He obeyed joyously. He liked the spirit of this. He felt its unregeneracy. Already, though he knew it not, he was arrayed against the informing tide of this life about him. And when he was near a girl whom he liked, much of David’s inhibitions melted away. Duer made his advance. He needed an ally against the flippancy of these girls, these girls about whom he would have said: “They know nothing about life: they know nothing about Business.” “Well, how go things?” he swaggered, throwing up his head with a nonchalance that was belied by the keen worry of his eyes. “Satisfied with McGill?” David retreated. “Sure,” he avoided an answer. Duer knew that in such gatherings as now downstairs men must talk politics and business while the mentally segregated ladies discussed servants and dress. Duer had the passion of conforming. Life to him was an exclusive club to which he yearned to belong. Service was a means toward being voted in. He had all the fervor of a mediæval page grasping for spurs. But David was miserable in this intruding sense of fitness. He liked the anarchy of Lois more. He was curious about this girl whom Lois loved. He had nothing to say to Duer. So the four joined a circle from which Duer spiritually retired. David did not know how to skate. Lois and Fay already lived the delight of teaching him. The Rink would be open soon. They argued the kind of skates he should buy. “And if you fall,” said Lois forbiddingly. “Oh, he will fall. Beginners always do.” “Well, never you mind. We’ll pick you up. Won’t we, Fay? We’ll take care of you.” She seemed almost tender. Then her hard giggle. “No one shall laugh at you either,” Fay declared. “No one except us,” said Lois. The thought came to David that he would have preferred her saying: “No one except me.” But it was plain these two hunted together. David found it hard to understand their likeness. “Children! Children! Come now. We’re going.” The voice of Mrs. Tibbetts strode through the house. Duer was the quickest to respond. David and Lois were alone. The brief packed hour had stirred the early world of David, had made it glow again. Their spirits had been high together. Now, somehow, they sat in gloom. They realized that in their lightness there had been combat. Looking at each other, they felt the burden of those below advancing heavily upon them. “Why do you love Fay so much?” “Because she’s a dear.” Lois was not on the defensive because of Fay. She had more intelligence than her answer. She deemed the question worthy of no better. She sought the solace of a different subject. David kept silent, and looked at Lois and thought of Fay.