the clap-trap "Egalité, Fraternité," they managed these things far
better. The French lower classes knew their place. They did not
ape the dress, nor frequent the resorts of those above them in the
social scale. The distinction between the classes was plainly and
properly marked, yet this was not antagonistic to the ideal of
true democracy; it had not prevented the son of a peasant from
becoming President of the French Republic. Each district in Paris
had its own amusement, its own theatres, its own parks. It was not
a question of capital refusing to fraternize with labour, but the
very natural desire of persons of refinement to mingle with clean
people rather than to rub elbows with the Great Unwashed.

"Isn't it delightful here?" said Shirley. "I could stay here
forever, couldn't you?"

"With you--yes," answered Jefferson, with a significant smile.

Shirley tried to look angry. She strictly discouraged these
conventional, sentimental speeches which constantly flung her sex
in her face.

"Now, you know I don't like you to talk that way, Mr. Ryder. It's
most undignified. Please be sensible."

Quite subdued, Jefferson relapsed into a sulky silence. Presently
he said:

"I wish you wouldn't call me Mr. Ryder. I meant to ask you this
before. You know very well that you've no great love for the name,
and if you persist you'll end by including me in your hatred of