“I’m afraid I’m scarcely the person to help you in a matter of dress,” answered Mrs. Warden.
Good-natured Mrs. Abel stared at her; there was something disquieting in her tone, and she had a vast respect for her rich friend.
“You remember I told you the other day that Warden had promised me—that’s to say”—Mrs. Warden corrected herself—“he had asked me to order a new silk dress—”
“From Madame Labiche—of course!”—interrupted Mrs. Abel. “And I suppose you’re on your way to her now? Oh, take me with you! It will be such fun!”
“I am not going to Madame Labiche’s,” answered Mrs. Warden, almost solemnly.
“Good gracious, why not?” asked her friend, while her good-humored brown eyes grew spherical with astonishment.
“Well, you must know,” answered Mrs. Warden, “it seems to me we can’t with a good conscience pay so much money for unnecessary finery, when we know that on the outskirts of the town—and even at our very doors—there are hundreds of people living in destitution—literally in destitution.”
“Yes, but,” objected the advocate’s wife, casting an uneasy glance over her table, “isn’t that the way of the world? We know that inequality—”
“We ought to be careful not to increase the inequality, but rather to do what we can to smooth it away,” Mrs. Warden interrupted. And it appeared to Mrs. Abel that her friend cast a glance of disapprobation over the table, the stuffs, and the Bazars.
“It’s only alpaca,” she interjected, timidly.