"Do you mean that?" demanded Mrs. Belloc.
"No, I don't," said Mildred. "Oh, I don't know what I mean."
"I guess you're just talking," said Mrs. Belloc after a reflective silence. "I guess a girl who goes and gets a good job, first crack out of the box, must have a streak of shrewdness."
"I hope so," said Mildred doubtfully.
"I guess you'll work hard, all right. After you went out this morning, I took that paper down to Miss Blond. She's crazy about it. She wants to make a copy of it. I told her I'd ask you."
"Certainly," said Mildred. "She says she'll return it the same day."
"Tell her she can keep it as long as she likes."
Mrs. Belloc eyed her gravely, started to speak, checked herself. Instead, she said, "No, I shan't do that. I'll have it back in your room by this evening. You might change your mind, and want to use it."
"Very well," said Mildred, pointedly uninterested and ignoring Mrs. Belloc's delicate but distinct emphasis upon "might."
Mrs. Belloc kept a suspicious eye upon her—an eye that was not easily deceived. The more she thought about Mildred's state of depression and disdain the more tolerant she became. That mood was the natural and necessary result of the girl's bringing up and mode of life. The important thing—and the wonderful thing—was her being able to overcome it. After a week of rehearsal she said: "I'm making the best of it. But I don't like it, and never shall."