theories. Irma didn't have such feelings, but Lanny had taught her that she ought to, and
doubtless she was trying. "Are they really so bad?" she asked.
"They aren't any bargain," he answered.
"It's only eight hundred dollars, and he says he's broke on account of putting everything into
the campaign. You know, Lanny, it might not be such a bad thing to have your uncle a member
of the Chamber."
"But such a member, Irma! He'll make himself an international scandal. I ought to have
mentioned to you that he's gone into a working-class district and is running against a
Socialist."
"Well," said the young wife, amiably, "I'll help the Socialist, too, if you wish it."
"You'll take two horses, and hitch one to the front of your cart and one to the back, and drive
them as hard as you can in opposite directions."
Irma wasn't usually witty; but now she thought of Shore Acres, and said: "You know how it is,
I've been paying men right along to exercise my horses."
X
Alfred Pomeroy-Nielson the younger was at school in England; he came to Bienvenu for the
Easter vacation, and he and Marceline took up their life at the point where they had dropped it
on board the
each other, and at the same time making important discoveries about themselves.
The daughter of Marcel Detaze and Beauty Budd, not quite fourteen, was at that point
"where the brook and river meet, womanhood and childhood fleet." Like the diving-champion
on the end of a springboard, with every muscle taut, the body poised in the moment of swaying
forward, so she presented herself above the swimming-pool of fashion, pleasure, and so many
kinds of glory. She had gazed into it as a fascinated spectator and now was getting ready to
plunge—much sooner than any member of her family knew or desired. That was her secret;
that was the meaning of the fluttering heart, the flushed cheeks, the manner of excitement—she
couldn't wait to begin to live!
Marceline loved her mother, she adored her handsome and fashionable half-brother, she
looked with awe upon the blooming Juno who had come recently into her life, surrounded by
a golden aura, talked about by everybody, pictured in the newspapers—in short, a queen of
plutocracy, that
her mind. Men were beginning to look at her, and she was not failing to notice that or to know
what it meant. Hadn't it been in the conversation of all the smart ladies since she had begun to
understand the meaning of words? Those ladies were growing old, they were on the way out—
and Marceline was coming, it was her turn!
And now this English lad, of almost the same age as herself, and destined, in the family
conversation, to become her life partner. Maybe so, but first there were a few problems to be
settled; first it was necessary to determine who would be the boss in that family. Alfy was
serious, like his father; extremely conscientious, more reticent than seemed natural in one so
young, and tormented by a secret pride. Marceline, on the other hand, was impulsive, exuberant,
talkative, and just as proud in her own way. Each of these temperaments was in secret awe of
the other; the natural strangeness of a youth to a maid and of a maid to a youth accentuated
their differences and offended their self-esteem. Was he scorning her when he was silent? Was
she teasing him when she laughed? Exasperation was increased by arrogance on both sides.
It is the English custom, when two boys fall to pommeling each other, to form a ring and let
them fight it out. Now it appeared to be the same with the sex-war. Rick said: "They'd better
settle it now than later." He gave advice only when it was asked, and poor Alfy was proud even
with his father. It was up to a man to handle his own women!
Marceline, on the other hand, fled to her mother and had weeping-fits. Beauty tried to
explain to her the peculiar English temperament, which makes itself appear cold but really
isn't. The short vacation was passing, and Beauty advised her daughter to make it up quickly;
but Marceline exclaimed: "I think they are horrid people, and if he won't have better manners I
don't want to have anything more to do with him." The French and the English had been
fighting ever since the year 1066.
XI
Oddly enough, it was the man from Iowa who served as international mediator. Parsifal
Dingle never meddled in anybody's affairs, but talked about the love of God, and perhaps it was
a coincidence that he talked most eloquently when he knew that two persons were at odds. God
was all and God was love; God was alive and God was here; God knew what we were doing and
saying and thinking, and when what we did was not right, we were deliberately cutting
ourselves off from Him and destroying our own happiness. That was the spiritual law; God
