“Good heavens!” Mrs. Cromwell exclaimed. “And such a girl is put up for membership at our quiet old family country club.”
Anne shook her head, and laughed tearfully. “She’ll never be blackballed for that, Mamma! Nobody thinks anything about those things any more; and besides, she only does them because she thinks they’re ‘what goes.’ They aren’t what’s made the boys so wild over her!”
“Then what has?”
“Oh, it’s so crazy!” Anne cried. “I could imagine little boys of seven or even ten, being caught that way, at a children’s party, but to see grown men!”
“Anne!” Mrs. Cromwell contrived to smile, though rather dismally. “How are these ‘grown men’ caught by Miss Sallie Ealing?”
“Why, just by less than nothing, Mamma! Of course, she’s got a kind of style and anybody’d notice her anywhere, but what makes you notice her so much is her being so triumphant: the men are all rushing at her every instant, and that makes you look at her more than you would. But what started them to rushing and what keeps them going is the thing I feel I can never forgive them for. Mamma, I feel as if I could never respect a man again!”
“Remember your father,” Mrs. Cromwell said indulgently. “Your father——”
“No; if a man like Harrison Crisp can become just a girl’s slave on that account——” Anne interrupted herself. “Why, it’s like Circe’s cup!” she cried. “I suppose that meant Circe’s kiss, really.”
“They don’t do that, do they, Anne?”
“I don’t know,” Anne said. “It’s not that at first, anyhow.”