p without revealing
this? She could not make up her mind as to what this lady would say.
Janet had had no difficulty in placing Ditmar; not much trouble, after
her first surprise was over, in classifying Rolfe and the itinerant band
of syndicalists who had descended upon her restricted world. But Insall
and Mrs. Maturin were not to be ticketed. What chiefly surprised her, in
addition to their kindliness, to their taking her on faith without the
formality of any recommendation or introduction, was their lack of
intellectual narrowness. She did not, of course, so express it. But she
sensed, in their presence, from references casually let fall in their
conversation, a wider culture of which they were in possession, a culture
at once puzzling and exciting, one that she despaired of acquiring for
herself. Though it came from reading, it did not seem "literary,"
according to the notion she had conceived of the term. Her speculations
concerning it must be focussed and interpreted. It was a culture, in the
first place, not harnessed to an obvious Cause: something like that
struck her. It was a culture that contained tolerance and charity, that
did not label a portion of mankind as its enemy, but seemed, by
understanding all, to forgive all. It had no prejudices; nor did it
boast, as the Syndicalists boasted, of its absence of convention. And
little by little Janet connected it with Silliston.

"It must be wonderful to live in such a place as that," she exclaimed,
when the Academy was mentioned. On this occasion Insall had left for a
moment, and she was in the little room he called his "store," alone with
Mrs. Maturin, helping to sort out a batch of garments just received.

"It was there you first met Brooks, wasn't it?" She always spoke of him
as Brooks. "He told me about it, how you walked out there and asked him
about a place to lunch." Mrs. Maturin laughed. "You didn't know what to
make of him, did you?"

"I thought he was a carpenter!" said Janet. "I--I never should have taken
him for an author. But of course I don't know any other authors."

"Well, he's not like any of them, he's just like himself. You can't put a
tag on people who are really big."

Janet considered this. "I never thought of that. I suppose not," she
agreed.

Mrs. Maturin glanced at her. "So you liked Sflliston," she said.

"I liked it better than any place I ever saw. I haven't seen many places,
but I'm sure that few can be nicer."

"What did you