you write; buys your books as soon as they are published."

"Buys them!" With the only quick movement he had made, Mr. Garrott
turned to me. "I'd like to meet him. I'm glad to know there's
somebody in America who buys and reads my books. Usually those who buy
don't read, and those who read don't buy. But tell me--" Again the
corners of his mouth drooped, and again his spectacles were adjusted.
"Why did you go in for--for living in a run-down place and meeting such
odds and ends as they say you meet? You're not old enough for things
of that kind. An ugly woman, uninteresting, unprovided for--she might
take them up." He stared at me as if for physical explanation of
unreasonable peculiarities. "You believe, I fancy--"

"That a woman is capable of deciding for herself what she wants to do."

Again Jack Peebles's near-sighted eyes blinked at me, but in his voice
there was no longer chaffing. "She believes even more remarkable
things than that. Believes if people, all sorts, knew one another
better, understood one another better, there would be less injustice,
less indifference, and greater friendship and regard. Rather an
uncomfortable creed for those who don't want to know, who prefer--"

"But you don't expect all grades of people to be friends? Surely you
don't expect--"

I smiled. "No, I don't expect. So far I'm only hoping all people may,
some day--be friendly."

Kitty was signaling frantically with her eyes, and in obedience I again
performed as requested, for the third time turned to Mr. Garrott.