The appearance of Selma’s scroll and glass bedizened house did not affect this impression.  Wilbur was first of all appreciatively an American.  That is he recognized that native energy had hitherto been expended on the things of the spirit to the neglect of things material.  As an artist he was supremely interested in awakening and guiding the national taste in respect to art, but at the same time he was thoroughly aware that the peculiar vigor and independence of character which he knew as Americanism was often utterly indifferent to, or ignorant of, the value of aesthetics.  After all, art was a secondary consideration, whereas the inward vision which absorbed the attention of the thoughtful among his countrymen and countrywomen was an absolute essential without which the soul must lose its fineness.  He himself was seeking to show that beauty, in external material expression, was not merely consistent with strong ideals but requisite to their fit presentment.  He recognized too that the various and variegated departures from the monotonous homely pattern of the every-day American house, which were evident in each live town, were but so many indicators that the nation was beginning to realize the truth of this.  His battle was with the designers and builders who were guiding falsely and flamboyantly, not with the deceived victims, nor with those who were still satisfied merely to look inwardly, and ignored form and color.  Hence he would have been able to behold the Babcocks’ iron stag without rancor had the animal still occupied the grass-plot.  Selma, when she saw the figure of her visitor in the door-way, congratulated herself that it had been removed.  It would have pleased her to know that Mr. Littleton had already placed her in a niche above the level of mere grass-plot considerations.  That was where she belonged of course; but she was fearful on the score of suspected shortcomings.  So it was gratifying to be able to receive him in a smarter gown, to be wearing white cuffs, and to offer him tea with a touch of Mrs. Taylor’s tormenting urbanity.  Not so unreservedly as she.  That would never do.  It was and never would be in keeping with her own ideas of serious self-respect.  Still a touch of it was grateful to herself.  She felt that it was a grace and enhanced her effectiveness.

A few moments later Selma realized that for the first time since she had lived in Benham she was being understood and appreciated.  She felt too that for the first time she was talking to a kindred spirit—­to be sure, to one different, and more technically proficient in concrete knowledge, possibly more able, too, to express his thoughts in words, but eminently a comrade and sympathizer.  She was not obliged to say much.  Nor were, indeed, his actual words the source of her realization.  The revelation came from what was left unsaid—­from the silent recognition by him that she was worthy to share his best thoughts and was herself a serious worker in the struggle of