V.V. said that he did not mind.

"I wonder," she went on, "if you remember something you said in your speech the other day?--about being free.... It seemed strange to me then, that you should have happened to say just that, for I--I've come to realize that, in a kind of way, that's always been a wild dream of my own.... Don't you think--where there are so many things to think about, things and people--that it's pretty hard to be free?"

"Hard?... There's nothing else like it on earth for hardness."

V.V. stood grasping the back of an ancient walnut chair. It was seen that he belonged in this room, simple home of poverty; different from the girl, who was so obviously the rich exotic, the transient angel in the house.

He added: "But it's always seemed to me worth all the price of trying."

"Oh, it is--I'm sure. And yet.... It seems to me--I've thought," said Cally, somewhat less conversationally, "that life, for a woman, especially, is something like one of those little toy theatres--you've seen them?--where pasteboard actors slide along in little grooves when you pull their strings. They move along very nicely, and you--you might think they were going in that direction just because they wanted to. But they never get out of their grooves.... I know you'll think that a--a weak theory."

"No, I know it's a true theory."

Surely the girl could not have been thinking only of her father's business as she went on, more and more troubled in voice:

"So much seems to be all fixed and settled, before one's old enough to know anything about it--and then there's a great deal of pressure--and a great deal of restraint--in so many different ways.... Don't you think it's hard ever to get out of one's groove?"

"It's heroic."

She put back her trailing motor-veil, and said: "And for a woman especially?"

"It would take the strength of all the G.o.ds!... I mean, of course--as women are placed, to-day. Perhaps in some other day--perhaps to-morrow--"

He broke off suddenly; a change pa.s.sed over his face.

"And yet," he added, in a voice gentle and full of feeling--"some of them are doing it to-day."

What his thought might be, she had no idea; but his personal implication was not to be mistaken. The man from the slums, who had mistakenly put his faith in her once before in the c.o.o.neys' parlor, conceived that she was or might be one of these strong he spoke of; little suspecting her present unconquerable weakness.

Cally was startled into looking at him, a thing she had been rather avoiding; and looking, she looked instantly away. In Mr. V.V.'s eyes, that strange trusting look, which had not been frequently observable there of late, had saluted her like a banner of stars....

"Certainly I was not meant to be one of them," said she, rather faintly.

He must have meant only a general expression of confidence, she was sure of that; only to be kind and comforting. But to her, grappling with new hard problems, that strange gaze came like a torch lit in a cave at night. Much she had wondered how Vivian could possibly hold her responsible for what her father did, or left undone. And now in a flash it was all quite clear, and she saw that he had not been holding her responsible at all. No, this simple and good man, who let the crows bring his raiment, or not, as they preferred, had only reposed a trust in her--in Cally Heth. It was as if, that day at the Settlement, he had said to her, by his eyes: "I know _you_. Once _you_ go to the Works, you won't rest till you've made things better...."

But instead of this making things better for Cally Heth now, it seemed to make them worse at once. She became considerably agitated; knew that he must see her agitation, and did not mind at all. And suddenly she sat down on the sway-backed sofa between the windows....

"I'm the last woman in the world ever to think of getting out of my groove," said Cally, her cheek upon her hand.

And then, with no premeditation at all, there came strange words from her, words clothing with unlessoned ease thoughts that certainly she had never formulated for Hugo Canning.

"And yet I feel that it might have been different. I've felt--lately--as if I haven't had much of a chance.... I think I have a mind, or had one ... some--some spirit and independence, too. But I wasn't trained to express myself that way; that was all ironed down flat in me. I never had any education, except what was superficial--showy. I was never taught to think, or to _do_ anything--or to have any part in serious things. No one ever told me that I ought to justify my existence, to pay my way. n.o.body ever thought of me as fit to have any share in anything useful or important--fit for any responsibility.... No, life for me was to be like b.u.t.terflies flying, and my part was only to make myself as ornamental as I could...."

V. Vivian, who wrote articles about the Huns in newspapers, stood at the c.o.o.ney mantel. He did not move at all; the man's gaze upon her half-averted face did not wink once. His own face, this girl had thought, was one for strange expressions; but she might have thought the look it wore now stranger than any she had ever seen there....

"Maybe, it's that way with all women, more or less--only it seems to have been always more with me.... Money!" said the low hurried voice--"how I've breathed it in from the first moment I can remember.

Money, money, money!... Has it been altogether my fault if I've measured everything by it, supposed that it was the other name for happiness--taken all of it I could get? I've always taken, you see--never given. I never gave anything to anybody in my life. I never did anything for anybody in my life. I'm a grown woman--an adult human being--but I'm not of the slightest use to anybody. I've held out both hands to life, expecting them to be filled, kept full...."

She paused and was deflected by a fleeting memory, something heard in a church, perhaps, long ago....

"Isn't there," she asked, "something in the Bible about that?--horse-leech's daughters--or something?--always crying '_Give, give_'?..."

There was a perceptible pause.

"Well--something of the sort, I believe...."

She had seemed to have the greatest confidence that, if anything of the sort was in the Bible, this man would know it instantly. However, his tone caught her attention, and she raised her eyes. Mr. V.V.'s face was scarlet.

"I see," said Cally, colorlessly, out of the silence, "you had already thought of me as one of those daughters.... Why not?"

"Of you! Not in my life," cried V.V.... "I ... it's--"

"Why shouldn't you? I know that's what I am. You're--"

"_Don't_.... I can't let things be put upside down like that."

His difficulties, in the unhappy moment, were serious. His skin had turned traitor to him, sold out his heart. And now, if he had the necessity of saying something, his was also the fear lest he might say too much....

"If I ... I appeared to look--conscious, when you asked me that, it was only because of the--the strange coincidence. I--you compel me to tell you--though it's like something from another life."

He paused briefly; and when he went on, his voice had acquired something of that light hardness which Cally had heard in it before now.

"Once, a year ago, when I had never so much as heard your name, Commissioner O'Neill and I happened to be talking about the local factory situation, about the point of view of the owners or,--to be exactly honest,--the owners' families. By chance--I did use those words.

And O'Neill said I was a wild man to talk so, that if I knew any of these people, personally, I'd never judge them so--so unkindly.... It was a long time before I saw ... how right he might be.... And that's what I tried to say to you the other day--when I spoke of _knowing the people_. I--"

"Yes, sometimes that makes a difference, I know." Had she not felt it only this afternoon? "But I'm afraid this isn't one of the times ..."

Cally rose, feeling that she desired to go. Nevertheless, glancing at his troubled face, she was suddenly moved by perhaps the most selfless impulse she had ever felt in her life.

"Please," she said, gently, "don't mind about that. I liked you better for it. I like people to say what they think. I've--"

"Do you? Then allow me to say that I'm not quite a bitter fool...."

The young man was advancing toward her, throwing out his hands in a quaint sort of gesture which seemed to say that he had had about as much of this as he could stand.

"For surely I don't think I am--I don't think I'm quite so dumb and blind as you must think me...." His repressed air was breaking up rapidly, and now he flung out with unmistakable feeling: "Do you suppose I could ever forget what you did last May! Not if I tried a thousand years!" said Mr. V.V.... "How could I possibly think anything of you, after that, but all that is brave and beautiful?..."

The two stood looking at each other. Color came into Cally's cheek; came but soon departed. The long gold-and-black lashes, which surely had been made for ornaments, fluttered and fell.

Out of the dead silence she said, with some difficulty:

"It's very sweet of you to say that."

Cally moved away from him, toward the door, deeply touched. She had wanted to hear such words as these, make no doubt of that. Among all her meetings with this man last year, she had only that May morning to remember without a stinging sense of her inferiority. And she supposed that he had forgotten....

"You see," she said, not without an effort, "I have been telling you my troubles, after all.... I--I'm afraid I've kept them waiting for you upstairs. I must go."

But she did not leave the parlor at once, even when Hen, hearing the door creak open, cried down that the infirmary was ready....