"We're twenty, Ernest. And then, you see, it's like a course in
sociology. Susie--"

"Susie, was that her name?"

"Yes."

"So she had a name?"

"Of course."

"She shouldn't. It should be a number."

"They may not be pillars of society; still, they're human."

"Yes," said Ernest, "that is the most horrible part of it."




VIII


The moon was shining brightly.

Swift and sure the prow of the night-boat parted the silvery foam.

The smell of young flesh. Peals of laughter. A breathless pianola. The
tripping of dancing-feet. Voices husked with drink and voices soft with
love. The shrill accents of vulgarity. Hustling waiters. Shop-girls.