"I don't know of any books on waitresses particularly, mother, only books on women's work in general. I can get the facts for you if you like. But what is wrong with the work is long hours, too much work, consumption from going home in the cold after the hot shops, and bad wages!"
Mary was taken aback. It had not occurred to her that there was a definite body of opinion on the subject—hostile opinion. "Oh—how do you know?" she asked.
Rosemary had been too much disturbed that afternoon to feel tolerant now. "She has been six months looking at it," she said to herself, "and she doesn't see yet what a rotten life it is. Shall I get like that, shall I lose my wits and my senses when I've been married twenty years?" "Oh, I don't know," she answered. "I know a woman who works among them, and every now and then there are articles in the papers about it—"
"I've never seen any, dear!" Mary felt that in some way she was on her defence.
"You wouldn't have, they'd not be in the Times. Of course, you can't rely on them altogether, but they're fairly accurate, and about a year ago I felt curious about it; I wanted to find out how our money was made for us, so I went to one of those bureaus where they look things out for you. I never said anything to you because you none of you take me seriously." Her voice had become softer as she realised that her mother was really distressed.
She finished, and Mary bent forward, eager with a point. She had not meant to speak of the thing, much less argue about it, but when she saw Rosemary seriously in error, she forgot that it might be imprudent to open a discussion. "Why did you say bad wages?—I have always understood that twelve shillings a week was good wages for a woman. My servants would think it good."
"So it is," said Anthony, who had left the hearth-rug and was standing behind Rosemary's chair.
"And you must remember that all these girls are provided for at home! They're not really earning their livings!" She was not defending a mere argument, she was defending James!
"That doesn't make twelve shillings fair pay for a whole week's work! Suppose their fathers are earning two pounds a week, or even four—two hundred pounds a year—couldn't they spend a little more with advantage? Whether they'll let us or not, nothing gives us a moral right to feed our girls on their fathers' money!" Rosemary's inner excitement was turned now into this congenial channel. She had never had a chance of talking about the matter with her father, and when she had turned on Trent he had refused with contempt to discuss that or anything else of importance with her. Laura had been vaguely sympathetic, with a mental reservation that father couldn't possibly be cruel to anyone. Now at last Rosemary could speak the truth. She would have said more if Anthony had not pressed his hand heavily on her shoulder.
"But why do the girls go to it," cried poor Mary, "if it's so bad? There are always girls waiting to be taken on! And how can your father pay his people more if nobody else will?"