Doyle was all unction and hospitality when he met Lily in the hall.  At dinner he was brilliant, witty, the gracious host.  Akers played up to him.  At the foot of the table Elinor sat, outwardly passive, inwardly puzzled, and watched Lily.  She knew the contrast the girl must be drawing, between the bright little meal, with its simple service and clever talk, and those dreary formal dinners at home when old Anthony sometimes never spoke at all, or again used his caustic tongue like a scourge.  Elinor did not hate her father; he was simply no longer her father.  As for Howard, she had had a childish affection for him, but he had gone away early to school, and she hardly knew him.  But she did not want his child here, drinking in as she was, without clearly understanding what they meant, Doyle’s theories of unrest and revolution.

“You will find that I am an idealist, in a way,” he was saying.  “That is, if you come often.  I hope you will, by the way.  I am perpetually dissatisfied with things as they are, and wanting them changed.  With the single exception of my wife”—­he bowed to Elinor, “and this little party, which is delightful.”

“Are you a Socialist?” Lily demanded, in her direct way.

“Well, you might call it that.  I go a bit further.”

“Don’t talk politics, Jim,” Elinor hastily interposed.  He caught her eye and grinned.

“I’m not talking politics, my dear.”  He turned to Lily, smiling.

“For one thing, I don’t believe that any one should have a lot of money, so that a taxicab could remain ticking away fabulous sums while a charming young lady dines at her leisure.”  He smiled again.

“Will it be a lot?” Lily asked.  “I thought I’d better keep him, because—­” She hesitated.

“Because this neighborhood is unlikely to have a cab stand?  You were entirely right.  But I can see that you won’t like my idealistic community.  You see, in it everybody will have enough, and nobody will have too much.”

“Don’t take him too seriously, Miss Cardew,” said Akers, bending forward.  “You and I know that there isn’t such a thing as too much.”

Elinor changed the subject; as a girl she had drawn rather well, and she had retained her interest in that form of art.  There was an exhibition in town of colored drawings.  Lily should see them.  But Jim Doyle countered her move.

“I forgot to mention,” he said, “that in this ideal world we were discussing the arts will flourish.  Not at once, of course, because the artists will be fighting—­”

“Fighting?”

“Per aspera ad astra,” put in Louis Akers.  “You cannot change a world in a day, without revolution—­”

“But you don’t believe that revolution is ever worth while, do you?”

“If it would drive starvation and wretchedness from the world, yes.”