t 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 like about it, Janet?" Mrs. Maturin was interested.

"It's hard