“Have you ever worked for your living?”
“No.”
“Exactly. Intelligent and able-bodied, and yet you’ve—”
“I’ve helped at home.”
“You may have saved the wages of a housekeeper or a sewing woman, but you’ve taken what was given you as a dole; and you haven’t a notion what you’d do if the men of your family died or cast you off. Or—have you?”
“I never thought about it.”
“That’s what I mean. You belong to what they call the privileged class. The ‘privilege’ is to know as little of life as a pet canary.”
Hildegarde only laughed.
“Oh, yes, you sing very sweetly, and the song says you’ve got all the rights you want. All it means is that through some man living or dead the singer has what material comforts she needs. And the burden of the song is, ‘Look how contented and feminine I am. I’m all right. With the mass of womankind it’s different, but I shan’t bother.’”