ruised
and bewildered and estranged from herself, instead of a polite murmurer.

Gradually she was drawn back into a real communion with him when he
damned the human race for serfs fighting in a dungeon, warring for land,
for flags, for titles, and calling themselves kings. Walter took the
same theories of socialism, single-tax, unionism, which J. J. Todd, of
Chatham, had hacked out in commercial-college days, and he made them
bleed and yawp and be hotly human. For the first time--Walter was giving
her so many of those First Times of life!--Una realized how strong is
the demand of the undermen for a conscious and scientific justice. She
denied that stenographers could ever form a union, but she could not
answer his acerb, "Why not?"

It was not in the patiently marching Una to be a creative thinker, yet
she did hunger for self-mastery, and ardently was she following the
erratic gibes at civilization with which young Walter showed his delight
in having an audience, when the brown, homely Golden family clock struck
eleven.

"Heavens!" she cried. "You must run home at once. Good-night, dear."

He rose obediently, nor did their lips demand each other again.

Her mother awoke to yawn. "He is a very polite young man, but I don't
think he is solid enough for you, dearie. If he comes again, do remind
me to show him the kodaks of your father, like I promised."

Then Una began to ponder the problem which is so weighty to girls of the
city--where she could see her lover, since the parks were impolite and
her own home obtrusively dull to him.

Whether Walter was a peril or not, whether or not his love was angry and
red and full of hurts, yet she knew that it was more to her than her
mother or her conventions or her ambitious little job. Thus gladly
confessing, she fell asleep, and a new office day began, for always the
office claims one again the moment that the evening's freedom is over.

CHAPTER VII

These children of the city, where there is no place for love-making, for
discovering and testing each other's hidden beings, ran off together in
the scanted parties of the ambitious poor. Walter was extravagant
financially as he was mentally, but he had many debts, some conscience,
and a smallness of salary. She was pleased by the smallest diversions,
however, and found luxury in a bowl of chop-suey. He took her to an
Italian restaurant and pointed out supposititious artists. They had
gallery seats for a Maude Adams