"Oh, there are, still, different grades. I was wondering if you would be so inconsistent as to earn a little money from me and two friends of mine. We have read socialism a bit, but, we don't understand it very well. I am in mourning and it would interest me immensely." He had dropped her arm and was staring at her. "You are not afraid of me, then?" His voice was sulky but his eyes were less hostile. "Oh, not in the least. I fully appreciate that you merely wished to humiliate me, not to be insulting, as some of these other men might have been. My name is Mrs. Mortimer Dwight. I live on Ballinger Hill--do you know it? That old house in the eucalyptus grove?" "I know it, all right." "Then you probably know, also, that I am not rich and never have been. My husband is a struggling young business man." "That cuts no ice. You train with that class, don't you? You're class yourself, reek with it. You had rich ancestors or you wouldn't be what you are now." "Well, we can discuss that point another time. One of my friends is a daughter of Judge Lawton--" "Hand in glove with every rich grafter in 'Frisco." Alexina shuddered. "Please say San Francisco. I am positive you never heard a word against Judge Lawton's probity, nor that he ever rendered an unjust decision." "He's a wise old guy, all right. But it would be wastin' time tryin' to make you understand why I have no use for him." "Of course you would have no use for the husband of my other friend, Mrs. Frank Bascom." She fully expected that the young millionaire's name would be the final red rag and that her escort would roar his opinion of him for the benefit of all Fillmore Street. But he surprised her by saying reluctantly: "He's dead straight, all right. He's not a grafter. I've nothing against him personally, but he's part of a damnable system and I'd clean him out with the rest." "Well, there you have three of us to your hand. Who knows but that you might convert us? Why not give us the chance? If you will give me your address I will write to you as soon as my friends come back to town." "I don't know whether I want to do it or not. You may be makin' game of me for all I know." "I am quite sincere. You interest me immensely. And we might teach you something too--what it means to have a sense of humor. I know enough of socialism to know that no socialist can have it. May I ask what your occupation is?" "I'm just a plain working-man--housebuilding line." "Then you could only come in the evening?" "Not at all; I get off at five. You don't have your dinner until eight in your set, I believe," This with a sneer that curled his upper lip almost to the septum of his nose. "Seven. My husband works until nearly six. He rarely has time for lunch and comes home very hungry." Once more he looked puzzled and disconcerted, but his small steady eyes did not waver.