re of Alice Frome. He was a lover, and in his
imagination she embodied all things beautiful. Her charm flowed through
him, pierced him with delight. When he heard music his mind flew to her.
It voiced the rhythm of her motions and the sound of her warm laughter.
The sunshine but reflected the golden gleams of light in her wavy hair.

As he swung round the smoking saloon Jeff came face to face with Alice.
He turned and caught step with her. The coat she wore came to her
ankles, but it could not conceal her light, strong tread nor the long
lines of the figure that gave her the grace of a captured wood nymph.

"Only five hundred miles from Verden. By night we ought to be in
wireless communication," he suggested.

Her glance flashed at him. "You'll be glad to get home."

"I will and I won't. There's work for me to do there. But it's the first
real vacation I ever had in my life that lasted over a week. You can't
think how I've enjoyed it."

"So have I. More than anything I can remember." They stopped to look
at a steamer which lay low on the distant horizon line. After they had
fallen into step again she continued at the point where they had been
interrupted: "And after we reach home? Are you going to come and see
me? Are you going to let me meet your friends, those dear people who
are giving themselves to make life less hideous and harsh for the weak?
Shall I meet Mr. Mifflin... and Mr. Miller and your little Socialist
poet? Or are you going to desert me?"

He smiled a little at her way of putting it, but he was troubled none
the less. "Are you sure that your way is our way? One can give service
on the Hill just as much as down in the bottoms. There's no moral
grandeur in rags or in dirt. Isn't your place with your friends?"

"Haven't I a right to take hold of life for myself at first hand?
Haven't I a right to know the truth? What have I done that I should be
walled off from all these people who earn the bread I eat?"

"But your friends... your father..."

Her ironic smile derided him. "So after all you haven't the courage of
your convictions. Because I'm Peter C. Frome's daughter I'm not to have
the right to live."

"No, it's your right to take hold of life with both hands. But surely
you must live it among your own people."

"I've got to learn how to live it first, haven't I? Most of my friends
are not even aware there a problem of poverty. They thrust the thought
of it from them. Our wealthy class has no so