"You two," said Sue, when at last her friends had gone away, "have built up a wall of contentment around you a person couldn't break through with an axe."
"Have a little," I suggested.
"Stay all night," said Eleanore.
"No, thanks," said Sue. "I promised Dad that I'd be home."
And then instead of going home she sprawled lazily on the sofa with her head upon one elbow, and settled in for some more talk. But her talk was different to-night. She usually talked about herself, but to-night she talked of us instead, of our contemptible content. And presently through her talk I felt that she had some surprise to spring. In a few moments Eleanore felt it too, I could tell that by the vigilant way she kept glancing up from her knitting.
"I think," I was remarking, "we're a pretty liberal-minded pair."
"That's it," said Sue. "You're liberals!" What utter disdain she threw into the word. "And what's more you're citizens. In all these movements," she went on, "you always find two classes—citizens and criminals. You two are both born citizens."
"What's the difference?" I inquired.
"Citizens," said Sue impressively, "are ready to vote for what they believe in. Criminals are ready to get arrested and go to jail."
Eleanore looked up at her.