s, it will be between classes. If it is not for
booty, it will be for survival. How can we hope to do away with it?"

"By another miracle, already begun--a sense of brotherhood in the world
of men. If, even in the trenches, men clasped hands on Christmas Day,
and gave the enemy Christmas greeting; if only a few employers lead off
with a cooperative ownership; if only a few workmen in the unions meet
the employers in fairness, it means that the day of universal amnesty is
not a dream."

"You dear, big believer in miracles!" she scoffed.

"Poor little cynic, snarling at the heels of truth," he retorted.

The heavens opened at that moment, and the rain descended with midsummer
violence.

"Shall we run for the woods?" he asked.

"No, I like it," answered she, lifting her face to the torrent.

So they ploughed through the mud puddles, and arrived home, wet through,
but tingling with racing blood and clear brains. As Bobs ran through the
hall on her way to her room, she called to her hostess:

"Jane, let there be tons of food!"

CHAPTER XX

Summer reached its crest and started down the hill toward autumn. Jerry
went to town and spent a week trying to find a larger studio for them,
which made some concession to Monsieur Bebe. He suggested that Jane
summon Bobs for company, in his absence, but she preferred to be alone.
He left, weighed down by her advice not to be extravagant, not to take
the first thing he looked at, to inspect her list of necessities before
he decided on anything. She begged him to let her go with him, but he
stoutly refused.

"Don't worry. I'll be as wise and wily as a real estate agent," he said
as he left her.

She determined not to worry about it, but remembering his sudden
enthusiasms during their spring house-hunting, she was not at rest in
regard to him. She put it out of her mind as much as she could, and gave
herself up to the complete enjoyment of being alone. Before her
marriage, companionship had been her ideal luxury; now, solitude had
taken its place.

She enjoyed the long, langourous days, abed until noon, in the garden or
walking to the beach after luncheon, working at the book, at will, free
to consider only herself and her pleasure. Every day she painted a new
future for her baby, endowed him with new qualities. Sometimes he was a
painter, sometimes a great writer, always he was of the elect.

Mrs. Biggs and Billy were distressingly attentive at first, thinking her