“You might have it silver-plated,” suggested Elsie soberly, “so that, like the majority of my sex, I would not know it was iron until after marriage.”
“You are incorrigible! But what are you going to do with yourself, anyway, while you are waiting for that haughty sister of mine to come under my soothing ministrations?”
“Something new—work!”
“At what?”
“Slop-work, like Margaret. I’ve already bought a new sewing-machine—on part payments, of course—and I am going to break the record on hickory shirts and blue jeans overalls.”
“Absurd! quixotic! outrageous!” exclaimed Herbert, springing to his feet and pacing the room with an excited air. “I tell you, Elsie, you and Margaret will kill yourselves in endeavoring to uphold the dignity of woman or labor or some other foolish notion.”
“Herbert!” Elsie’s eyes flashed ominously. “If the whole world were like you—Supreme Sultans of Gilded Leisure—you might make your uncomplimentary classifications; but under existing conditions, I think—well, I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself; so there!”
“I am,” said Herbert contritely, as he took her in his arms. “I don’t in the least question the nobility of motive that inspires all this heroism, but I do question its result. Do you think the fate of the world is hanging on the struggles of two such admittedly unselfish and uplifted slips of girls?”
“You’re just like the old heathen masters of morality!” ejaculated Elsie. “They gave such excellent rules for other men’s guidance, but they hadn’t the courage to try their arguments on themselves. Of course Margaret and I are very heroic in trying to live up to our principles—but very silly!”
Herbert’s laugh was so contagious that even Elsie joined in it.