He began to talk more seriously and entertainingly on the economic changes in modern society that had produced the present state of unrest and readjustment. He sketched quite feelingly what he called the old-fashioned woman, with her heavy duties and responsibilities in the pioneer days. "The real pillar of Society--and often a domestic slave, God bless her!" he said. "But her granddaughter has become either a parasite, or another kind of slave,--an industrial slave. And the vote isn't going to help her in either case." Milly wondered in which class she fell. She didn't like the word "parasite,"--it sounded like a disease,--and yet she was afraid that was what she was. "I think that I must be going," Milly said at last. She noticed that the rooms were fast emptying after the food had been devoured, and she could see Hazel nowhere. She would call her up in the morning and congratulate her on her speech. And so with a nod to the stranger she went for her wraps. But she found him again in the vestibule, and wondered if he had waited for her to come down. "What's the name?" he asked, as the servant came forward to call her carriage. "I haven't any cab," Milly replied bravely. It was her custom these days Cinderella-like to dispense with a return cab. "But it's raining," the man protested. "You must let me set you down at your home." A private hansom had drawn up to the curb before the awning. "Where?" he insisted. "It's an awful way out," Milly faltered; "just take me to the nearest subway station." Embarrassed by the gaze of the servant and by the waiting people behind, she got into the hansom. The man gave some sort of order to his driver and got in beside her. They trotted briskly around the corner on to the Avenue, and as it was misting heavily the driver let down the glass shield. It seemed cozy and pleasant to jog home from a party in a private cab, with an agreeable man by one's side. Quite like old times, Milly thought! "You'd better let me take you all the way. Where shall I say?" and he raised the top with his stick. For a moment Milly was about to yield. She liked the sense of having a masterful man near her, overbearing her doubts, but she still protested,-- "No, no--it's too far. Just put me down at Columbus Circle." The man hesitated, looked at Milly curiously, then gave the driver the direction. Milly wondered why he had not insisted as she had expected he would or did not again suggest driving her out, when they had reached the subway station. There was a time when men would not have taken no for an answer. But he didn't--nor even ask her name. Instead he courteously helped her to alight and raising his hat drove off. * * * * *