“Eventually, Carlotta would go to work. She has been raised in an entirely different atmosphere. She has cultivated people who are more interested in golf, tennis, and horseback riding than work and achievement. She’s tried a job now and then, just to go through the motions. She didn’t last long.”
“If you ask me,” Bertha said, “it will be a damned good thing for her to have this jolt.”
“Certainly it will be a good thing for her,” Bertha’s visitor snapped. “That’s what I’m hoping for. Do you think it’s been any pleasure for me to see my daughter raised in this particular manner? Good God, woman, do you know what it means to a mother who has certain plans, certain ideals, certain aspirations for her daughter, to see another woman ruin that child’s entire life? I’ve been watching it for the last five years, absolutely, utterly helpless. But remember this: once that crash occurs, once Carlotta is jarred into a realization of what has been done to her, what a vain scatter-brained nincompoop Mrs. Goldring is, then Carlotta’s natural mother can appear on the scene offering a home, the advantages of ample money, security, an opportunity to meet the right people—”
“You can give your daughter those advantages?”
“Yes.”
“Meeting the right people?”
“Yes.”
“These people know of your record?”
“Don’t be silly. Of course not.”
“Mrs. Goldring does.”