They all laughed at her inconsistency.
“I should not dare make it known, if I had any,” he said. “But may I ask what it is for?”
“Why, to hold meetings in, and lectures and things,” she answered, quickly; “what did you suppose?”
“Oh! And for the Labor Unions to congregate in and plan how they may overthrow and destroy you, I suppose,” scoffed Burnham. “And it is a capital place to breed the next strike.”
“There will be no ‘next strike,’” was the confident answer. “And as for the rest, wait and see. I had the seats all movable because once in a while there will be a party, and they will want the floor for dancing.”
“Salome! Not dancing?” cried her aunt.
“Why not? The floor is an excellent one for dancing. I saw to that myself,” said she, purposely misunderstanding her relative.
“You are not going to let them have their low dances here?” Mrs. Soule’s tone showed how much the idea horrified her.
“Low dances? Certainly not,” said her niece. “But we are going to show them how to have something better. We are going to lift them above wanting a low entertainment of any kind, and teach them how such things are carried on by better people,—by us, for example.”
“Salome, you don’t mean me to understand that you are going to come and dance here, yourself?”