The knowledge, the whole matter, was curiously disturbing to her.  Where was the hostile hardness of the religious fellow, justifying distrust and dislike?  Why should her father’s attacker make her think now, of all times, of that night in Hen’s parlor, the morning on Mr. Beirne’s doorstep, that rainy May-day in his Dabney House when he had overwhelmed her with the knowledge of his superiority?...

“And—­and—­I think women should be especially interested in all that makes for a new common freedom,” observed the youthful speaker, “for they have suffered somewhat in that way—­haven’t they?... [Applause, led by Miss Cooney.] You know the processes of history—­how men, first of all by superior muscle, have made it a man’s world....  Till to-day, large groups of women find themselves cribbed and cabined to a single pursuit, marriage:  surely the noblest of all callings, but—­perhaps you will agree with me—­the meanest of all professions.  I, for one, am glad to see women revolting from this condition, asking something truer, something commoner, than chivalry.  For that, I say, steps the march to the great goal, a boundless commonwealth, a universal republic of the human spirit.  It seems to me we need to socialize, not industry, but the heart of Man to his brother.  Rich and poor, men and women—­God, I am sure of it, meant us all to be citizens of the world....”

A certain self-consciousness seemed here to descend upon the tall orator.  He ceased abruptly, and disappeared from the platform, having neglected to make his bow to the chairman.

Then the moment’s dead silence was suddenly exploded with a burst of clapping, quite as hearty as Mr. Pond had received, and really something like the “storm” we read about.  And in the din, Henrietta Cooney was heard crying, with a passion of pride: 

“Well, it’s about time!...  It’s the first thing V.V.’s ever got—­the first tribute....  A boy like that—­”

Hen, curiously, was winking a little as the two girls rose.  And she added in a moved voice, as if seeking to explain herself: 

“Well, think of the hard life he has down there, Cally,—­no pleasure, no fun, no companionship....  And this is the first notice of any kind ...”

The meeting was over.  The crowded parlors were in a hubbub.  Colored servants entered, taking away the camp-chairs.  A general drift toward the platform was in evidence.  And Cally, standing with the others and ready to go, seemed to see no clear course at all among the disturbing cross-currents which she suddenly felt within her, impelling her now this way, now that.  If she could not think of V. Vivian as hard now, exactly, a new “attitude” was obviously needed, consistent with her duty to papa.  It must be that the strange young man was obsessed by beautiful but impossible ideas about the equality of the poor and so on.  Carried away by excessive sympathies, he took wild extreme views....