“I am a socialist.”
“You’re nothing of the kind.”
“I suppose I know what I am.”
“Not at all—not at all.”
“I certainly think the rich are too rich, while the poor are so horridly poor.”
“You’d get on well without your maid and your car and your father’s charge accounts at all the shops, wouldn’t you?”
Though agreeable to talk seriously if you agree, it is correspondingly dangerous if you disagree. Crystal stood up, trembling with an emotion which Eddie, although he was rather angry himself, considered utterly unaccountable.
“Yes,” she said, almost proudly, “I am luxurious, I am dependent on those things. But whose fault is that? It’s the way I was brought up—it’s all wrong. But, even though I am dependent on them, I believe I could exist without them. I’d feel like killing myself if I didn’t think so. Sometimes I want to go away and find out if I couldn’t live and be myself without all this background of luxury. But at the worst—I’m just one girl—suppose I were weak and couldn’t get on without them? That wouldn’t prove that they are right. I’m not so blinded that I can’t see that a system by which I profit may still be absolutely wrong. But you always seem to think, Eddie, that it’s part of the Constitution of the United States that you should have everything you’ve always had.”
Eddie rose, too, with the manner of a man who has allowed things to go far enough. “Look here, my dear girl,” he said, “I am a man and I’m older than you, and have seen more of the world. I know you don’t mean any harm, but I must tell you that this is very wicked, dangerous talk.”
“Dangerous, perhaps, Eddie, but I can’t see how it can be wicked to want to give up your special privileges.”