For that kiss Ned gave himself into the hands of a fanaticism, eating of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, striving to become as a god knowing good from evil.  For that kiss he became one of those who have the Desire which they know can never be satiated in them.  For that kiss he surrendered himself wholly to the faith of her whose face was sad and stern-mouthed, content ever after if with his whole life he could fill one of the ruts that delay the coming of Liberty’s triumphal car.  To that turning-point in his life, other events led up, certainly, events which of themselves would likely have forced him to stretch out his hand and pluck and eat.  It is always that way with life changes.  Nothing depends altogether upon one isolated act.  But looking back in after years, when the lesser influences had cleared away in the magic glass of Time, Ned could ever see, clear and distinct as though it were but a minute since, the stern red lips of that pale, proud, passionate face pressed in trembling sisterliness to the harlot’s purple cheek.

As she put the key in the door Nellie turned to Ned, speaking for the first time: 

“You’d better ask Geisner about Socialism when you see him to-morrow—­I mean this afternoon.”

Ned nodded without speaking.  Silently he let her get his candle, and followed her up the stairs to the room concerning which the card was displayed in the window below.  She turned down the bedclothes, then held out her hand.

“Good-night or good-morning, whichever it is!” she said, smiling at him.  “You can sleep as long as you like Sunday morning, you know.  If you want anything knock the wall there.”

“Good-night, Nellie!” he answered, slowly, holding her fingers in his.  Then, before she could stop him, he lifted her hand to his lips.  She did not snatch it away but looked him straight in the eyes, without speaking; then went out, shutting the door softly behind her.  She understood him partly; not altogether, then.

Left alone in the scantily-furnished room, Ned undressed, blew out the candle and went to bed.  But until he fell asleep, and in his dreams afterwards, he still saw Nellie bending down over a purpled, sin-stained face, and heard her sweet voice whisper tremblingly: 

“This is Socialism!”

CHAPTER X.

WHERE THE EVIL REALLY LIES.

Geisner was betimes at his appointment in the Domain.  It was still the dinner hour, and though it was Sunday there were few to be seen on the grass or along the paths.  So Ned saw him afar off, pacing up and down before the Art Gallery like a sentinel, an ordinary looking man to a casual passer-by, one whom you might pass a hundred times on the street and not notice particularly, even though he was ugly.  Perhaps because of it.

Neither of them cared to stroll about, they found.  Accordingly they settled down at a shady patch on a grassy slope, the ground already dried from the night’s rain by the fierce summer sunshine of the morning.  Stretched out there, Geisner proceeded to roll a cigarette and Ned to chew a blade of grass.