``I know that. But you hated it and changed it to Jeanne, which
is so much prettier.''
``I don't think so any more,'' replied Miss Hastings. ``My taste
has improved. Don't be so horribly middle class, Martha--ashamed
of everything simple and natural.''
``You think you know it all--don't you?--just because you've
lived abroad,'' said Martha peevishly.
``On the contrary, I don't know one-tenth as much as I thought I
did, when I came back from Wellesley with a diploma.''
``Do you like my costume?'' inquired Martha, eying her finery
with the fond yet dubious expression of the woman who likes her
own taste but is not sure about its being good taste.
``What a lazy, worthless pair we are!'' exclaimed Jane, hitting
her boot leg a tremendous rap with her little cane.
Martha startled. ``Good God--Jane--what is it?'' she cried.
``On the way here I passed a lot of factories,'' pursued Jane.
``Why should those people have to work like--like the devil,
while we sit about planning ball dresses?''
Martha settled back comfortably. ``I feel so sorry for those
poor people,'' said she, absently sympathetic.
``But why?'' demanded Jane. ``WHY? Why should we be allowed to
idle while they have to slave? What have we done--what are we
doing--to entitle us to ease? What have they done to condemn
them to pain and toil?''
``You know very well, Jane, that we represent the finer side of
life.''
``Slop!'' ejaculated Jane.
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