Why, if I
lived this life, I'd cease to be human after a short time.''
Ellen was silent.
``I didn't mean to say anything rude or offensive,'' said Selma,
sensitive to the faintest impressions. ``I was speaking my
thoughts aloud. . . . Do you know David Hull?''
``The young reformer?'' said Ellen with a queer little smile.
``Yes--quite well.''
``Does he live like this?''
``Rather more grandly,'' said Ellen.
Selma shook her head. A depressed expression settled upon her
features. ``It's useless,'' she said. ``He couldn't possibly
become a man.''
Ellen laughed. ``You must hurry,'' she said. ``We're keeping
everyone waiting.''
As Selma was making a few passes at her rebellious thick
hair--passes the like of which Miss Clearwater had never before
seen--she explained:
``I've been somewhat interested in David Hull of late--have been
hoping he could graduate from a fake reformer into a useful
citizen. But--'' She looked round expressively at the luxury
surrounding them-- ``one might as well try to grow wheat in
sand.''
``Davy is a fine fraud,'' said Ellen. ``Fine--because he doesn't
in the least realize that he's a fraud.''
``I'm afraid he is a fraud,'' said Selma setting on her hat
again. ``What a pity? He might have been a man, if he'd been
brought up properly.'' She gazed at Ellen with sad, shining
eyes. ``How many men and women luxury blights!'' she cried.
``It certainly has done for Davy,'' said Ellen lightly.
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