ing-point in his life, other events led up, certainly, events which
of themselves would likely have forced him to stretch out his hand and
pluck and eat. It is always that way with life changes. Nothing depends
altogether upon one isolated act. But looking back in after years, when
the lesser influences had cleared away in the magic glass of Time, Ned
could ever see, clear and distinct as though it were but a minute since,
the stern red lips of that pale, proud, passionate face pressed in
trembling sisterliness to the harlot's purple cheek.

As she put the key in the door Nellie turned to Ned, speaking for the
first time:

"You'd better ask Geisner about Socialism when you see him to-morrow--I
mean this afternoon."

Ned nodded without speaking. Silently he let her get his candle, and
followed her up the stairs to the room concerning which the card was
displayed in the window below. She turned down the bedclothes, then held
out her hand.

"Good-night or good-morning, whichever it is!" she said, smiling at him.
"You can sleep as long as you like Sunday morning, you know. If you want
anything knock the wall there."

"Good-night, Nellie!" he answered, slowly, holding her fingers in his.
Then, before she could stop him, he lifted her hand to his lips. She did
not snatch it away but looked him straight in the eyes, without speaking;
then went out, shutting the door softly behind her. She understood him
partly; not altogether, then.

Left alone in the scantily-furnished room, Ned undressed, blew out the
candle and went to bed. But until he fell asleep, and in his dreams
afterwards, he still saw Nellie bending down over a purpled, sin-stained
face, and heard her sweet voice whisper tremblingly:

"This is Socialism!"

CHAPTER X.

WHERE THE EVIL REALLY LIES.

Geisner was betimes at his appointment in the Domain. It was still the
dinner hour, and though it was Sunday there were few to be seen on the
grass or along the paths. So Ned saw him afar off, pacing up and down
before the Art Gallery like a sentinel, an ordinary looking man to a
casual passer-by, one whom you might pass a hundred times on the street
and not notice particularly, even though he was ugly. Perhaps because of
it.

Neither of them cared to stroll about, they found. Accordingly they
settled down at a shady patch on a grassy slope, the ground already dried
from the night's rain by the fierce summer sunshine of the morning.
Stretched out there,