s, and what he saw there swayed him level with
the men about him. Because of the stars he called no man a fool, except
such as deemed himself wiser than the rest. Because he believed in the
people they believed in him. It was that which had elected him. It was
that which would elect him again.

"Corking kid," said Maxwell Sears, with his smiling eyes on Anne.

II

In the course of the evening Maxwell managed an introduction. He found
Anne quaint and charming. That she was reading Dickens amused him. He
had thought that no one read Dickens in these days. How did it happen?

She said that she had discovered him for herself--many years ago.

How many years?

Well, to be explicit, ten. She had been eleven when she had found a new
world in the fat little books. They had a lot of old books. She loved
them all. But Dickens more than any. Didn't he?

He did. "His heart beat with the heart of the common people. It was that
which made him great."

"Murray hates him."

"Who is Murray?"

Anne pondered. "Well, he's a family friend. We girls were brought up on
him."

"Brought up on him?"

"Yes. Anything Murray likes we are expected to like. If he doesn't like
things we don't."

"Oh."

"He's over there by Mrs. Winchell."

Maxwell looked and knew the type. "But you don't agree about Dickens?"

"No. And Amy says that Murray's wiser than I. But I'm not sure. Amy
thinks that all men are wiser than women."

Maxwell chuckled. Anne was refreshing. She was far from modern in her
modes of thought. She was--he hunted for the word and found
it--mid-Victorian in her attitude of mind.

He wondered what Winifred Reed would think of her. Winifred lived in
Chicago. She was athletic and intellectual. She wrote tabloid dramas,
drove her own car, dressed smartly, and took a great interest in
Maxwell's career. She wrote to him once a week, and he always answered
her letters. Now and then she failed to write, and he missed her letters
and told her so. It was altogether a pleasant friendship.

She hated the idea of Maxwell's farm. She thought it a backward step.
"Are you going to spend the precious years ahead of you in the company
of cows?"

"There'll be pigs too, Winifred; and chickens. And, of course, my
horses."

"You belong in a world of men. It's the secret of your success that men
like you."

"My cows like me--and there's great comfort after the stress of a
stormy session in the reposefulness of a pig."

"I wis