“I am in earnest,” said I—and I was indeed in the full flood of a virtuous penitence whose hypocrisy I did not detect until I was thinking about the matter afterwards. You, gentle reader, would in the same circumstances never have permitted yourself to discover the hypocrisy. I went on: “I’m ashamed of the way I’ve acted.”
“They’ve got everything they need or want,” said Edna.
“Material comfort,” replied I. “But haven’t parents a right to expect something more? And now that our social position is secure, we’ve no excuse for acting snobbishly.”
I enjoyed this virtuous talk for itself; still more, I enjoyed teasing her. Her delicate, refined, ladylike nerves were aristocratically sensitive. Have you observed that peculiarity of lady nerves? A lady will live with the most shocking husband for luxury. She will endure the most degrading humiliations to get dresses, jewels, motor cars. She will crawl in the dirt to gain or to improve social position. She will, without a quiver, kiss her worst enemy, cut her dearest friends, in the furtherance of any ladylike purpose. But talk to her of self-respecting independence, of earning her own living, or of any of the homely decencies of life—of her ignorant old parents or unsightly poor relatives—and what a fairy princess of high-strung nerves she straightway becomes. Yes, Edna was a lady—a perfect lady, as perfect as if she had been born to it.
To my surprise I had daunted her only for the day; the following afternoon she began again. “This heavenly weather!” she exclaimed. “It tempts me to stay on and on.”
“I hope it will last over Sunday,” said I.
She ignored the shaft, and went on with undiminished enthusiasm: “And really New York has improved. In some respects it can be compared to Paris—though, of course, it has no background. A city can be built in a generation or so. But to build up the country—that takes centuries.”
“It’s building up rapidly,” said I. “You’ll be astonished Sunday by the change down where the old folks are. The Fosdicks have bought up twenty farms or so, and are making a park. I saw Amy Siersdorf not long ago and she spoke of having stopped at father’s place and got milk and corn bread.”
“The fluffy little cat,” said Edna, not especially ruffled. “I shall snub her the first time we meet. But I was about to speak of our house. I am arranging to open it. Of course, Margot can’t come over this winter, but I don’t really need her. We owe it to our friends here to do something socially. I want to stop the gossip.”
“The gossip?” said I.