“Why, no, that isn't it,” said Puddy. “We are going out to have a good time.”
“Oh, you slaves and bondwomen!” exclaimed Evelyn. “You don't know what a good time means. I must be off. Adieu, seneschals.” And with a pitying smile she left them.
She was a handsome, spirited-looking girl, with a queenly carriage. As she went out of the house Constance Leigh came by, and the two walked off together.
“There's a pair of them,” Hilda remarked.
“Awfully nice girls,” said Nannie.
“Oh, yes, but they're rabid. Constance Leigh is as independent as a March hare, and Evelyn is perfectly fierce for reforms now.”
“What, a socialist?” asked Prudence.
“No, not exactly, but she gathers the most awful class of people about her, and fairly bristles with indignation if one ventures to criticise them.”
“What do you mean—criminals?” asked Prudence.
“You'd think so if you chanced to run into one of them. Why, last Sunday evening she had an inebriate up to tea with her; next Sunday she expects a wife-beater, or choker, or something of that sort, and the other day, when I was coming out from a call on her, I met a black-browed, desperately wicked-looking man—as big as a mountain. I know he was a murderer or something. I never was so frightened in my life. Why, I took to my heels and ran the length of the street. I presume he was after me, but I didn't dare look behind.”