Jane confidently expected that this announcement would cause some sort of emotion—perhaps of awe, perhaps of horror, certainly of interest. She was disappointed. If Selma felt anything she did not show it—and Jane was of the opinion that it would be well nigh impossible for so direct and natural a person to conceal. Jane went on:
"I read in your paper about your fund for sick children. I was riding past your office—saw the sign—and I've come in to give what I happen to have about me." She drew out the small roll of bills and handed it to Selma.
The Russian girl—if it is fair thus to characterize one so intensely American in manner, in accent and in speech—took the money and said:
"We'll acknowledge it in the paper next week."
Jane flushed and a thrill of alarm ran through her. "Oh—please—no," she urged. "I'd not like to have my name mentioned. That would look as if I had done it to seem charitable. Besides, it's such a trifle."
Selma was calm and apparently unsuspicious. "Very well," said she. "We'll write, telling what we did with the money, so that you can investigate."
"But I trust you entirely," cried Jane.
Selma shook her head. "But we don't wish to be trusted," said she. "Only dishonest people wish to be trusted when it's possible to avoid trusting. And we all need watching. It helps us to keep straight."
"Oh, I don't agree with you," protested Miss Hastings. "Lots of the time I'd hate to be watched. I don't want everybody to know all I do."
Selma's eyes opened. "Why not?" she said.