"It seems to me that is queer talk. How can people have refinements without comforts?"
"Had you been at Mrs. Alroy's to-night, I think you would understand how that could be. And as for the rest," Mr. Allen added dryly, "Mrs. Alroy is one of the Van Ortons of New York."
"The Van Ortons of New York!" and Mrs. Allen dropped into her chair in astonishment, for the Van Ortons were people whom she was glad to visit. "How do you know?"
"Her resemblance to her brother puzzled me, and, wondering where I could have met her, I asked her maiden name."
"Why, I must call upon her soon."
"I think you'd better not—"
"Who's the aristocrat now, I wonder!"
"—because," he added, as if he had not heard the interruption, "she would consider it an intrusion. Her pride has been made as hard and cold as ice by her misfortunes, and I'm afraid nothing will ever melt it."
This was another new idea to Mrs. Allen. It seemed as if new things, starting with the little folks, were destined to be contagious. That a woman who lived in three small rooms and who supported herself and her daughter by selling goods across a counter, should resent a visit from a person so well known as herself, was somewhat startling to the lady.
"Well," she said impatiently, "what are you and your philanthropy going to do about it?"