When the little party reached Mrs. Pomeroy's sumptuous drawing-room—a blaze of light and color—most of the guests had already arrived. Mr. Pomeroy, a large, important looking man, who seemed to be on excellent terms with himself and with the world in general, greeted them with a rather pompous cordiality, and then retired to the background to continue his conversation with an old gentleman of somewhat grim and shaggy aspect, whose old-fashioned frock-coat contrasted somewhat oddly with his host's expansive shirt-front and irreproachable dress-suit. Mrs. Pomeroy was a rather small, dark-eyed woman, with a good deal of character and energy in her face, and a dress of sober richness, almost suggestive of Quakerism in its hue. Miss Pomeroy, rather tall, and dark, and good-looking, though with a slight hardness and discontent about the curves of her face, was engaged in an animated conversation with Mr. Chillingworth. Kitty Farrell—looking exquisite and radiant in some diaphanous, pink, silky texture, was appropriated, of course, by young Pomeroy. Her father, with a thin careworn face, quick and restless in his movements, was talking with Mr. Pomeroy and the old gentleman, while Mrs. Farrell, fair, languid, and most tastefully attired, reclined on a sofa beside Mrs. Pomeroy. There were some other people, including a banker and his wife—a Mr. and Mrs. Cheever, accompanied by a Miss Harley, an English lady with an English complexion and roundness of figure, who was paying them a visit, and on whose account, mainly, the party was given. Nora was speedily introduced to a young man who arrived almost simultaneously with themselves—fresh and good-looking, with dark-brown hair and full moustache, which parted in a frequent smile over very white teeth. He was introduced as "Mr. Archer," and Nora was trying to make up her mind whether she liked his face or not, when dinner was announced, and her new acquaintance offered his arm.

The dinner-table seemed like a miniature garden of exquisite flowers, amid which gleamed the silver, crystal, and costly Haviland china—a recent acquisition. Mr. Pomeroy was a man who always liked to be sure that he had "the best" of everything, and who regarded it as a duty to gratify his desire to the utmost. As Nora sat down and involuntarily took in the impression of beauty, brilliancy and costliness afforded by the whole, her thoughts went back once more to poor Lizzie's struggling life, with its sordid surroundings, and the winter jacket she couldn't buy. But Mr. Archer's amusing flow of talk, and the interest of finding out the ideas and tastes of a new acquaintance, soon diverted her thoughts. Mr. Chillingworth, who had taken in his hostess, was seated on her other side, and claimed a large share of her attention. A certain Mr. Wharton, of literary proclivities, and the old gentleman aforesaid, were nearly opposite.

"So good of you to come this evening," said Mrs. Pomeroy. "We shouldn't have fixed on Saturday, but it seemed the only evening we could have Miss Harley, who will be here only for a few days. But we thought you wouldn't mind, for once."

"Oh, I happened to be pretty well up with my work this week; so I could allow myself the pleasure, with a clear conscience," replied the clergyman.

The talk drifted about in the usual inconsequential manner of dinner-parties. The courses, entrÉes, et cÆtera, were many and elaborate, and were evidently thoroughly appreciated, by the gentlemen, at least. Mr. Archer smilingly noticed that Miss Blanchard declined wine, as indeed did the hostess, also, who had pronounced views on the subject of total abstinence, it appeared, although yielding to her husband's wish to have wine at his table. Mrs Pomeroy was indeed a "prominent worker," as the Minerva would have put it, on various philanthropic and mission boards So she hastened to reinforce Miss Blanchard in a playful skirmish as to the merits of total abstinence societies and of Prohibition, of which she was a strenuous advocate. Mr Pomeroy presently, however, shut off the discussion by telling his friends that they had better enjoy their champagne while they could, as Mrs Pomeroy was determined to take it from them altogether, and there was no knowing how soon she might succeed. And then he struck at once into a fresh subject.

"By the way, Wharton, that was a capital letter of yours in the Minerva the other day, on that last book of Henry George's."

"Glad you thought so," replied Mr Wharton, complacently. "I thought the Minerva was growing quite too enthusiastic over it, so I just touched them up a little on the subject."

"And you did to some purpose," said his host. "That was a good point you made, anyway—when you showed up the fallacy of that absurd assertion that the poor are growing poorer. I haven't read the book myself, but if that's how he talks, I should say it's great stuff!"

"Oh, that point's the thing!" rejoined Mr Wharton, pleased to dilate a little on a favorite subject. "If you grant him that, you have to grant him a great deal more. But of course it's absurd."

"Well," said Mr. Archer, his moustache parting over his white teeth, with his cynical smile—"I suppose we don't any of us live just as our ancestors did in Queen Elizabeth's time. I doubt if her majesty ever saw such a charmingly arranged dinner-table in her life!" Here he bowed toward the hostess. "But I happened to see something of the tenements of New York lately, in connection with a case which involved the proprietorship of some of them. I really think I'd rather have the Elizabethan style, so far as the laborer is concerned. But of course, all laborers don't live in rooms that would hardly be fit for a dog-kennel."

Nora's thoughts went off to the wretched apartment in which she had so lately spent the night, but she was too shy to join in a general conversation. Her brother, however, remarked tersely, that he saw some wretched enough kennels, even in Minton, and that, "if some quarters of the city were not soon looked after, they would be hearing of an outbreak of typhoid fever or diphtheria, the first thing."

"Oh, Doctor!" exclaimed Mrs. Farrell, in alarm. "You don't say so. I do hope it will be looked after soon!"

Mrs. Pomeroy, however, remarked that, for her part, she thought the poor people seemed very happy and comfortable, so far as she came in contact with them, in connection with the Clothing Club.

Mr. Archer smiled again. "By the way, Mr. Pomeroy," he remarked, "have you seen the new paper?"

"What new paper?" inquired the host.

"The Brotherhood, the new champion of the oppressed and down-trodden workmen! I tell you, you manufacturers will have to look out. You'll be brought to book for all your iniquities."

"Yes, I believe I did see a wretched little sheet of that name somewhere, started by some crank. But of course, I haven't time to look at such things."

"Ah," said Mr. Chillingworth, "I suppose that is the paper a young man came to canvass me for! I don't know whether he wanted me to take it or to write for it. But I see he has sent it to me."

"Oh, both, Mr. Chillingworth!" retorted Mr. Archer, smiling with mock persuasiveness. "The editor of it, Mr. Roland Graeme, is well known to me; in fact, I have the honor of having him at present in my office, and I can answer for him that he would be delighted to accept any contributions from your pen."

"Or from mine, say," remarked Mr. Wharton.

"I'm not so sure about you! You are too much on the philosophical tack! You wouldn't have enough sympathy. The Brotherhood, you know, is founded on the idea of Christian fellow-feeling."

"Thanks, very much, for your good opinion!" retorted the other.

"I've heard a good deal about that fellow, Roland Graeme," remarked Mr. Pomeroy, in his tone of bland patronage. "I should say he hadn't enough to do! He's been aiding and abetting the 'Knights of Labor,' in every way he can; in fact, they say he's one, himself: and they're troublesome enough, without having better educated people, who ought to know better, putting their oars in!"

"'Knights,' indeed!" echoed Mrs. Pomeroy, sarcastically, "Precious knights!"

"Why, they actually had the cheek to come and interview me, lately," said Mr. Pomeroy. "They had a whole list of grievances that they wanted remedied. Willett wouldn't have anything to say to them, so they came on to me. And I believe this Roland Graeme was at the bottom of it."

"Well, he isn't half a bad fellow," said Mr. Archer, "but he's awfully soft in some ways. A child could get round him, quicker indeed than a grown-up person," he added, half to himself. "But what did you do? Did you grant their requests?"

"Not I! There were far too many. They wanted shorter hours, and bigger pay, and half-holidays, and all the rest of it. Oh, by the way, there was one thing, Willett had been negligent about, some shafting that had been left uncovered; I had that inquired into and put right."

"Then the interview wasn't absolutely without results," remarked the elderly gentleman in the frock-coat, joining in the discussion for the first time, and speaking in a deep, guttural, Scotch voice and accent.

"Oh, I've no doubt we'd have put that all right in due time, without their interference," said the host, somewhat superciliously.

"Aye! After an accident, and an inquest, and a suit for damages," returned the Scotchman, with a dry smile and twinkle of the eye.

"Come! come! Mr. Dunlop, you have a rather bad opinion of us, I know; but for our own sakes, you know, we want to have everything right about the mills. And as for all these other things—why, if we went to pampering and coddling those people to that extent, they would think so much of themselves, that by and by they wouldn't want to work at all. Why now, if we were to do as they ask, increase their pay and shorten their hours, how could we compete with firms that went in the old way? The thing is preposterous. As it is, those people who get their pay regularly and have no care, are better off, this minute, if they only knew it, than we who have all the care and responsibility, that they know nothing about. Let me help you to a bit of partridge; you'll find it just right, I think."

"And would you be caring to exchange with one of them?" persisted Mr. Dunlop, as he accepted the slice of partridge.

"Why, no, of course, it wouldn't suit me any more than my work would suit them."

"That's a very fallacious test of yours, Mr. Dunlop," interposed the sagacious Mr. Wharton. "As Mr. Pomeroy says, what would suit one wouldn't suit another. And then, the environment we are accustomed to counts for something. Our friend here, accustomed to his charming surroundings, as a matter of course, could not lose them without real deprivation. But a man unused to them would find them only a burden. Depend upon it, things in this world find their own level after all."

"Of course they do," rejoined Mr. Pomeroy; "as for all this talk about 'Fraternity and Equality,' the stuff such people as this Graeme are so fond of spouting—poisonous trash!—it's simply making people discontented with the inevitable conditions of life, and doing them no possible good. It's so much rank poison, morally speaking, is it not, Mr. Chillingworth?"

The clergyman had been listening silently, but he now readily responded. "Oh, there is no doubt in my mind that all the evils complained of—and no doubt there are some hardships—can be remedied in only one way, in the spread of the Christian spirit of love and service which must eventually prevail over selfish and partial views."

"And that would probably have been your verdict, in the last generation, as against abolitionists like Garrison and Phillips and Whittier, would it not?" remarked Mr. Archer, in his even, cool, slightly satirical tones. "Slavery would die out gradually, as the Christian spirit spread among the planters. But then, the question would have been, again, Who should begin? Slave-holder number one wouldn't want to begin till slave-holder number two did; so it would be difficult to see how the reformation would get started."

"Come now, Philip!" said Mrs. Pomeroy. The young man was a distant relation of hers, and took liberties accordingly. "You don't mean to put us all on a level with slave-holders, surely! This is a free country, I should hope; and no one is called on to do more for his employÉs than he conveniently can."

"Ah, now, my dear cousin, that's a delightful sort of philosophy! Do you know, I've sometimes found it inconvenient to pay my clerks, when I had been going in heavily for opera-tickets—I'm glad to think I'm not called on to do more than I conveniently can."

Philip Archer could always turn the most serious argument into a joke when he pleased—and he always pleased at a certain point—but Mr. Wharton was not going to let him off so easily.

"Of course you were not serious in that analogy of yours," he said. "There can be no parallel between a distinct wrong to humanity, and purely relative matters like wages and hours."

"And are ye sure ye have a clear comprehension of what are the rights of humanity?" struck in the deep Scotch voice. Mr. Dunlop had finished his partridge, and, having laid down his knife and fork, seemed ready to begin hostilities in earnest.

"I tell ye what it is," he went on, without waiting for a reply, "it would pay all you capitalists and employers just to take a look into things a little, to see what your men are doing and thinking—what the 'Knights' and 'Unions' are after—and consider if ye couldn't arrive at some rational understanding. There's nothing would propitiate them quicker than that. This thing's going to grow! It's young yet, and only totters on its feet; but by and by it will be as we say in Scotland, 'neither to haud nor to bind!' Awhile ago, ye were speaking of 'Fraternity and Equality,' Mr. Pomeroy. There was a third thing that went wi' them in the old days, that ye didna' mention! We're supposed to have got Liberty, and it's bound to work out its own salvation. I tell ye there's a big, silent army, marshalling without fife or drum, and if ye persist in ignoring it, as the grandees of France did before their Revolution, ye'll maybe have a revolution, too. What if the men were growing nae poorer? They see you all growing richer, the style of living rising on all hands. Can they be o' the same stock with you, and no want to rise too? And then wi' your 'protection' an' your 'combines,' ye're loading them down wi' a greater weight o' taxation than it took to make your ancestors rise and fight, shoulder to shoulder, for their independence! But ye won't see it! It's been aye the way, 'Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad'!"

"Why, Mr. Dunlop, I had no idea you were such a pessimist! You must have been taking an extra dose of Carlyle!" said Mr. Pomeroy, evidently trying to smooth out a frown, and retain his usual bland exterior.

"Aye! I've read my 'French Revolution' to some purpose, an' human nature's the same in all places and ages," was the grim reply.

"And what would you have us poor blinded creatures do?" inquired his host; "take all our men into partnership? A nice muddle they'd soon make of it!"

Miss Harley had been listening with deep interest to the little skirmish, her cheek flushing slightly, and her clear eyes shining with some vivid emotion. Now she spoke, with a soft clearness of tone that seemed to give every word additional weight.

"I think," she said, "that we, in England, have got so much accustomed now to the word coÖperation, that it begins to sound quite natural to us. Mr. Ruskin, of course, did a great deal to drive it into us, and a good many others have caught it up. And I can tell you something of the success of one experiment. My father had extensive works in Wiltshire. He had been reading Ruskin's Fors Clavigera, mainly on social matters, you know, and, being a Quaker, and having strict ideas as to duty, he began to think he wasn't using his men quite fairly. He knew, too, that there were some socialists among them, trying to breed mischief, and he thought he would try an experiment. So he invited a large number of the more intelligent of the men to meet him and hear his report of the state of the business. He laid it all before them, in the most precise and business-like way, explained the assets and debts—cost of working, annual proceeds, and all. He tried to give them an idea of the risks run, the capital needed, the fluctuations of trade, and so on, and then he told them that he would give to each man who proved his steadiness, and who chose to accept it, instead of wages, a certain share in the profits, graduated according to the value of his work. Of course it was only the picked men who accepted. The more shiftless and less intelligent preferred to take their ordinary wage, which was always a generous one, thinking 'a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush'. But the others made, my father used to say, 'capital partners'—they took such an interest in the business, were constantly suggesting little improvements and ways of saving waste, and were always on the lookout for all carelessness or 'scamped work' among the other men. And when a tight time came, they were able to convince the others that if they were kept on at all, it must be at a reduction. 'You see we can't afford more,' I've heard one man say to another, going home from work. And when there were 'strikes' and failures all around, his business continued to live on, like an organic creature, as he used to say, drawing itself in or letting itself out according to circumstances. And sometimes the generosity of the men in a slack time used to bring tears to his eyes, as he would tell us about it with pleasure and pride."

Every one had listened with interest to the pleasant little episode. Mr. Chillingworth's dark eyes had lighted up with enthusiasm.

"Ah, that was beautiful, indeed!" he said, with a warmer spontaneity than usual. "Thank you, indeed, Miss Harley, for telling us about it. That is how things should stand between master and men. We have some noble men in the old land yet!"

"Now, Mr. Chillingworth," broke in his hostess, "you're not going to go back on us, surely!"

"By no means! but you must pardon an Englishman his pride in the old stock."

"I should quite imagine," remarked Mr. Pomeroy, "that in such an old country as England, so conservative in all social matters, and so tenacious of vested rights, such a plan of coÖperation would answer very well. But it would be quite a different thing, in a more democratic community, to let workmen get in any degree a hand on the reins. Business is too complex here—financiering too delicate. It would be like letting a bull into a china shop."

A lady has one great advantage in an argument, that she cannot be abruptly choked off, especially by her host, no matter how distasteful her arguments may be. Perhaps Miss Harley was conscious of this advantage, for she forthwith proceeded to describe, at some length, a most successful profit-sharing enterprise which her father had taken her to see, at Guise, in French Flanders; a great foundry which owed its prosperity, mainly, to the zeal, and enterprise of Monsieur Godin, a disciple of Fourrier's, who had consecrated his life to elevate the condition of workingmen. The capital, she said, was gradually being transferred to the workmen, who already owned more than half a million dollars worth of stock; and the success, so far, was most encouraging. She then described enthusiastically the great FamilistÈre, or residence establishment, begun by Godin about 1859—the large quadrangular buildings with courts covered in with glass, the coÖperative shops and schools, the arrangements even for coÖperative char-women, till it seemed as if she were quoting from some dreamer's Utopian fable. Mr. Archer took a mischievous delight in drawing her out on the subject, as Mr. Pomeroy subsided into silent endurance till, at length, to the host's evident relief, the ladies rose to leave the table, when he quickly switched the conversation off on a political track.