Elsie became very thoughtful.
Her sister’s words had brought before her mind’s eye an involuntary picture that both startled and repelled her.
“Anyway, the prices are something wicked. What’s up, young Elsie?”
“Nothing. I heard something to-day that set me wondering, that’s all.”
“What?”
“Oh, some girl that wanted a pink silk rig-out, that’s all.”
“You must have some queer friends. No decent girl would wear those things—only tarts do, unless it’s fine ladies that aren’t any better than they should be, from what the Society papers say.”
Geraldine, in her curling-pins and her thick nightgown, looked rigidly virtuous. “Get into bed, do.”
“It’s too hot,” sighed Elsie.
The room was like a furnace, but neither of them would have dreamed of opening the window after dark.