“But you have that weakness, too.”
“Really?”
“Did you or did you not join the fashionable clubs Armitage put you up at?”
I had to laugh at myself.
“Are you or are you not proud of the fact that your best friend, Armitage, is a fashionable person? Would you be as proud of him if he were only welcome in middle-class houses?”
“I’m ashamed to say there’s something in that,” said I. “Not much, but something.”
“Yet you believed Mary Kirkwood!” ended Edna.
“I thought little about it,” said I. “And I still believe that she is sincere—that she has no snobbishness in her.”
“You like her?”
“So far as I know her—yes.” My answer was an attempt to meet and parry a suspicion I felt in Edna’s mind. And it was fairly successful; fairly—for no one ever yet completely dislodged a suspicion. We cannot see into each other’s minds. We know, from what is going on in our own minds, that the human mind is capable of any vagary. Once we have applied this general principle to a specific person, once we have become definitely aware that there are in that person’s mind things of which we have no knowledge—from that time forth suspicion of them is in us, and is ready to grow, to flourish.