comfort and brightness of this house and the
last place he had visited in the tenement district smote him with a
sense of pain. He drove it back and blamed himself with an inward
reproach that he was growing narrow and could think of only one idea.

He could not remember just what brought up the subject, but some one
during the evening, which was passed in conversation and music,
mentioned the rumor going about of increased disturbance in the lower
part of the town, and carelessly wanted to know if the paper did not
exaggerate the facts. Some one turned to Philip and asked him about it
as the one best informed. He had been talking with an intelligent lawyer
who had been reading a popular book which Philip had also reviewed for a
magazine. He was thoroughly enjoying the talk, and for the time being
the human problem which had so long wearied his heart and mind was
forgotten.

He was roused out of this to answer the question concerning the real
condition of affairs in the lower part of the town. Instantly his mind
sprang back to that which absorbed it in reality more than anything
else. Before he knew it he had not only answered the particular
question, but had gone on to describe the picture of desperate life in
the tenement district. The buzz of conversation in the other rooms
gradually ceased. The group about the minister grew, as others became
aware that something unusual was going on in that particular room. He
unconsciously grew eloquent and his handsome face lighted up with the
fires that raged deep in him at the thought of diseased and depraved
humanity. He did not know how long he talked. He knew there was a great
hush when he had ended. Then before any one could change the stream of
thought some young woman in the music-room who had not known what was
going on began to sing to a new instrumental variation "Home, Sweet
Home." Coming as it did after Philip's vivid description of the
tenements, it seemed like a sob of despair or a mocking hypocrisy. He
drew back into one of the smaller rooms and began to look over some art
prints on a table. As he stood there, again blaming himself for his
impetuous breach of society etiquette in almost preaching on such an
occasion, Mr. Winter came in and said:

"It does not seem possible that such a state of affairs exists as you
describe, Mr. Strong. Are you sure you do not exaggerate?"

"Exaggerate! Mr. Winter, you have pardoned my little sermon here
to-night, I know. It w