me, Henry?"

"Why, sure."

"You don't seem to be."

"I am."

"I suppose you think I'm a--a waster. Sort of the World's Worst
Butterfly."

Henry laughed.

"Not at all. Have a good time while you're young. Why? Do I seem like
the priggish and earnest youth?"

"No--" she paused,"--but somehow I began thinking how absolutely
different the party I'm on is from--from all your purposes. It seems
sort of--of incongruous, doesn't it?--me being at a party like that,
and you over here working for a thing that'll make that sort of party
impossible ever any more, if your ideas work."

"I don't think of it that way. You're young, and you're acting just as
you were brought up to act. Go ahead--have a good time?"

Her feet, which had been idly swinging, stopped and her voice dropped
a note.

"I wish you'd--you'd come back to Harrisburg and have a good time. Do
you feel sure that you're on the right track----"

"You're wearing beautiful stockings," he interrupted. "What on earth
are they?"

"They're embroidered," she replied, glancing down; "Aren't they
cunning?" She raised her skirts and uncovered slim, silk-sheathed
calves. "Or do you disapprove of silk stockings?"

He seemed slightly exasperated, bent his dark eyes on her piercingly.

"Are you trying to make me out as criticizing you in any way, Edith?"

"Not at all----"

She paused. Bartholomew had uttered a grunt. She turned and saw that
he had left his desk and was standing at the window.

"What is it?" demanded Henry.

"People," said Bartholomew, and then after an instant: "Whole jam of
them. They're coming from Sixth Avenue."

"People?"

The fat man pressed his nose to the pane.

"Soldiers, by God!" he said emphatically. "I had an idea they'd come
back."

Edith jumped to her feet, and running over joined Bartholomew at the
window.

"There's a lot of them!" she cried excitedly. "Come here, Henry!"

Henry readjusted his shade, but kept his seat.

"Hadn't we better turn out the lights?" suggested Bartholomew.

"No. They'll go away in a minute."

"They're not," said Edith, peering from the window. "They're not even
thinking of going away. There's more of them coming. Look--there's a
whole crowd turning the corner of Sixth Avenue."

By the yellow glow and blue shadows of the street lamp she could see
that the sidewalk was crowded with men. They were mostly in uniform,
some sober, some enthusiastically drunk, and over the whole swept an
incoher