She laughed outright.
“Of course I did. How else could I have helped? I am afraid that you are beginning to think that I am a very terrible person,” she added, with a decided twinkle in her rich brown eyes.
“Please don’t say that!” I begged. “Only I have been brought up always with people who shuddered at the very mention of the word both here and abroad, and I daresay that I have a wrong impression about it all. For one thing I thought it was only poor people who were Socialists.”
For a moment she looked grave.
“True Socialism is the most fascinating of all doctrines for the rich and the poor, for all thoughtful men and women,” she said, quietly. “It is a religion as well as the very core of politics. But we will not talk about that now. Are you interested in the new books? You might like to see some of these.”
She pointed at the box. “I get all the new novels, but I read very few of them.”
I looked them over as she handed the volumes out to me. I had read a good many books in which she was interested. We began to discuss them, casually at first, and then eagerly. An hour or more must have slipped away. At last I looked at the clock and sprang up.
“You must have some tea,” she said, with her hand on the bell. “Please do not hurry away.”
I hesitated, but she seemed to take my consent for granted, and I suffered myself to be persuaded.
“Come and see my den while they bring it.”