They all laughed.
“Is that your idea of liberty?” he asked Palla.
“What is all human progress but a free fight?” she retorted. “Of course,” she added, “Ilse means an intellectual battle. If they misbehave otherwise, I shall flee.”
“I don’t see why you want to go to hear a lot of Reds talk bosh,” he remarked. “It isn’t like you, Palla.”
“It is like me. You see you don’t really know me, Jim,” she added with smiling malice.
“The main thing,” said Ilse, “is for one to be one’s self. Palla and I are social revolutionists. Revolutionists revolt. A revolt is a row. There can be no row unless people fight.”
He smiled at their irresponsible gaiety, a little puzzled by it and a little uneasy.
“All right,” he said, as coffee was served; “but it’s just as well that I’m going with you.”
The ex-girl-soldier gave him an amused glance, lighted a cigarette, glanced at her wrist-watch, then rose lightly to her graceful, athletic height, saying that they ought to start.
So they went away to pin on their hats, and Jim called a taxi.