"Do I know her?" Raymond tried to think.
"No. She left New York just about the time you came to me. She's a wonderful woman, always was. Has a passion for helping others live their lives—she's never had time to live her own."
"Bad business." Raymond shook his head.
"Oh! I don't know, boy. The older I grow the more inclined I am to believe that it is only by helping others live that one lives himself."
This was trite and did not get anywhere, so Mrs. Tweksbury plunged a trifle.
"Doris Fletcher is going to bring her niece out next winter; wants me to help launch her."
Raymond made no response to this. He was not apt to be suspicious, but he waited.
"She has twin nieces. Her younger sister died at their birth—she made a sad marriage, poor girl, and the father of her children seems to have been blotted off the map. The Fletchers were always silent and proud. I greatly fear one of the twins takes after her obliterated parent, for Doris rarely mentions her—it is always Nancy who is on exhibition; the other girl is doing that abominable thing—securing her economic freedom, whatever that may mean. Doris has tried to make me understand, but how girls as rich as those girls are going to be can want to go out and support themselves I do not understand—it's thieving. Nothing less. Taking bread from women who haven't money."
Mrs. Tweksbury sniffed scornfully and Raymond laughed. He wasn't interested.
Mrs. Tweksbury saw she was losing ground and made a third attempt.