year's work. Hence he was in the proletarian class.

Alice Mackaye, on the other hand, belonged to the capitalist class.
I say "belonged," because that is precisely the word to describe her
situation. Her father was a millionaire sugar-merchant, who lived
in an ugly palace near Morristown, New Jersey, and was accustomed
to have his own way in that and other States. He was the Obstacle.

He was a florid, handsome old Scotchman, orthodox in religion,
shrewd in business, correct in conduct, but with no more sentiment
than a hard-shell crab, and obstinate as the devil. His fixed
idea was that none of his daughters should ever be carried off by
a fortune-hunter. The two older girls apparently escaped this danger
by making fairly wealthy matches. But Alice--come away! why should
she take up with this impecunious painter? He was good-looking and
had the gift of the gab, but what was that worth? If he would come
into the sugar-business, where a place was waiting for him, and
make good there, it would be all right. Otherwise, the affair must
be broken off, absolutely, finally, and forever. From this you can
see that the Obstacle was not bad-hearted, but only pig-headed.

Well, for five or six years things drifted rather miserably along
this way. Will Hermann was forbidden the house at Morristown. Alice
was practically a captive; her correspondence was censored. But
of course, even before Marconi, wireless communication in matters
of this kind has always been possible.

The trouble was that the state of affairs between them, while
conventionally correct, was thoroughly unnatural and full of peril.
Alice, a very good girl, obedient and tractable, was in danger of