“Come, come, Richard,” cried Fenton, throwing up one of the windows. “You might as well go the pace in gay company as to ruin your constitution in solitude in a room actually choking with nicotine. I was not sure that I should find you; but I took the chance.” Richard gazed at his friend searchingly as he handed him a cigar. “Well, John, I’m glad to see you, of course, although I had not looked forward to your reappearance to-night. And now tell me, old man, are you with us or against us?” “I don’t quite understand your question, Richard,” exclaimed Fenton, regretting for a moment that he had not taken a cocktail to restore his nervous energy. “Well, John, forgive me then, if I take a liberty and put my question in different words. Did you enjoy your call on Miss Van Vleck?” “Those are, indeed, very different words, Richard. The two questions seem to have no very close relationship.” “Perhaps not, John. That’s for me to judge. But answer one or the other of them; whichever one you choose.” “Well, my boy, I can say honestly,” remarked Fenton guardedly, “that I have had a very pleasant evening.” “But it was not wholly satisfactory, or you wouldn’t be here,” commented Richard in a tone of conviction. “Come, old man, free your mind. You need a father-confessor. I’ll try to fill the _rôle_ if you will bear with my youth and inexperience.” Fenton puffed at his cigar in silence for a time, and gazed moodily into the gleaming coals in the grate. “I acknowledge, Richard,” he said at length, “that I am in a disturbed state of mind. But if I can’t help myself, nobody else can give me the aid I need.” “Proud and stubborn heart,” cried Richard. “Let me diagnose your case. You believe in certain novel theories, and have become a convert to various economic teachings that embrace more in their ultimate effects than a mere question of taxation. You are suddenly confronted by the fact that it is possible for even political economy to demand martyrs on the altars it has raised. Naturally, you object to being a martyr.” “Your way of putting it, Richard,” said Fenton slowly, “may have a basis of truth. I admit that I seem to have come to a turning-point imperatively demanding a decision on my part that will have a radical effect on my life.” “It is,” suggested Richard, “a question of hearts _versus_ theories.” “Not yet, perhaps,” answered Fenton; “but it may become so if I don’t call a halt at once in my present methods.”