"Oh, you know why. You know how people'd talk if they knew."
"What people?" said Susan. "Anyone who's willing to give you anything?"
"No," admitted Etta. "But——" There she halted.
Susan went on: "I don't propose to be bothered by the other kind. They wouldn't do anything for me if they could except sneer and condemn."
"Still, you know it isn't right, what we're doing."
"I know it isn't cold—or hunger—or rags and dirt—and bugs," replied Susan.
Those few words were enough to conjure even to Etta's duller fancy the whole picture to its last detail of loathsome squalor. Into Etta's face came a dazed expression. "Was that really us, Lorna?"
"No," said Susan with a certain fierceness. "It was a dream. But we must take care not to have that dream again."
"I'd forgotten how cold I was," said Etta; "hadn't you?"
"No," said Susan, "I hadn't forgotten anything."