"May I join you, Miss Elwell?" I might. I did. We paced up and down, silent for a bit. She was a joy to the eye, a lovely, straight, young thing, with a fresh, pure color and eyes of dancing brightness. I spoke of this and that aboard ship--the sea, the weather; and she was so gaily friendly, so sweet and modest, yet wholly frank, that I grew quite happy in her company. My sister must have been mistaken about her being a civil engineer. She might be a college girl--but nothing worse. And she was so pretty! I devoted myself to Miss Elwell 'till she took herself off, probably to join her--her--it occurred to me that I had seen no one with Miss Elwell. "Nellie," said I, "for heaven's sake give me the straight of all this. I'm going distracted with the confusion. What has happened to the world? Tell me all, I can bear it--as the extinct novels used to say. But I cannot bear this terrible suspense! Don't you have novels any more?" "Novels? Oh, yes, plenty; better than ever were written. You'll find it splendidly worth while to read quite a few of them while you're getting oriented . . . Well, you want a kind of running, historic sketch?" "Yes. Give me the outlines--just the heads, as it were. You see, my dear, it is not easy to get readjusted even to the old things, and there are so many new ones----" We were in our steamer chairs, most people dozing after their midday meal. She reached over and took my hand in hers, and held it tight. It was marvelously comforting, this one live visible link between what was forever past and this uncertain future. But for her, even those old, old days might have flickered and seemed doubtful--I should have felt like one swimming under water and not knowing, which way was up. She gave me solid ground underfoot at any rate. Whatever her place might be in this New World, she had talked to me only of the old one. In these long, quiet, restful days, she had revived in my mind the pleasant memories of our childhood together; our little Southern home; our patient, restrained Northern mother and the fine education she gave her school-less little ones; our high-minded--and, alas, narrow-minded--father, handsome, courteous, inflexible. Under Nellie's gentle leading, my long unused memory-cells had revived like rain-washed leaves, and my past life had, at last, grown clear and steady. My college life; my old chum, Granger, who had visited us once; our neighbors and relations; little gold-haired Cousin Drusilla, whom I, in ten years proud seniority, had teased as a baby, played with and tyrannized over as a confiding child, and kissed good-bye--a slim, startled little figure--when I left for Asia. Nellie had always spoken of things as I remembered them, and avoided adroitly, or quietly refused to discuss, their new aspects. I think she was right--at first. "Out with it!" said I. "Come--Have we adopted Socialism?" I braced myself for the answer.