Lily found Louis Akers interesting. 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.
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 like Mr. Doyle.”
“I detest him.”
“But you don’t know him, do you?”
“I know he is stirring up all sorts of trouble
for us. Lily, I want you to promise not to go
back there.”
There was a little silence. A small feeling
of rebellion was rising in the girl’s heart.
