t the moment.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Beirne's nephew--well! I hope you made this _very_ mild,
indeed, Willie? You know I rarely consent to.... He might be better
employed, one would think, than vilifying the Works, but there's no
accounting for tastes, as I always say."

"Just water with a dash, ma'am. Oh, he's one of these slumming chaps,
seems--kind of a Socialist, y' know--"

"The Works?" queried Mr. Canning. "Ah, yes! Mr. Heth's--of course! Is a
cigarette permitted?..."

Carlisle, who had been gazing into the fire and acquiring information,
roused. "Oh, here's your tea, Willie!" said she. "How very good
it looks!"

Unlike mamma, she did not in the least mind Mr. Canning's hearing
mention of the Works, even under attack. Shame at trade was not in her:
she was confidently proud of the great mute author of her brilliant
being. And it was by this pride, dating back many years and untouched by
any late personal impression, that no "attack" could gain standing in
her mind. At seven, she had one day asked her father, "Papa, what _are_
the Works?"--and papa had smiled and answered, "It's the place where all
our money comes from." To this day, her mind's eye called up a great
white marble palace, something like the New York Public Library, only
bigger, from the front of which, through an enormous cornucopia, poured
a ceaseless flood of golden dollars....

"I've no patience with Socialism," said Mrs. Heth, rising. "Where do you
want your things put, Willie? Divide all our property up equally with
the lazy and drunken classes, to-day, and by to-morrow the hard-working,
well-to-do people would have won every bit of it back again. I'm
surprised everybody can't see that, aren't you, Mr. Canning?"

"I'm astonished at their blindness," said Canning, gazing at the floor.
"Vivian is clearly off his chump at all points."

"That's right--screw loose," said Willie, genially. "Set 'em here, boy.
From the feller's literary style, I'd expected a regular riproarin'
fire-eater. Gad, no! Face like a child's, kinder cute-lookin'! Fact.
Polite as peaches. You pour, Carlisle, will you?"

The folding-table was set. The tea-things were tenderly arranged upon it
by the dusky waiter. The little company moved and shifted. Host Kerr
surveyed the pleasant scene with no little secret pride of
proprietorship. His room--his tea the ripping-looking girl was serving
on his patent table--his hireling just backing out of the door....
However, his also was