I said I thought it was almost worse. I asked why had Henry and Marian both left out an important part of our last meeting, the part on our larger social relations? Had we not made it impressive enough? For a moment they all were puzzled. Was it at the last meeting we had spoken of that? When I reminded them of what had been said, they remembered. But Henry added: “I did not think we said it at the last meeting. It seemed longer ago. Perhaps because that is something we have spoken of at all the meetings, right along.” I said I thought all but Alfred and Ruth were not greatly interested in larger social questions. Their family and school life were more absorbing. I said: “I know Alfred is interested in social and political problems, because he has told me so. You see, even though he won’t talk to you, he does sometimes talk to me.” Alfred blushed. He answered: “I care more about those outside relations than anything else.” Marian said: “I am interested, too. But last time, just in the midst, we got off to the subject of ‘knocking’ people. And so I don’t think we quite finished.” “Perhaps,” I asked, “we had better go over it again to-day? And yet I think not. You do seem to understand. I don’t think you can form your social and political opinions now, and I don’t care to talk much of these things. You see, the boys still have five years before they need to vote. And for the girls, I imagine it may be even longer.” “I don’t know,” said Ruth, “I don’t think it will be much longer.” “But,” I went on, “we spoke of other things, too. Didn’t we speak a great deal of woman’s life?” “You mean choosing professions, and society, and so on?” asked Marian. “Yes.” “It is strange, too,” said she, “that I forgot to write about it. For it impressed me very much, and I was talking of it only the other day, when some girls were at the house.” “Now,” I said, “we will speak of that strange thing, aloofness, the spectator’s point of view, that a while ago you could not understand. And I think to-day you will understand at once, for it is the sum and completeness of all we have said. Do you think you know now what I mean by aloofness? What do you think, Henry?” “I think it means,” he said, “understanding with sympathy all the people about you, and the outsiders.” “Yes,” I said; “but it means more than that.” Alfred looked as if he knew. “Well, Alfred?” “Doesn’t it mean,” he asked, “being able to criticize and judge yourself?”