Miss Maitland showed no further symptom of nervousness. She clasped her hands lightly and did not make a gesture nor shift her position during her speech. Her repose was very impressive.
“I think we should vote,” she said decidedly. “It will not be agreeable in many respects, and will heavily increase our responsibilities, but the reasons for far outweigh those against. A good many of us have money in our own names. We all have large allowances. Some day we may have the terrible responsibility of great wealth. The income-tax is in danger of being defeated. If we get the vote, we may do much toward making it a law, and it is a move in the right direction towards Socialism. Our next must be towards persuading the Government to take the railroads. It is shocking that the actual costs of transit should be so small, the charges so exorbitant and the profits so enormous. I feel this so oppressively that every time I make a long journey by rail, I give the equivalent of my fare to the poor at once. It is a horrifying thing that we on this narrow island of New York city should live like hothouse plants in the midst of a malarious swamp: that almost at our back doors the poor are living, whole families in one room, and on one meal a day. My father gives me many thousands a year for charity, but charity is not the solution of the problem. There must be a redistribution of wealth. Of course I have no desire to come down to poverty; I am physically unfit for it, as are all of us. We should have sufficient left to insure our comfort; but any woman with brain can get along without the more extravagant luxuries. It is time that we did something to justify our existence, and if the law required that we worked two or three hours a day instead of leading the idle life of pleasure that we do——”
“We are ornamental; that is something,” exclaimed a remarkably pretty woman. “I am sure the people outside love to read about and look at us. Society gossip is not written for us.”
Miss Maitland smiled. “You certainly are ornamental, Mary,” she said; “but fancy how much more interesting you would be if you were useful as well.”
“I’d lose my good looks.”
“Well, you can’t keep them forever. You should cultivate a substitute meanwhile, and then you never need be driven back into the ranks of passée, disappointed women. Faded beauties are a bore to everybody.”
“I refuse to contemplate such a prospect. Alex, you are getting to be a horrid rude advanced New Woman.”
Mrs. Burr clapped her hands. “How delightful!” she cried, “I didn’t know we were to have a debate.”
“Now keep quiet, all of you,” said Miss Maitland; “I have not finished. Mary Gallatin, don’t you interrupt me again. Now that we understand this question so thoroughly, we must have more recruits. Of course, hundreds of women of the upper class are signing the petition asking for the extension of the franchise to our sex, but few of them are interested in Socialism. And if it is to be brought about, it must be by us. I have little faith in the rag-tag bob-tail element at present enlisted in that cause. They not only carry little weight with the more intelligent part of the community, but I have been assured that they would not fight—that they take it out in talk; that if ever there was a great upheaval, they would let the anarchists do the killing, and then step in, and try to get control later.
“Now, I thoroughly despise a coward; so do all women; and I have no faith in the propagandism of men that won’t fight. What we must do is to enlist our men. They are luxurious now, and love all that pertains to wealth; but, as Wellington said once of the same class in England: ‘The puppies can fight!’ Not that our men are puppies—don’t misunderstand me—but you know what I mean. They would only seem so to a man who had spent his life in the saddle.