esting. Certainly he was very handsome. And
after all, why should there be misery and hunger in the world? There
must be enough for all. It was hardly fair, for instance, that she
should have so much, and others scarcely anything. Only it was like
thinking about religion; you didn't get anywhere with it. You wanted to
be good, and tried to be. And you wanted to love God, only He seemed so
far away, mostly. And even that was confusing, because you prayed to God
to be forgiven for wickedness, but it was to His Son our Lord one went
for help in trouble.

One could be sorry for the poor, and even give away all one had, but
that would only help a few. It would have to be that every one who had
too much would give up all but what he needed.

Lily tried to put that into words.

"Exactly," said Jim Doyle. "Only in my new world we realize that there
would be a few craven spirits who might not willingly give up what they
have. In that case it would be taken from them."

"And that is what you call revolution?"

"Precisely."

"But that's not revolution. It is a sort of justice, isn't it?"

"You think very straight, young lady," said Jim Doyle.

He had a fascinating theory of individualism, too; no man should impose
his will and no community its laws, on the individual. Laws were for
slaves. Ethics were better than laws, to control.

"Although," he added, urbanely, "I daresay it might be difficult to
convert Mr. Anthony Cardew to such a belief."

While Louis Akers saw Lily to her taxicab that night Doyle stood in the
hall, waiting. He was very content with his evening's work.

"Well?" he said, when Akers returned.

"Merry as a marriage bell. I'm to show her the Brunelleschi drawings
to-morrow."

Slightly flushed, he smoothed his hair in front of the mirror over the
stand.

"She's a nice child," he said. In his eyes was the look of the hunting
animal that scents food.

CHAPTER X

Lily did not sleep very well that night. She was repentant, for one
thing, for her mother's evening alone, and for the anxiety in her face
when she arrived.

"I've been so worried," she said, "I was afraid your grandfather would
get back before you did."

"I'm sorry, mother dear. I know it was selfish. But I've had a wonderful
evening."

"Wonderful?"

"All sorts of talk," Lily said, and hesitated. After all, her mother
would not understand, and it would only make her uneasy. "I suppose it
is rank hearsay to say it, but I lik