r his advance had been
rapid. When old Stephen had been called to his fathers, Ditmar's
allegiance was automatically, as it were, transferred to the two sons,
George and Worthington, already members of the board of directors.
Sometimes Ditmar called on them at their homes, which stood overlooking
the waters of the Charles River Basin. The attitude toward him of the
Chipperings and their wives was one of an interesting adjustment of
feudalism to democracy. They were fond of him, grateful to him, treating
him with a frank camaraderie that had in it not the slightest touch of
condescension, but Ditmar would have been the first to recognize that
there were limits to the intimacy. They did not, for instance--no doubt
out of consideration--invite him to their dinner parties or take him to
their club, which was not the same as that to which he himself belonged.
He felt no animus. Nor would he, surprising though it may seem, have
changed places with the Chipperings. At an early age, and quite
unconsciously, he had accepted property as the ruling power of the
universe, and when family was added thereto the combination was nothing
less than divine.

There were times, especially during the long winters, when life became
almost unbearable for Janet, and she was seized by a desire to run away
from Fillmore Street, from the mills, from Hampton itself. Only she did
not know where to go, or how to get away. She was convinced of the
existence in the world of delightful spots where might be found congenial
people with whom it would be a joy to talk. Fillmore Street, certainly,
did not contain any such. The office was not so bad. It is true that in
the mornings, as she entered West Street, the sight of the dark facade of
the fortress-like structure, emblematic of the captivity in which she
passed her days, rarely failed to arouse in her sensations of oppression
and revolt; but here, at least, she discovered an outlet for her
energies; she was often too busy to reflect, and at odd moments she could
find a certain solace and companionship in the river, so intent, so
purposeful, so beautiful, so undisturbed by the inconcinnity, the clatter
and confusion of Hampton as it flowed serenely under the bridges and
between the mills toward the sea. Toward the sea!

It was when, at night, she went back to Fillmore Street--when she thought
of the monotony, yes, and the sordidness of home, when she let herself in
at the door and climbed the dark and n