"It's an honest way of making a living, and that's more than can be said of—of some things. I suppose you're afraid you'll have to wear tights—or some nonsense like that."
"No, no. It's doing it at all. Such rotten music—and what a loathsome mess!"
Mrs. Belloc's eyes flashed. "I'm losing all patience!" she cried. "I know you've been brought up like a fool and always surrounded by fools. I suppose you'd rather sell yourself to some man. Do you know what's the matter with you, at bottom? Why, you're lazy and you're a coward. Too lazy to work. And afraid of what a lot of cheap women'll say—women earning their board and clothes in about the lowest way such a thing can be done. Haven't you got any self-respect?"
Mildred rose. "Mrs. Belloc," she said angrily, "I can't permit even you to say such things to me."
"The shoe seems to fit," retorted Mrs. Belloc. "I never yet saw a lady, a real, silk-and-diamonds, sit-in-the-parlor lady, who had any self-respect. If I had my way they wouldn't get a mouthful to eat till they had earned it. That'd be a sure cure for the lady disease. I'm ashamed of you, Miss Stevens! And you're ashamed of yourself."
"Yes, I am," said Mildred, with a sudden change of mood.
"The best thing you can do is to rest till lunch-time. Then start out after lunch and hunt a job. I'll go with you."
"But I've got a job," said Mildred. "That's what's the matter."
Agnes Belloc's jaw dropped and her rather heavy eyebrows shot up toward the low sweeping line of her auburn hair. She made such a ludicrous face that Mildred laughed outright. Said she:
"It's quite time. Fifty a week, for three weeks of rehearsal. No doubt I can go on if I like. Nothing could be easier."