The Dwelling Place of Light, Volume 1

tuations, and in it may be studied, undoubtedly, one phase of the evolution tending to transform if not disintegrate certain institutions hitherto the corner-stone

elationship with Mr. Claude Ditmar necessitated by her new duties as his private stenographer her attitude, slightly defiant, was the irreproachable one of a strict attention to duty. All unconsciously she was a true daughter of the twentieth century, and probably a feminist at heart, which is to say that her conduct was determined by no preconceived or handed-down notions of what was proper

tertained the notion that he could presently take advantage of the contact with her now achieved to make unbusinesslike advances-well, he would find out. He had proclaimed his desire for an able assistant in Miss Ottway's place-he would get one, and nothing more. She watched nar

ld come when he could not do without her. She strove to memorize certain names and addresses, lest time be lost in looking them up, to familiarize herself with the ordinary run of his correspondence, to recall what letters were to be marked "personal," to anticipate matters of routine, in order that he might not have the tedium of repeating instructions; she acquired the faculty of keeping his engagements in her head; she came early to the office, remaining after hours, going through the files, becoming familiar with his system; and she lear

that?"

e said. "I thought you di

did you get rid of

't let him in," sh

for instance, there arrived from New York a dapper salesman whose jauntily tied bow, whose thin hair-carefully parted to conceal an incipient baldness-whose wary and slightly weary eyes all impressively suggested the metropolitan atmosphere of high pressure and sophistication from which he had emerged. He had a machine to sell; an amazing machine, endowed with human intelligence and more than human infallibility; for when it made a mistake it stopped.

the salesman concluded. "I don't object to telling you we'd rat

iration because he had not been swayed by blandishments. At such moments, when he was bent on refusing

ed to know as much about the machine as the salesman himself. In spite of protests, denials, appeals, he remai

departed, di

many looms were at work; and if anything untoward happened, becoming aware of it by what seemed to Janet a subconscious process, sending for the superin

matter with the open

lower's out

se fault i

nd people to be got to run it. With him, first and last and always it was the mill, and little by little what had been for Janet a heterogeneous mass of machinery and human beings became unified and personified in Claude Ditmar. It was odd how the essence and quality of that great building had changed for he

work by which she was actuated. In her soul she knew better. She was really pouring fuel on the flames. She read him, up to a certain point-as far as was necessary; and beneath his attempts at self-control she was conscious of a dynamic desire that betrayed itself in many acts and signs,-as when he brushed against her; and occasionally when he gave evidence with his subordinates of a certain shortness of temper unusual with him she experi

ounded of sustenance, pleasure, and business,-business naturally being the greatest of these. He was-though he did not know it-ethically and philosophically right in squaring his morals with his occupation, and his had been the good fortune to live in a world whose codes and conventions had been carefully adjusted to the pursuit of that particular brand of happiness he had made his own. Why, then, in the name of that happiness, of the peace and sanity and pleasurable effort it had brought him, had he allowed and even encouraged the advent of a new element that threatened to destroy the equilibrium achieved? an element refusing to be classified under the head of property, since it involved something he desired and could not buy? A woman who was not property, who resisted the attempt to be turned into property, was an anomaly in Ditmar's universe. He had not, of course, existed for more than forty years without having h

m, and he never could tell of what she was thinking. She represented a whole set of new and undetermined values for which he had no precedents, and unlike every woman he had known-including his wife-she had an integrity of her own, seemingly beyond the reach of all influences economic and social. All the more exasperating, therefore, was a propinquity creating an intimacy without substance, or without the substance he craved for she had magically become for him a sort of enveloping, protecting atmosphere. In an astonishingly brief time he had fallen into the habit of talking things over with her; naturally not affairs of th

man who moved about as she did, who had such an effect on him, who had on occasions, though inadvertently, returned the lightning of his glances, whose rare laughter resembled grace notes, and in whose hair was that almost imperceptible kink, could be virtuous. This instinctive conviction inflamed him. For the first time in his life he began to doubt the univ

ed one day by Mr. Madden, the treasurer of a large shoe company,

right

cupied, that's all. I didn't know but what the fifty-four hour

intimate friend, Chester Sprole, sallow, self-made, somewhat corpulent, one of those lawyers hail fellows well met in business circles and looked upon askance by the Brahmins of their profession; more than half politician, he had been in Congress, and from time to time was retained by large business inter

t," he sai

hes," sai

Come out to the farm to-night,-same of the boys'll be there." Mr. Sprole, like many a

red Ditmar. "I've got

e unwisely accepted as a

ar's

dy-eh

stion of truculence that took his friend aback. Not for worlds

in. Ditmar, somewhat mollified but still dejected

nel?" asked the coloured

e in the corner, and c

ces; in his movements revealing a desire to touch her; in little things he said, apparently insignificant, yet fraught with meaning; in a constant recurrence of the apologetic attitude-so alien to the Ditmar formerly conceived-of which he had given evidence that day by the canal: and from this attitude emanated, paradoxically, a virile and galvanic current profoundly disturbing. Sometimes when he bent over her she experienced a commingled ecstasy and fear that he would seize her in his arms. Yet the tension was not constant, rising and falling with his moods and struggles, all of which she read-unguessed by him-as easi

fice late in the afternoon, and she was quick to sense his elation, to recognize in him the restored presence of the quality of elan, of command, of singleness of purpose that had characterized him before she had become his stenographer. At first, as he read his mail, he seemed scarcely con

a little while longer th

," she repl

as a smile, a

he biggest single order that ever came i

ad," she sa

cards-?" h

s, and Madras shirtings, while he wrote down figures on a sheet of paper. So complete was his absorption in this task that Janet, although she had resented the insinuating pressure of his former attitude toward her, felt a paradoxical sensation of jealousy. Presently, without looking up, he told her to call up the Boston office and ask for Mr. Fraile, the cotton buyer; and sh

I'd go after it. I knew I could get away with it, if anybody could. I went to the Bradlaughs and sat down on 'em, I lived with 'em, ate with 'em, brought 'em home at night. I didn't let 'em alone a minute until they handed it over. I wasn't going to give any other mill in New England or

f jealousy, she was drawn toward him now, and in this mood of boyish exuberance, of self-confidence and pride in his powers and success she liked him be

a day, and I'm man enough to do it yet, if I have to. When the last agent-that was Cort-was sacked I went to Boston on my own hook and tackled the old gentleman-that's the only way to get anywhere. I couldn't bear to see the mill going to scrap, and I told him a thing or two,-I had the facts and the figures. Stephen Chippering was a big man, bu

the Charles, where the wind was blowing a gale. And at last he said, `All right, Claude, go ahead. I'll put you in as agent, and stand behind you.' And by thunder, he did stand behind me. He was quiet, the finest looking old man I ever saw in my life, str

and drew out a photograph. Ja

were scared of him, and if he thought they had something up their sleeves he looked as if he were going to eat 'em alive. Regular fighting eyes, the kind that get inside of a man and turn the light on. And he sat so still-made you ashamed of yourself. Well, he was a born fighter, went from Harvard into the Rebellion and was left for dead at

e sudden attraction he had begun to exert: yet she lingered, half leaning, half sitting on the corner of the big desk, her head bent toward him, her eyes filled with light. She was wondering whether he could ever love a woman as he loved

e exclaimed, "to see the Chippering Mill to-day! I guess he'd be

and when he raised his eyes and caught her luminous glance, his expr

he had changed from the master to the suppliant-and yet she was not displeased.

e it," sh

u to be my stenographer, that

s is dif

ow

ng to me now you see, I'm not just copy

Miss Ottway was a good stenographer, she was capable, and a fine woman, but she never got the idea, the spirit of the mill in her as yo

him, but had risen and begun to st

er things I'd like to

" he d

she cried, dropping the papers and suddenly facing him. "It was just drudgery.

ough myself-to-mor

se by virtue of that mysterious power within her, was no longer the agent of the Chippering Mill, a boy filled with enthusiasm by a business achievement,

fraid of him, she shrank from suc

ot?" h

mething between them never before hinted at by her. "I'll get Mr. Caldwell to take me through." She moved toward the door, and tur

she saw that he was grippin