"You need, as I told Margaret the other night, to touch all these other women who have stepped out of their grooves. It's wonderful, what that does for you. It's solidarity feeling, workers go after it in their unions, and women so much lack it. You think you are making a solitary struggle, and you're only part of all this——" Her sudden gesture sent her empty tumbler spinning to the edge of the table. Margaret's quick hand caught it.
"Don't begin an oration, Amy," she said.
"It's true." Catherine was bewildered to find tears in her eyes, and a rush of affection toward Amy—she might be fanatic, but a spark from her overfanned fires could warm you! "Are any of these celebrities married?" she asked, with apparent irrelevance.
"Oh—" Amy shrugged. "I think they have husbands, some of them. Hard to tell. That woman there has just got her divorce, I know."
She had a moment with Margaret later, standing near the fireplace, while Amy rushed off to greet a newcomer.
"She's a funny old dear, isn't she?" Margaret was nonchalant.
"I like her," said Catherine.
Margaret looked up in frank pleasure.
"I hoped you would. She's really fine, if you get her." Her eyes, traveling across to the small figure in the fur coat, one arm raised in emphasis, were tender. "You'd roar if you heard her comments on Charles. She has a certain cosmic attitude toward all men, lumps them. I'm thrilled, Cathy, at your trip. And your salary! You show some pick-up on this job."
"Will you take me shopping for decent clothes?" Catherine regarded her sister wistfully. "I'm going to dress the old thing up for once."