"Why not?" she asked again, still more fiercely.
But her mother wouldn’t say it. Anyway, she knew that Angelica understood her meaning perfectly.
"A waste of carfare," she said. "All that money—there’s no sense at all in your going. There’ll be dozens after the place—girls that—that’ll suit better."
Her object was to spare her child the humiliation she foresaw for her—a factory girl, a bold-eyed, ignorant young thing in the cheapest sort of clothes, offering herself to a lady as a companion! Herself brought up in a quite different way, accustomed to recognizing, without snobbery and without resentment, that there were in the world groups of people better and groups worse than her own sort, she could not comprehend Angelica’s attitude. Angelica envied without admiring. In fact, she despised "rich people" almost as much as her father had, but her ambition in life was to be one of them.
"I’ll risk the carfare," she said. "I’m going to try, anyway. You know, mommer, maybe they’re sick of those silly little dolls—‘ladies’—especially if it’s an invalid. They said ‘cheerful,’ you know."
"All ladies aren’t silly dolls," said Mrs. Kennedy, displeased. "And I don’t know as you’re so cheerful, Angelica."
"I could be, if I wanted. Anyway, I’m going to try. I’ll just take the fare. I’ll give you all the rest, mommer."
She took out a shabby little purse, counted her money, put some back, and laid the rest on the tub tops. Such a pitiful sum! It hurt her mother.
"It’s all yours," she said. "You’ve worked for it. Do as you please. If you really want to go—— I’m sure I hope you’ll get the place."
After a moment she added: