"Um—" The girl shook her head dubiously. "Rents are mighty steep in New York, and going up all the time. You see, the rich people that own the lands and houses here need a lot of money in their business. You've got either to take a room or part of one in with some tenement family, respectable but noisy and dirty and not at all refined, or else you've got to live in a house where everything goes. You want to live respectable, I judge?"
"Yes."
"That's the way with me. Do what you please, I say, but for God's sake, don't make yourself common! You'll want to be free to have your gentlemen friends come—and at the same time a room you'll not be ashamed for 'em to see on account of dirt and smells and common people around."
"I shan't want to see anyone in my room."
The young woman winced, then went on with hasty enthusiasm.
"I knew you were refined the minute I looked at you. I think you might get a room in the house of a lady friend of mine—Mrs. Tucker, up in Clinton Place near University Place—an elegant neighborhood—that is, the north side of the street. The south side's kind o' low, on account of dagoes having moved in there. They live like vermin—but then all tenement people do."
"They've got to," said Susan.
"Yes, that's a fact. Ain't it awful? I'll write down the name and address of my lady friend. I'm Miss Mary Hinkle."
"My name is Lorna Sackville," said Susan, in response to the expectant look of Miss Hinkle.
"My, what a swell name! You've been sick, haven't you?"