women I could name. You don't see any sign of what you call
success on Jane Addams's face, do you? You wouldn't say, on
seeing her, that here was a woman who looked as if she might
afford hundred-dollar tailor suits and a town car. No. All
you see in her face is the reflection of the souls of all
the men and women she has worked to save. She has covered
her job--the job that the Lord intended her to cover. And
to me she is the most radiantly beautiful woman I have ever
seen."

Fanny sat silent. She was twisting the fingers of one hand
in the grip of the other, as she had since childhood, when
deeply disturbed. And suddenly she began to cry--silently,
harrowingly, as a man cries, her shoulders shaking, her face
buried in her furs.

"Fanny! Fanny girl!" He was horribly disturbed and
contrite. He patted her arm, awkwardly. She shook free of
his hand, childishly. "Don't cry, dear. I'm sorry. It's
just that I care so much. It's just----"

She raised an angry, tear-stained face. "It's just that you
have an exalted idea of your own perceptions. It's just
that you've grown up from what they used to call a bright
little boy to a bright young man, and you're just as
tiresome now as you were then. I'm happy enough, except
when I see you. I'm getting the things I starved for all
those years. Why, I'll never get over being thrilled at the
idea of being able to go to the theater, or to a concert,
whenever I like. Actually whenever I want to. And to be