e all nicely smoothed away and it glittered and shone
like the gem that it was. For Roger was an idealist. And so he would have
liked to do here. What a gem could be made of Isadore with a little careful
polishing.

But Deborah's way was different. She stayed in life, lived in it close,
with its sharp edges bristling. In this there was something splendid, but
there was something tragic, too. It was all very well for that young Jew to
burn himself up with his talk about freedom, his feverish searching for new
gods. "In five years," Roger told himself, "Mr. Isadore Freedom will either
tone down or go stark mad."

But quite probably he would tone down, for he was only a youngster, these
were Isadore's wild oats. But this was no longer Deborah's youth, she had
been at this job ten years. And she hadn't gone mad, she had kept herself
sane, she had many sides her father knew. He knew her in the mountains, or
bustling about at home getting ready for Laura's wedding, or packing
Edith's children off for their summer up at the farm. But did that make it
any easier? No. To let yourself go was easy, but to keep hold of yourself
was hard. It meant wear and tear on a woman, this constant straining effort
to keep her balance and see life whole.

"Well, it will break her down, that's all, and I don't propose to allow
it," he thought. "She's got to rest this summer and go easier next fall."

But how could he accomplish it? As he thought about her school, with its
long and generous arms reaching upon every side out into the tenements, the
prospect was bewildering. He searched for something definite. What could he
do to prove to his daughter his real interest in her work? Presently he
remembered Johnny Geer, the cripple boy whom he had liked, and at once he
began to feel himself back again upon known ground. Instead of millions
here was one, one plucky lad who needed help. All right, by George, he
should have it! And Roger told his daughter he would be glad to pay the
expense of sending John away for the summer, and that in the autumn perhaps
he would take the lad into his office.

"That's good of you, dearie," Deborah said. It was her only comment, but
from the look she gave him Roger felt he was getting on.

* * * * *

One evening not long afterwards, as they sat together at dinner, she rose
unsteadily to her feet and said in a breathless voice,

"It's rather close in here, isn't it? I think I'll go