"You think you know it all—don't you?—just because you've lived abroad," said Martha peevishly.
"On the contrary, I don't know one-tenth as much as I thought I did, when I came back from Wellesley with a diploma."
"Do you like my costume?" inquired Martha, eying her finery with the fond yet dubious expression of the woman who likes her own taste but is not sure about its being good taste.
"What a lazy, worthless pair we are!" exclaimed Jane, hitting her boot leg a tremendous rap with her little cane.
Martha startled. "Good God—Jane—what is it?" she cried.
"On the way here I passed a lot of factories," pursued Jane. "Why should those people have to work like—like the devil, while we sit about planning ball dresses?"
Martha settled back comfortably. "I feel so sorry for those poor people," said she, absently sympathetic.
"But why?" demanded Jane. "WHY? Why should we be allowed to idle while they have to slave? What have we done—what are we doing—to entitle us to ease? What have they done to condemn them to pain and toil?"
"You know very well, Jane, that we represent the finer side of life."
"Slop!" ejaculated Jane.