes.
+
+Weavers, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+When a Man's a Man. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+When Wilderness Was King. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Where the Trail Divides. By Will Lillibridge.
+
+Where There's a Will. By Mary R. Rinehart.
+
+White Sister, The. By Marion Crawford.
+
+Who Goes There? By Robert W. Chambers.
+
+Why Not. By Margaret Widdemer.
+
+Window at the White Cat, The. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
+
+Winds of Chance, The. By Rex Beach.
+
+Wings of Youth, The. By Elizabeth Jordan.
+
+Winning of Barbara Worth, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
+
+Wire Devils, The. By Frank L. Packard.
+
+Winning the Wilderness. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
+
+Wishing Ring Man, The. By Margaret Widdemer.
+
+With Juliet in England. By Grace S. Richmond.
+
+Wolves of the Sea. By Randall Parrish.
+
+Woman Gives, The. By Owen Johnson.
+
+Woman Haters, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
+
+Woman in Question, The. By John Reed Scott.
+
+Woman Thou Gavest Me, The. By Hall Caine.
+
+Woodcarver of 'Lympus, The. By Mary E. Waller.
+
+Wooing of Rosamond Fayre, The. By Berta Ruck.
+
+World for Sale, The. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+
+Years for Rachel, The. By Berta Ruck.
+
+Yellow Claw, The. By Sax Rohmer.
+
+You Never Know Your Luck. By Gilbert Parker.
+
+
+Zeppelin's Passenger, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crimson Tide, by Robert W. Chambers
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