“One sees so much distress,” she added, as if she felt she had completely omitted something, and needed a codicil.
“What are you doing in London?”
“I'm thinking of studying. Some social question. I thought perhaps I might go and study social conditions as Mrs. Bailey did, go perhaps as a work-girl or see the reality of living in, but Mrs. Bailey thought perhaps it wasn't quite my work.”
“Are you studying?”
“I'm going to a good many lectures, and perhaps I shall take up a regular course at the Westminster School of Politics and Sociology. But Mrs. Bailey doesn't seem to believe very much in that either.”
Her faintly whimsical smile returned. “I seem rather indefinite,” she apologised, “but one does not want to get entangled in things one can't do. One—one has so many advantages, one's life seems to be such a trust and such a responsibility—”
She stopped.
“A man gets driven into work,” I said.
“It must be splendid to be Mrs. Bailey,” she replied with a glance of envious admiration across the room.
“SHE has no doubts, anyhow,” I remarked.