“No,” said my hostess, when I rose to go, “this crisis means discipline for the poor, and we must not interfere. I think as you investigate further you will find that poverty is always the result of idleness, intemperance, or crime.”
“Then this distress is retributive?” I murmured. “It testifies to the negligence of the poor, and indirectly to our own industry, temperance, virtue?”
“Yes,” said My Lady, firmly. She was always firm. “Don’t look so unhappy,” she added, as she took my hand at parting. “It isn’t such a bad world, after all. I never can see why people insist on crying out all sorts of unpleasant things about it. I am a thorough optimist, you see.”
I reflected, after the cool air of the street had soothed my irritation, that we were all like that. Each one of us had pronounced opinions, right or wrong. I wondered if it would not be better for the poor if we knew less about them and cared more.
CHAPTER XX
Through all my study of human misery, the thought of my little romance flashed like swift sunshine. Some of the sadness faded out of Janet’s face, and every day, I thought, the Lad’s lips were more firmly set in his effort to win. I wondered what the outcome would be. If his chin had not been so square and so determined, I should have doubted his victory.
Janet joined us in our expeditions. Then, as the weeks went on, the two young Bohemians took long walks by themselves, while I stayed at home or in my office,—for my Cause had a downtown office,—following them only with my blessing.
I had grown very fond of both. It was well for them to be together. Janet was waking up, as in a keen electric shock, under the influence of the Lad’s resistless energy. “There is something contagious in his vitality,” she said one day. “When you are with him, you feel that you are face to face with immortal youth, and can never grow old.”
In their long conversations they passed, as was natural, from the abstract to the personal. It was amusing to hear their encounters of words. Every bitter remark that the girl made was met and worsted by the strong logic and the strong hopefulness of her opponent.
She heard from him the history of his book. It was controversial. He was waging a scientific battle with his dearest friend, the author of an article that the Lad said was “all off.” It had served as the flinging of a gauntlet, and the Lad had picked it up. The book was to be, he said, not only a criticism of Rainforth, but the first setting forth of his own theory, and the Lad felt that his future welfare depended on his triumph.