She addressed Mr. Cord.

“Father,” she went on, “Ben has a little flat in Charles Street, and an old servant, and that’s where I’m going to live.”

Her father, though bitterly wounded, had regained his sardonic calm.  “Perhaps,” he said, “you’ll bring him up to Seventy-ninth Street for Sunday dinner now and then.”

Crystal shook her head.  “No, dear,” she said.  “That isn’t the way it’s going to be.  As soon as I get settled and have time to look about me, I shall take another little flat for you.  You will live with us, for a few months in the winter, and get to know Ben’s friends—­his gang, as you would say—­get to know them not as a philanthropist, or an employer, or an observer, but just as one of our friends—­see if they really are the way you think they are.  And then, in March you shall go off to Palm Beach or Virginia just as usual.”

“That’s a fine idea,” said Mr. Cord, sarcastically.  “Do you realize that I shall hardly survive your marriage with the editor of Liberty.  I shall be kicked off—­requested to resign from half a dozen boards for having such a son-in-law—­”

“There’s freedom for you,” said Ben.

“And,” continued Mr. Cord, “if it were known that I consented to the marriage, and actually consorted with such fellows!  You must realize, Crystal, that most of the most influential men in the country think the way Eddie does.  Half my boards are composed of older Eddies.”

“You’ll do better to resign from them, then,” said Crystal.

Ben had been very much struck by Crystal’s suggestion.

“Really, Mr. Cord,” he said, “I believe that is a great idea of Crystal’s.  I really believe if capital had more idea of the real views of labor—­as you said, you eventually adopt all our ideas, why wouldn’t an intimate knowledge of individuals hurry that process?”

“Simply because I should lose all influence with my own people by merely investigating you in a friendly spirit.”

“Glory!” exclaimed Ben, with open contempt for such people.  “Think of penalizing the first honest attempt to understand!”

“You see the point of my plan, don’t you, Ben?” said Crystal.

“You bet I do.”

“That’s wonderful,” she answered, “for you’ve only heard half of it.  In July, August, and September, we will come here to Newport, and you will get to understand father’s—­”

“Hold on,” cried Ben, “just a moment.  That is absolutely impossible, Crystal.  You don’t understand.  The paper couldn’t keep me a day if I did that.”

“Ha!” cried Mr. Cord, coming suddenly to life.  “There’s freedom for you!”

“That would be very cruel of the owners, Ben, but if they did—­”

“It wouldn’t be cruel at all,” said Moreton.  “They wouldn’t have any choice.  I should have lost all influence with my readers, if it were known—­”

“Glory!” said Mr. Cord.  “Think of penalizing the first honest attempt to understand the capitalistic class!”