Sanborn said: "It's a serious thing to advise a girl like that. What do you intend to do, Isabel? Is a social success the thing the girl needs?"
"It won't do her any harm to meet nice people—of course, she ought not to go out too much if she's going to write."
"You amuse me," Mason began again, in his measured way. "First because you assume that the girl can go where she pleases—"
"She can, too, if she's got the quality we think she has. Chicago society isn't the New York four hundred. We're all workers here."
"Workers and thieves," Mason went on; "but if the girl has the quality I think she has, she will map out her own career and follow it irresistibly. The question that interests me is this—how did the girl get here? Why didn't she stay on the farm like Susan, and Sally, and Ed and Joe? How did she get through college without marrying Harry or Tommy? These are the vital questions."
"I don't know," replied Isabel. "I thought of those things, but of course I couldn't ask her on first acquaintance."
Mason lifted his eye-brows. "Ah! You drew the line at love and marriage. Most women—"
Isabel resented this.
"I'm not 'most women'—I'm not even a type. Don't lecture me, please."
"I beg your pardon, Isabel; you're quite right." His tone was sincere, and restored peace. "I always except you in any generalization."