"Dressing gowns," said Ellen. "Just to wear round while one is dressing or undressing."
Selma advanced and felt and examined them. "But why so many?" she inquired.
"Oh, foolishness," said Ellen. "Indulgence! To suit different moods."
"Lovely," murmured Selma. "Lovely!"
"I suspect you of a secret fondness for luxury," said Ellen slyly.
Selma laughed. "What would I do with such things?" she inquired. "Why, I'd have no time to wear them. I'd never dare put on anything so delicate."
She roamed through dressing-room, bedroom, bath-room, marveling, inquiring, admiring. "I'm so glad I came," said she. "This will give me a fresh point of view. I can understand the people of your class better, and be more tolerant about them. I understand now why they are so hard and so indifferent. They're quite removed from the common lot. They don't realize; they can't. How narrow it must make one to have one's life filled with these pretty little things for luxury and show. Why, if I lived this life, I'd cease to be human after a short time."
Ellen was silent.
"I didn't mean to say anything rude or offensive," said Selma, sensitive to the faintest impressions. "I was speaking my thoughts aloud.... Do you know David Hull?"
"The young reformer?" said Ellen with a queer little smile. "Yes—quite well."