Eddie rose, too, with the manner of a man who has allowed things to go far enough.  “Look here, my dear girl,” he said, “I am a man and I’m older than you, and have seen more of the world.  I know you don’t mean any harm, but I must tell you that this is very wicked, dangerous talk.”

“Dangerous, perhaps, Eddie, but I can’t see how it can be wicked to want to give up your special privileges.”

“Where in the world do you pick up ideas like this?”

“I inherited them from an English ancestor of mine, who gave up all that he had when he enlisted in Washington’s army.”

“You got that stuff,” said Eddie, brushing this aside, “from David Moreton, and that infernal seditious paper his brother edits—­and that white-livered book which I haven’t read against war.  I’d like to put them all in jail.”

“It’s a pity,” said Crystal, “that your side can’t think of a better argument than putting everyone who disagrees with you in jail.”

With this she turned and left him, and, entering the ballroom, flung herself into the arms of the first partner she met.  It was a timid boy, who, startled by the eagerness with which she chose him, with her bright eyes and quickly drawn breath, was just coming to the conclusion that a lovely, rich, and admired lady, had fallen passionately in love with him, when with equal suddenness she stepped out of his arms and was presently driving her small, open car down the avenue.

Under the purple beech Eddie, left alone, sank back on the stone bench and considered, somewhat as the persecutors of Socrates may have done, suitable punishments for those who put vile, revolutionary ideas into the heads of young and lovely women.

In the meantime Ben, who had enjoyed the party more than most of the invited guests, and far more than the disconsolate Eddie, had left his vantage point at the window.  He had suddenly become aware of a strange light stealing under the trees, and, looking up, he saw with surprise that the stars were growing small and the heavens turning steel-color—­in fact, that it was dawn.

Convinced that sunrise was a finer sight than the end of the grandest ball that ever was given, he made his way down a shabby back lane, and before long came out on the edge of the cliffs, with the whole panorama of sunrise over the Atlantic spread out before him.

He stood there a moment, somebody’s close, well-kept lawn under his feet, and a pale-pink sea sucking in and out on the rocks a hundred feet below.  The same hot, red sun was coming up; there wasn’t a steady breeze, but cool salt puffs came to him now and then with a breaking wave.  It was going to be a hot day, and Ben liked swimming better than most things in life.  He hesitated.