A spacious suite of rooms down the hall John described as “my parents love den” with a grimace as Lucy smiled. But the people among whom she was now thrown through the social exertions of Miss Miniver and the Widgetts—for Teddy and Hetty came up from Morningside Park and took her to an eighteen-penny dinner in Soho and introduced her to some art students, who were also Socialists, and so opened the way to an evening of meandering talk in a studio—carried with them like an atmosphere this implication, not only that the world was in some stupid and even obvious way WRONG, with which indeed she was quite prepared to agree, but that it needed only a few pioneers to behave as such and be thoroughly and indiscriminately “advanced,” for the new order to achieve itself. He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Without a word, the general reached out and took them, but his glance searched the girl’s face. But a woman’s life is all chance.
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